because i forgot what it feels like to feel beautiful

We trudged up into the wilderness a couple weekends ago and camped.

It was miserable and wonderful all at the same time: miserable because sleeping in a hammock is a nightmare and let's be honest, I'm still a little afraid of the dark. Wonderful because nature is a love affair of mine.

Jacob put up with me complaining, tossing and turning all night. Eventually switching hammocks just so I could get some semblance of sleep.

He repaid me for my crabbiness with some beautiful photos.

I often look at myself in the mirror and wonder how I've gotten here, wonder if I'm pretty, wonder what other people see, wonder if anyone would ever want to keep me around.

Sometimes photos catch me by surprise. I was exhausted, moving on a couple hours of sleep after running 18 miles the morning previous, and was now making breakfast for a whole gang of ragamuffins.

I credit all of this to Jacob- because of his talent he captured a moment of me that has never felt more true to how I feel lately. And it wasn't because he told me I was ok to look at despite the grass and grease stains.

Despite all the exhaustion, smelling like smoke, the crankiness, stress of school and work, and all the turmoil hiding behind these eyes he uncovered some beauty that I have forgotten about:

That somewhere deep down I am ok to look at, because somewhere deep down I'm an ok person.

Even if no one tells me ever again, I can still believe that.

photo credit

this is not one to trifle with

It's been a rough couple of days.

A song line keeps playing over and over again in my head, "when you think of love do you think of pain."

I openly admit to the fact that I am not perfect.

This weekend I realized how disgustingly bossy I can be, especially when frustrated. I can be snide and quick to anger at times; sarcasm flowing from me like a molten river of destruction.

There are times when I am not kind, when I am too stubborn and proud to admit my mistake or own ignorance.

Other times when I am so blindly selfish I do not realize the hurt or pain I cause to those around me, most especially the ones I love and the ones I am meant to help.

Jacob and I had an interesting conversation the other night, in which these two thoughts came to me:

1. I am tired of being selfish. I want someone else's problems to deal with and I want someone to help me deal with my problems.
2. We date to fall in love.

I've grown weary of friends calling to update on life and their first question always posed to me: "Are you dating anyone?" When do they start asking me about my writing, or my babies? Oh duh, I don't have any babies.

I don't date to get married. I'm looking to fall in love, marriage tends to just follow...

Marmee and I spoke last week. She told me my brother's concern was that I was desperate to be married and that because of that I was driving the men away.

I wrote to my sweet younger sister, serving a religious mission in California following that conversation and I write here some thoughts I shared with her. Please bear with me, it's the most exposed I have been:

"Marmee and I spoke the other day. She mentioned my brother's worry about my need for the next guy I date to be the one, but how can they worry about that and then turn around and stress the importance of marriage and its influence in our faith?

I have such a lovely belief that in the end it is only the two of you: your children will have their own spouses, and their children will have their own, and so on.

No, you cannot take the search for an eternal partner lightly, and no marriage does not solve any problems. It is only a new set, and I may one day miss having the struggles of single-hood. But how often I feel such a strong desire to be in love and to give of all this love I have.

I think loving someone is one of the most sacred, beautiful things - the ability to love unconditionally  might be one of the rare times we come to being Godlike.

So then why am I judged for wanting to fall in love? Why am I looked at as a crazy heathen for it? For speaking of it so often?

My patience is wearing thin. I feel my prayers becoming more and more shallow and small. I know that I will find someone I love and who loves me, but when? Why have I not been blessed with something I so righteously desire? What more can I possibly learn?

I hear the voice inside my head tell me the cure for my loneliness: service. Yet sometimes I do feel that there is a tiny little hole that can only be cured by the loving touch of someone you love embracing you. And I am ok with that thought."

I finally called Sol.

I told myself back in May that I would give him the summer.

As of today, summer is over.

He wasn't sure how he felt about meeting up, so he will be dropping my things off later this week.

I expect the worst, yet I'm not sure I would even want the best at this point.

My fight was ignored.

All those small feelings that could have been something so much more never had a chance to grow.

I was never acknowledged.

No thank you was ever given for the small tokens I gave.

