I've mentioned this before, but it bears repeating: New Year's Eve is the worst holiday ever.
I was talking about New Year's Eve with a coworker today, and I mentioned that all of my girlish childhood fantasies died on a New Year's Eve. Another coworker — apparently listening to the conversation — went, "awwwww," and I realized how melodramatic my words sounded.
"New Year's Eve — where my girlish childhood fantasies died! OoOoOoOoH!"
The story isn't actually melodramatic at all, but it ties in with a bigger problem I've been thinking about over the past few months: The Cinderella Syndrome.
In every film version of the Cinderella story, there comes a moment when Cinderella enters the ballroom, and the crowd — or more importantly, the prince — turns and stares in awe. I'll show you what I mean:
(Skip to 2:08)
(7:59)
(6:27)
(7:30)
(1:11)
I'd find more examples, but I'm bored with looking at YouTube.
For me, at least, all of those years growing up with Cinderella movies and romantic notions led to my catching a strong case of The Cinderella Syndrome. Maybe other people have had the same disease, or maybe I'm one of the few. (I definitely know one other person right now who has it. I was like, 14, at the time, and she's like, 22, but whatever…).
As part of the disease, all of those romantic moments where the prince looks up, sees the girl of his dreams, and falls madly in love, became a real thing in my head. That led to the fateful New Year's Eve, years and years ago, where my Cinderella Syndrome met its cruel and untimely death.
I wish I could remember exactly how old I was — it had to have been around or near 8th grade — but the stake was holding a New Year's Eve dance for youth 14 and older, and I knew my time had come. I was going to have my Cinderella moment.
When a girl prepares for a Cinderella moment, she does so carefully. I certainly did. I chose the perfect outfit with the Cinderella moment in mind, and I took my time doing my hair and applying my brand new Christmas eye shadow (it was pink) with as much care as a 14-year-old (ish? Maybe?) girl could take. After hours of preparation, I joined my friends and we headed to the stake center.
My Cinderella Syndrome convinced me that as soon as I stepped into the ballroom — er, the gym — all the boys would come flocking to my side, vying for my attention.
They didn't.
My Cinderella Syndrome convinced me that as soon as I stepped into the ballroom — er, the gym — all the boys would come begging for a dance.
They didn't.
My Cinderella Syndrome convinced me that as soon as I stepped into the ballroom — er, the gym — all the boys would fall madly in love with me.
They didn't.
To call the entire debacle a blow to my self-confidence would be an understatement. I was pretty emotionally devastated. All the romantic notions and fantasies I had built up over years of watching Disney movies came crashing down around me. That's what New Year's Eve will always remind me of. It was the end of an era.
Admittedly, even though my dreams were shattered that night, I'm still a romantic at heart and my Cinderella Syndrome still kicks in at random moments. You can always tell when it does, because those are the days that I actually do my hair and choose my outfits with the intent of snaring a man. (C'mon, Good Looking Guy! Cooperate!)
Most of the time, though, I'm more of a realist. (Also, doing hair and choosing snaring outfits is hard work, and I am lazy.) The death of my Cinderella Syndrome was painful, but it was also a good thing. That awful New Year's Eve taught me that life isn't always like the movies. In fact, I found a hilarious quote the other day which applies to this exact situation, and which I think should become my life motto. Unfortunately I promptly lost the desktop sticky note containing the quote when my computer crashed. Natch.
But the idea behind the quote was basically this: Realize that you are an unimportant pimple, embrace it, and build from there.
That sounds depressing, but it's actually not. If we admit that we're not always going to be Cinderella at the ball — that we don't have the power to woo princes/get our way/change the world just by existing — life gets easier. All of us are small folks, building lives in our own little corners (see what I did there?), and we should embrace that. Basing our actions and self-esteem on the delusional idea that one day the world will observe, applaud, and revere, only sets us up for disappointment. I'm now okay with being small. Every day brings the challenge of building a slightly bigger space that only I can fill. It's not quite Cinderella, but I'm happier now than I was then.
New Year's Eve still stinks, though.
I'm just saying.
It totally does.
But at least I don't look like this… this year, anyway…
