Many of those who frequent Rittenhouse Square will tell you that it is the heart and soul of the City of Philadelphia. There you will find street performers evoking awe and wonder from large crowds, clusters of hipsters staring into the sun with their aviator sunglasses and cut-off jeans, and a sea of park-goers soaking up the sun as well as the culture of Philly.
Yet strangely enough, I don't really frequent Rittenhouse Square Park that often. So one day on my afternoon off, I conformed and took a stroll down the fancy schmancy streets of Rittenhouse to observe what all of the hubbub was about.
What I discovered was a magical place full of energy, activity and excitement; a place full of men.
Short men, tall men, jock-inspired men, hipster men, even the unavoidable creepy old men. This, ladies and gentlemen, truly is the heart of the single lad's Philadelphian fantasy.
Being the curious person I am, I sat down with my copy of "Summer and the City" (shocking book choice, I know) and a frappuccino to give myself a legitimate reason to be in the surroundings. Unfortunately, my only seating choice was on a bench across from a middle-aged man attempting (and failing) to impress with his sun-burnt 50-year-old chest.
But I digress. As I engaged myself into my reading and my observing, I noticed a young couple sitting a few feet in front of me on a patch of grass. Neither could have been older than 17, and they had that gag-worthy "I'm young and in pretend love" look in their eyes ... or at least the female clearly did.
The young man she was with, on the contrary, couldn't have looked more bored. He sat patiently with her, apprehensively clutching her hand every few minutes as they read their books, as if he expected something in return for his "romance." And yet I caught him staring at me every few minutes, and couldn't help but wonder why.
I was fairly confident he wasn't gay, and there were plenty of other interesting people to be looking at in the area. I didn't bother staring back, as twinks really aren't my thing ... but it did cause me to ponder another question.
At what age, at what part of our life cycle, do we become as confidently self-aware with our emotions as we are with our libido?
I can tell you what kind of guy I go for from the outside, but when it comes to figuring out all of that lovey-dovey stuff, I haven't the slightest clue. Sometimes, it makes that high school romance based purely on physical appearance seem awfully appealing by comparison. Wouldn't it be nice, if our biggest concern was still who to take to the prom?
We all like to believe there's that special someone waiting in the world with the key to our heart, but what do you do if you never stumble upon that person? Are there multiple, universal keys out there waiting to unlock your heart? Or maybe it's a combination lock, and it's up to you to give someone the "secret code" to your inner workings.
Regardless of this ongoing mystery, it seems one thing is clear. Finding the answers to such questions will not come in the form of an instantaneously gratifying "eureka!" kind of moment, nor is it something you will come to by sitting alone in your bedroom, cuddling with your cat and watching "He's Just Not That Into You" for the millionth time.
With an entire city to explore, finding the answers to your own heart can be as easy as unearthing the inner valves of Philadelphia. And if you happen to take a few sultry detours along the way, then well, that's just another part of the process.
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