I deserve more, do I not?

I want to believe that I only seek closure. An explanation, even a bogus one might sate my need.

I think I just need to hear it. To hear that there is no chance fall from his lips and allow me to completely and finally walk away.

And no longer feel the need to hope or even want it anymore.

But if that is so, why do I still dream of him kissing me so firmly and intentionally?

because of Caleb and tiny boxes

About this time last year I was suppose to be on a honeymoon with Caleb.

I think he and his wife are expecting their first baby in a week or two.

You do the math.

There is a tiny place in my heart that sometimes twists and kinks when I think about him and how he handled everything. How he hurt me. Sometimes the kink sticks around for a day or so creating a painful ache and sadness that seems as if it will never leave.

But it always does. 

Those moments come less often and are less painful now.

Often on those hard days I have to remind myself of what I learned from him, from that relationship, that journey.

Through him I met Jacob.

And through Jacob I met Sol.

And through it all I found a part of me.

Even though everything didn't work out, I still have to be grateful because each of those relationships molded me into a better person. Each of them taught me something about myself and love as a whole.

Some people close to me haven't been as forgiving toward Caleb as I have been, and I wonder if I should have been angrier. I don't think I ever got angry. I cried, a lot. I spent nights on end at my brother's place filling that hole in my chest with unconditional love from family.

I don't believe Caleb ever meant to hurt me. I believe he was unsure, and I greatly believe that he was also overwhelmed by panic and anxiety. But in truth (when it all came down to it) in the end he had a choice. We both did.

And he chose no.

The last time I saw him was when we stood in his driveway - my brother in the car for moral support, Caleb there in his pajamas, and me holding a small box that I hoped as it left my hands would remove any resentment that might grow. A small box that had held something so beautiful and precious. A small box that held a future, a past, memories, and forgotten love. A small box that still held a part of my broken heart.

In that moment all I could think was "You took my heart, you took my hands, you took my whole body, my whole soul, all my love, and now you are asking for this one last thing and I don't think I can give any more."

That tiny box was the end.

I don't pray about it anymore. I don't wish on stars for a second chance anymore (not really possible anyway). Instead I just give thanks.

I give thanks for the lessons he taught me and the respect he gave me. I give thanks for meeting someone who showed me I can be loved and that I can be with someone who would go down on one knee, someone who would ask my father's permission.

I give thanks for the hope he gave me in a tiny box.

a conversation post running

Marathon training is a lot harder than I expected it to be.

I recognize that I am in my prime but dang it if my body doesn't vehemently hate me right now!

I got back from running yesterday and proceeded to have this texting conversation with Jacob. Mind you this was after THREE MILES. THREE. ONLY THREE. Ten minutes into my run I had to take a minute to walk and passed this crazy lady on the sidewalk who proceeded to talk to me, with one hand in her armpit, the other tucked in her pants. She asked me how long I had been running and guessed an hour (an hour!), and as I was panting and trying to keep my legs under me I realized how terribly pathetic I must be that after TEN MINUTES I looked like I had been running for hours.

I lied. And I told her about a half hour, because, well, it was better than ten minutes.

I finally made it home and as I lay on our hallway floor directly under the swamp cooler, half dead, decided to try to get some sympathy from a dear friend. I failed. But did manage some internal hysteria.

Conversation:
"Me: it took me 40 minutes to run 3 miles today :(

Jacob: you are tired. Let's work on your form.

Me: my knees hurt. it didn't use to be this hard!!!

Jacob: they are not the bees. hot bath

Me: ugh that's the last thing i want to do right now. it's ROASTING outside.

Some moments later...

Me: I don't know why I'm listening to you. But here I am sitting in our twice-scrubbed-yet-still-filthy-tub, pretty sure I just flashed our male neighbors through the open window, wondering what I ever did to you to deserve this.

Jacob: are you talking to your knees?

Me: no i was talking to you.
I WAS BEING A LITTLE DRAMATIC."



I don't think he quite got the fact that I needed sympathy. Though it will be nice to have someone help me with my form. My 26 going on 76 year old knees need some help.