I hate wasted gumption. (Although am a fan of the gumption provided by being wasted.) It can take a lot of effort (alcohol-fueled or nay) to finally bite the bullet and approach “the cute guy”. Then if it goes poorly… or worse, seemingly well until he mentions the boyfriend, the letdown is greater for the energy invested in getting there. It’s easy to say one should be cavalier about rejection and that the more attempts made increase the likelihood of success, but amassing the requisite gumption, impetus and armor, is not nearly so easy whether it comes from inside oneself or inside a bottle. We should all feel we are beautiful… and smart… and awesome… and should ride unicorns to our $300k 3 hour a week jobs in Bermuda… but most people don’t. In reality the single life is much like war; there will be carnage, collateral damage, and wanton disregard for humanity – if you are lucky you make it through with minimal injuries, some great stories, strong bonds with a few brothers in arms, and maybe just maybe the satisfying knowledge that your side won. So until we each find our own way off the battlefield we must, as they say, soldier on. But no one is brave all the time; no one is a hero in every skirmish. The best can lapse into cruelty, the most dastardly evidence compassion in this smoky world of shifting grays full of distant voices that could be laughing or crying, singing or screaming. So to my brethren in the trenches I say be brave, as brave as you can. That will have to be enough. Our hearts will break, our crests will fall, our egos will be bruised. We will sometimes be gun-shy and sometimes charge the hill. All that matters is that we make the most of the experience knowing we are in it until it’s over.