I’m writing this post in an effort to be honest, frank, and vulnerable. Society places so much weight on ‘firsts’.
When I was growing up, it seemed as though being ‘first’ carried so much value and worth. If you were first, you were the best. Being ‘first’ was a competition. I have to say, for a long time, I believed that to be true, which left me feeling hollow, knowing I’d never be the first love or first date or first time. Sure, we’d have our share of firsts together, but it never seemed like quite enough. This feeling lingered over me and laced me with insecurities, fear of abandonment, of unworthiness.
But, four years into dating, like a lightning bolt, something struck me. Being ‘first’, was just that. The first. Not the best, the biggest, or the boldest, but the first. ‘First’ suggests something (someone) comes next. In this case, that someone is me. I’ve decided that while I might not be ‘first’, I know I am ‘last’, and being last is a reward in itself.
Being last means no one comes next. Being last means I get the best love, the greatest love, the boldest and truest love. Being last means the opportunity to learn and grow and know your likes and dislikes has already been had. Being last means lessons have already been learned so previous mistakes won’t be made again. Being last means ‘firsts’ didn’t work out.. Most importantly, being last means being the last love, the final love, and I’d much rather be the lasting, chosen love, that comes last, than the fleeting moments that come first.