I was out with my girlfriend last night. We were talking about my ex and all the craziness I endured. I looked at her and said, the whole “bad boy” thing just isn’t attractive at a certain age…and her response was “yah, after a certain age a bad boy just means you are reckless and at what point do you grow out of that?”
At what point does someone who drinks too much, has an angry disposition, cycles through moods, can’t commit to anything and runs at the sign of a problem, grow up and realize that its no longer mysterious or sexy, its just down right sad.
You know those aging bad boys…you can walk into any pub and he is that guy at the end of the bar there….that is the aging bad boy…the one who is looking for a solution in his pint glass but when he gets to the bottom he is no wiser than he was when he took his first sip. You know the one who is pondering his life, looking at his choices and between justifying and pushing them away…he feels them until he goes numb.
I once was intrigued and in awe of a bad boy. Most troubled women usually are, until we finally grow up and realize that there is nothing there but a whole lot of heartache. Then we smarten up and hope to find that soul that is healthy and strong and not afraid of commitment or love and doesn’t sit at the end of the bar staring into his glass until they are numb or even worse, taking home the woman that is left at the end of the night. Only to wake up and have to start this cycle all over again.
Nope, we heal ourselves and hope to find that man who wakes up with a purpose, who is motivated by family and friends, who doesn’t look for solace in a bottle but through his partner and more importantly himself.
Bad boys turn into troubled men…sad and burdened by their own choices.
I once loved a bad boy…until the Universe saved me.