I ran into Sol tonight.
My heart skipped a thousand beats
and then I had to remind myself to breathe.
All I wanted to do was look at him.
Not stare.
Not leer.
Just look at him.
Look in to him.
So deeply that he would feel the race of my heart beat
and look up
and our eyes would meet.
And I would just know.
Our eyes did meet.
I saw him steal a glance.
And then another.
And then he was gone.
I walked home, arm in arm with Johnson, and we talked about how we always expected that one day everything would finally settle. But that in reality turmoil will always be around and within us, but that doesn't mean we aren't at peace or content. And Johnson said something that hit me in my now weakened heart: that our reality never becomes our fantasies.
And I guess I just thought he would be there when I got home.
Showing posts with label opening up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label opening up. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Thursday, September 4, 2014
because it's so much easier when they're jerks
I have spent the whole summer defending him.
Believing in his goodness and everyone's ability to grow.
I don't think I pined away. Yes, I spent many nights asleep in his shirt, but I still put myself out there.
I dated, I flirted, I teased the emotions.
And I found hope in me and the idea of someone loving me for the mess I am.
There were some nights I cried, missing him, but as the days and weeks and months wore on those memories faded.
Only now when I read through past texts and remember him whispering in my ear as his hand found mine in the dark do I cry again. So maybe as long as I don't let that bittersweet taste of moments past linger I may not cry at all...
Or maybe the truth of it all, the truth that nothing has changed for him (that he still feels like breaking up was the right choice, that dating me isn't right - a new thought) hasn't fully sunk in.
Confusion still creeps in.
I'm forever baffled at how easily people can change.
I thought so highly of him, trusted him, believed those tender moments and sweet words he said.
In a way I never really understood until now, my heart breaks anew as I see someone I cared for so immensely change to something less than what I had hoped they were.
And yet, that little part of me, the one tucked away in the corners of the heart beneath my chest, the shy girl who hides there waiting...that little part of me who had fallen in love with him still might have wanted something different to have transpired tonight.
She still mourns her loss: a short-lived relationship that held more joy than any of the others. A beautiful possibility so near "what should have been."
But the logical voice in my head notes the almost 4 months of nothing. No note, no text, no call. And with that thought, the process of moving forward continues, almost at a breakneck speed.
Because it's always so much easier when they're jerks. When you tell yourself there's no way you would want to love or be involved with someone so thoughtless.
It's always easier when the person you cared for confesses to making it all up, to lying. That really they never meant any of it, because in your heart you want someone who would love and choose you and they are bluntly admitting that they are too rude and unkind to even stoop to that level.
And by some miracle, our hearts confront this truth and, like a slap in the face, wake up.
The rose-colored glasses fall away, all the signs we ignored begin waving their red-stained hands, and with that...suddenly it is so much easier to let go.
Because we believe we deserve better.
And we do.
We deserve someone honest.
And mind you, that person, that jerk may one day change and become that honest person. But not for you. For someone else.
And that's ok.
So though I may mourn the loss of what-ifs and maybes, I find myself content in understanding and facing the truth (and remembering that there is nothing wrong with me, sometimes it just doesn't work).
I just hope I looked damn beautiful as I walked away.
Believing in his goodness and everyone's ability to grow.
I don't think I pined away. Yes, I spent many nights asleep in his shirt, but I still put myself out there.
I dated, I flirted, I teased the emotions.
And I found hope in me and the idea of someone loving me for the mess I am.
There were some nights I cried, missing him, but as the days and weeks and months wore on those memories faded.
Only now when I read through past texts and remember him whispering in my ear as his hand found mine in the dark do I cry again. So maybe as long as I don't let that bittersweet taste of moments past linger I may not cry at all...
Or maybe the truth of it all, the truth that nothing has changed for him (that he still feels like breaking up was the right choice, that dating me isn't right - a new thought) hasn't fully sunk in.
Confusion still creeps in.
I'm forever baffled at how easily people can change.
I thought so highly of him, trusted him, believed those tender moments and sweet words he said.
In a way I never really understood until now, my heart breaks anew as I see someone I cared for so immensely change to something less than what I had hoped they were.
And yet, that little part of me, the one tucked away in the corners of the heart beneath my chest, the shy girl who hides there waiting...that little part of me who had fallen in love with him still might have wanted something different to have transpired tonight.
She still mourns her loss: a short-lived relationship that held more joy than any of the others. A beautiful possibility so near "what should have been."
But the logical voice in my head notes the almost 4 months of nothing. No note, no text, no call. And with that thought, the process of moving forward continues, almost at a breakneck speed.
Because it's always so much easier when they're jerks. When you tell yourself there's no way you would want to love or be involved with someone so thoughtless.
It's always easier when the person you cared for confesses to making it all up, to lying. That really they never meant any of it, because in your heart you want someone who would love and choose you and they are bluntly admitting that they are too rude and unkind to even stoop to that level.
And by some miracle, our hearts confront this truth and, like a slap in the face, wake up.
The rose-colored glasses fall away, all the signs we ignored begin waving their red-stained hands, and with that...suddenly it is so much easier to let go.
Because we believe we deserve better.
And we do.
We deserve someone honest.
And mind you, that person, that jerk may one day change and become that honest person. But not for you. For someone else.
And that's ok.
So though I may mourn the loss of what-ifs and maybes, I find myself content in understanding and facing the truth (and remembering that there is nothing wrong with me, sometimes it just doesn't work).
