Next time a nondisabled person approaches me with, "I just don't understand how you're still single!", I'm going to save them the time and energy of finding out firsthand.
Allow me to explain:
I'm going to say, "look, you'll leap into this headfirst. We'll talk every day. We'll have regular Zoom dates. You'll say I'm the most interesting person you've met in a long time, that you're 'learning so much' from me, and that you never expected this sort of connection."
"I will begin to trust you. I will think that you're not going to do exactly what you actually will end up doing -- but I don't know that yet, so when my friends ask how it's going, I will stop saying, 'I dunno we'll see", and start saying, 'I'm really enjoying things.'"
Woke up to several inches on snow, poked my head outside, and encountered my landlord, who had already shoveled the walks before I woke up AND talked to my neighbour about her shoveling again this afternoon because he was concerned about me in this weather. π
Of* snow
He's lovely. He definitely looks out for me and keeps my rent below market rate. (I'm not paying his mortgage; it's the home he grew up in and his dad willed it to my landlord's daughter's when he passed, so they just wanted a trustworthy tenant who would take care of the space.)
Growing up neurodivergent means I've been conditioned to assume that whatever brings me joy will be viewed as embarrassingly uncool or unbearably obnoxious.
It has taken me so long to realize that my joy is valid and valuable and, well, fuck "the haters"; they're not entitled to it.
@NaomiAnsano brought up the really good point that this dynamic extends beyond what we love to how and how much we love something. Not okay.