It's just a little crush

It strikes me as sad that, as adults, we get out of the habit of describing our romantic interests as "crushes." Remember how positively giggly we became -- well, us girls, anyhow -- whenever we'd admit to having a crush as a younger kid or teenager? The admission -- aloud, for all the world (or at least our friends) to hear -- that we actually fancied someone sufficiently enough to call it a crush was equal parts titillating and terrifying. Worse was the very real possibility that the object of our attraction would -- gasp! -- find out. Could anything possibly be more mortifying? In the bubble created by school -- day after day, week after week, a huge portion of our lives spent with the same people, where your whole world could change between first period and lunch -- the chance you might have to SEE the boy, that he might KNOW you like him....? That's palpable stuff.

These feelings were, of course, magnified completely out of proportion if you happened to suffer, as I certainly did, from a lack of self confidence. Admitting, even just to trusted friends, of your feelings meant that the humiliation and disappointment would be all the stronger if your crush didn't feel the same way. It felt like your life would end ... or, worse, it wouldn't, but everyone in school would find out about your rejection.

I had two major crushes when I was in school: one on my best friend, with whom the timing was never quite right, the second on a boy two grades ahead of me who sat, unknowingly taunting me, directly in front of me in debate class. I rarely talked about my crush on the latter boy, largely because my low confidence and paralyzing shyness precluded me from ever actually believing, even for a second, that I had even the slightest chance of winning his affection. Hell, I didn't even know for sure that he knew I existed. So an eternity passed (or so it seemed), and I said nothing.

Of course, words are rarely necessary when we're talking about crushes. A true crush is someone you cannot help but swoon over. Every time my debate dreamboat said something even remotely clever -- and, naturally, my Venn diagram of things he said and things he said that I thought were clever were indistinguishable circles -- I would, I'm sure, burst into shrieks of laughter. When he played solos in band, I would claim weakness in the knees. I needn't announce my crush; no, I'm quite sure everyone knew. Maybe even him. (Perish the thought.)

Eventually, of course, there comes a breaking point; that kind of heightened emotion grows tiresome over time. If you're anything like me, feeling constantly barraged by messages of "carpe diem!" or have experienced unexpected loss of friends or family, then you will eventually bring yourself to say something. When I did, I got an unexpected surprise. No, the dreamy debate guy didn't reciprocate my affections... but, the fact that I managed to work up the nerve to express my interest? It was completely heady. I was so proud of myself! Maybe I was just rationalizing myself out of the crushing disappointment of his lack of interest, but it was nevertheless the case that I spent the rest of the day feeling uber proud of myself for having the nerve to speak up.

This is not my point, though. What is, however, is how that crush managed to bring everything around me into very sharp relief. It added a fringe of excitement and thrill to the banality of daily life. "Will he say something to me today?" was a near-obsessive loop of inner dialogue. Daily. A glance, a -- dare you hope for it? -- smile? It could, in a flash, send you into orbit around yourself; the rush that came from the smallest of gestures could send you reeling sufficient to feel as though you'd left your body and were floating somewhere out near Jupiter.

In the end, a crush either becomes a memory (as did my debate crush... sigh) or something more substantial; when a crush turns into a friend, a date, a lover, or a partner, the uncertainty is replaced with inside jokes and shared experiences; these things are still important, and can even be thrilling, but they are qualitatively different emotional experiences. Comforting? Absolutely. But post-crush, a quick smile or kind gesture will rarely, if ever, again inspire the giggling giddiness of the full-out crush stage.

I've been thinking about this a lot the last two days. When you have a crush (I do!), particularly as an adult, especially if you've largely shed the insecurity, you often want to make a move, remove some of the uncertainty, seize the day, and dive in. The giddiness, the not knowing, the high emotions? Into adulthood, we've generally lost the timidity that sustaining these things require.

And that is sad. You can't ever get the giddy, nerve-wracking uncertainty back once it's dispelled -- well, not without relationship-endangering disaster or infidelity, anyhow -- so why rush through it? It's heady. Exciting. Utterly, positively thrilling.

So here's to uncertainty! As an adult, I'm actually hideously awful at letting things play out slowly and letting uncertainty linger beyond a (possibly ridiculously) short amount of time. But I've decided to make increased patience a project for the near future. Relish the excitement and giddiness. I've missed it, and I'm glad to be feeling it again.

It's just a little crush. :)