I just hope I looked damn beautiful as I walked away.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
because he's married
I've thought of writing about him before. But it never felt like a hill I wanted to venture up (and I'm sorry this is a very raw post).
But then last week I found out that he's married.
The boy who broke me.
The one who completely ruined me has been married for over a year.
And he has a baby.
After all he did, all the crap he put me through, he's married and has a baby.
And I'm disgusted. Disgusted at myself for how I feel.
I guess I had always thought he would be miserable for the rest of his life to pay for how he treated me.
It only seemed fair.
But suddenly all these photos of him and his family flash before my eyes and scrape open old wounds. Feelings of such inadequacy, all the lies, the hurt, the late nights, the road trips, meeting his family, his cheating and other dirty secrets, falling on my knees to do anything and everything for him, the love and affection that I gave and wasted, compromising my whole being. It all came charging toward me like a full steam train packed with nothing but coal for the black heart I harbored for so long after him.
Yes, I rarely think of him anymore or what happened between us, but at the time I remember it being the hardest thing I ever had to go through.
It wrecked me for years and relationships to come.
I lost sight of my worth, my value.
I was nothing more than a pair of arms, and lips, and breasts. I was a bookmark in a boy's book of endeavors.
And for years to come that's all I saw myself as to any boy who ever paid the smallest attention.
There were times where people have asked if I have ever regretted anything in my life, and the only thing that has ever come to my mind was him.
And yet, as I think about who I have become since all of that, I've realized I can't regret it.
So much of who I have become, what I had to force myself to do in these last 5 years has been because of all the pain and destruction he caused in my life.
But without it, I would not have learned to become the strong person I am today. I believe that from it I learned to see the red flags a bit quicker. I've learned to not give in so easily.
To not give favors for love.
To demand respect.
To not compromise myself.
To see my worth.
But most importantly to love myself.
So yes, he's married, and he's probably happy. He may even be a good person.
But rather than begrudge his happiness, and still be angry for the disaster that we were, maybe I can start to forgive him because in the end all that matters is that I am a better person now.
And that I learned something from it all.
But then last week I found out that he's married.
The boy who broke me.
The one who completely ruined me has been married for over a year.
And he has a baby.
After all he did, all the crap he put me through, he's married and has a baby.
And I'm disgusted. Disgusted at myself for how I feel.
I guess I had always thought he would be miserable for the rest of his life to pay for how he treated me.
It only seemed fair.
But suddenly all these photos of him and his family flash before my eyes and scrape open old wounds. Feelings of such inadequacy, all the lies, the hurt, the late nights, the road trips, meeting his family, his cheating and other dirty secrets, falling on my knees to do anything and everything for him, the love and affection that I gave and wasted, compromising my whole being. It all came charging toward me like a full steam train packed with nothing but coal for the black heart I harbored for so long after him.
Yes, I rarely think of him anymore or what happened between us, but at the time I remember it being the hardest thing I ever had to go through.
It wrecked me for years and relationships to come.
I lost sight of my worth, my value.
I was nothing more than a pair of arms, and lips, and breasts. I was a bookmark in a boy's book of endeavors.
And for years to come that's all I saw myself as to any boy who ever paid the smallest attention.
There were times where people have asked if I have ever regretted anything in my life, and the only thing that has ever come to my mind was him.
And yet, as I think about who I have become since all of that, I've realized I can't regret it.
So much of who I have become, what I had to force myself to do in these last 5 years has been because of all the pain and destruction he caused in my life.
But without it, I would not have learned to become the strong person I am today. I believe that from it I learned to see the red flags a bit quicker. I've learned to not give in so easily.
To not give favors for love.
To demand respect.
To not compromise myself.
To see my worth.
But most importantly to love myself.
So yes, he's married, and he's probably happy. He may even be a good person.
But rather than begrudge his happiness, and still be angry for the disaster that we were, maybe I can start to forgive him because in the end all that matters is that I am a better person now.
And that I learned something from it all.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
possible stress fractures & possible fears
Ever since running down in So. UT over 4th of July weekend, my right ankle has been bothering me.
I didn't roll it, never heard a pop, nothing. But it's continued to hurt and be a bother. So I finally went in to the doctor last week seeing as our half marathon was coming up on Saturday and I didn't want to really damage it.
I'm not a regular at doctors' offices and going always makes me nervous. I always worry that I'll be going in for a broken arm and they'll discover that I have an incurable disease and only ten days left to live.
I had only gone in for my ankle, but I suddenly felt like every move I made was being put on review and this man in a white coat had the power to alter my lifestyle with nothing but a look and the word sorry.
"I know that's not probably what you want to hear, but you have to stop running."
Yes, that is exactly what he said.
They put you in those rooms, alone, to wait quietly pondering over all the things you've done wrong. Giving you enough time to rethink your decisions so that when the doctor comes in you're just a mess, fragile and weepy, sorry for the smallest mistake: skipping breakfast, running on a bummed ankle, not sleeping enough, and from there all the other life decisions start to come into question.
It's miserable. I was miserable. I started to cry as I waited to get an X-ray and then again walking home.
I'm not sure why I was so heart-broken. I had my heart set on training and accomplishing this great thing, something I probably wouldn't have chosen to do except in the heat of the moment, which it was. My sister had called me 3 hours before registration closed (and since it's a lottery there was a chance I wouldn't even get picked) and I thought, what the heck?! Why not? What are the chances? