“I would like to tell you about a theory I’ve developed, in the past two years or so, about a certain brand of people I like to call “lighthouses.” This theory was developed after years spent in the company of one such member of the species, carefully observed in her natural habitat. She was my prototype, basically. Her name is Rylee and she’s my best friend. You might as well know that now because she’s going to come up a lot.
Rylee, since the time I met her seven years ago, has dated nine people. This is probably not remarkably high. It could even be average. What do I know? It could be that that number only seems large in comparison to my own figures, which are so low they are practically negative. But what’s really crazy, what’s really impressive about it, is her lack of time off between boyfriends. When she’s single, Rylee hardly needs to leave the apartment (or, in some of those cases, dormitory building) before anywhere from one to four different guys profess an interest in being her next boyfriend. There is a constant stream there. She’ll make her interests known, of course, but she always has options. She could sit down on the floor, be still, and wait, and I honestly believe that somebody would show up, sooner or later, to ask her out.
That’s what I like to call being “a lighthouse.”
I am not a lighthouse.
The first time I told Rylee that she was a lighthouse, she asked me what that made me. (Lighthouses generally recognize those that are- and aren’t- fellow lighthouses.) I thought about it for a minute. I said: “The Bermuda Triangle.”
I know that sounds like an exaggeration. And sure, to some extent, it probably is. For instance, there isn’t anything about me that is analogous to the Bermuda Triangle’s “rogue wave” phenomenon (at least I hope there isn’t). I don’t capsize sailors, much less entire ships. I keep to myself, you know? In fact, that’s probably what the Bermuda Triangle is up to. It doesn’t mean any harm, and it’s actually pretty nice once you get to know it. It’s just that Bermuda doesn’t know how to handle itself when somebody sails into its territory, because that hardly ever happens. It hasn’t had much chance to practice, and it’s used to things going a certain way. So if a sailor DOES come around, it gets a little nervous, freaks the fuck out, and creates hurricane-like devastation in every direction around it. And then it gets embarrassed and sad and calls its friends.”
-Never Have I Ever: My Life (So Far) Without a Date