There’s this thing I do.

When I met a man I have a wild connection with, and hope and desire and romanticism fly’s—I sometimes in my excitement, fall into fantasy.

Fantasy of what our dogs name will be, how he will look chopping wood in a flannel shirt at my cabin–where we will own our vacation home in Costa Rica.

Yeah—that thing.

This is what I call going into “fantasy”.

It is when we project all the ideals and things we desire in a partner and a relationship onto a person, prematurely.

They might check some of the boxes, or frankly none, and we will suddenly in our lust and excitement be choosing wedding dresses in our minds.

Why?

Because, love.

Damnit.

Because, love.

Because we are human and other than eat, drink, sleep, and make money we are here to find a god damn mate to make babies with.

Connection is a basic need, and we crave it to the point of obsession—to the point we sometimes blur the lines of what that connection actually is.

He might have abs that look like Ryan Gosling’s ass, but, what else?

We all want love so badly that sometimes we paint men on horses that are not knights.

Hell, they aren’t even pretending to be knights—sometimes we are the ones trying to convince them they are.

I picked a friend up for a surf in San Diego the other day and when she got in my car, eyes gleaming, she exclaimed, “I met a man” and continued to excitedly gushed in circles around him.

I love, love and the loyal romantic in me leaped and bounded throughout her story, hanging on to every string. I also felt cautious and hesitant as I followed her words, for there was this creeping, sinking feeling she was giving him too much credit, too soon.

About a week later we had a second conversation and her tone was slightly different.

He didn’t call or follow up the magical meeting with intention.

He did text her at 11 PM asking her to come to a local bar.

Some of the fizzle and fireworks were being drowned in the reality that although it was a memorable, meaningful first meeting—maybe he wasn’t her prince.

She was bummed—and rightfully.

Who the fuck wants to kiss more frogs?

None of us.

This hope that allows us to travel into “fantasy” is beautiful at the gushy centre of it.

Don’t be embarrassed that you want love.

Don’t be embarrassed you had hope.

We need hope like we need air.

I will let out my last breath with hope, for I am an idealist and a romantic and a poet and I believe the best in this world and expect the best in people.

Premature painting of men on white horses is basically my dance, I made it up—I should probably copyright it.

I listened to how she was feeling after the week and said, “My feedback? You gave him too much credit, too soon.”

Going into “fantasy” and projecting all our desires on a man when we first meet him or throughout a relationship can be severely damaging.

It smushes the presence required into dropping in and seeing where a person really is, and how they are showing up.

It is so easy to go into “fantasy” when we are getting to know some one and they are checking all the boxes.

We dream up going camping together, and talk about traveling through Europe together and then… maybe it ends.

Maybe he has sex with a girl he works with at a Christmas party and we end up watching re runs of New Girl sobbing our eyes out.

And if it ends, part of our brain has rendered a memory and emotional attachment to this idea and fantasy we either painted solo or together and THEN we not only grieve the realism of what we ACTUALLY lost (potential for a relationship or love), but we then grieve the fantasies we created in our brains.

We have to let go and grieve all the shit we day dreamed about like sappy souls that never actually became tangible.

Our poor hearts—being put through that.

Going into “fantasy” is also highly common in long distance relationships because we try to maintain a connection and intimacy from afar.

We get into a habit of talking about all the things we “would do if we were together”.

Fantasy also looks like being in a relationship with someone and talking about having kids, and getting married someday.

When that relationship ends we also grieve as if we lost our husband/wife and partner of our children—even though it DIDN’T ACTUALLY happen.

I saw my friend doing this with the man she just met—and my heart dropped.

My heart dropped because of the countless times where I was left erasing the horse under a man, then trying to paint a new one to fill its place a moment later.

Sometimes we need to beat the horse a few times to make sure it’s dead, and sometimes the lesson doesn’t stick until 50 men later.

Before we think about camping, or traveling, or waking up next to one another in white sheets by blue waters and drinking black coffee with skin tangled in skin–let him show up.

Let him call you–not at 11 at night, but at 8 am–telling you of how he missed your skin beside him.

Let him slowly climb up, onto that horse.

Let him walk from across a field, surely, foot by foot, keeping eye contact with you through first dates, and second dates, and third dates.

Let him be thoughtful and attentive, and present.

Let him remember things you like or said and take you there by memory alone.

Let him show you how beautiful he thinks you are.

Let him surprise you–with tenderness, and kisses that dance across your shoulder softly while you lay with your eyes closed on your back, waiting for yoga to begin.

Let him pull you, across the bed, and into his body.

Let him make you breakfast, while you work.

Let him call you on the days he knows you might need support and to encourage you on those that feel scary.

Let him care–about the work you do, the people you see, the heart that beats in your chest.
There are too many men who do nothing and prematurely ride tall on horses.

Why?

For women lust so hard for the fairy tale they are willing for the knight to be anyone who looks long enough in their direction.

I am writing today to say, don’t give him too much credit too soon.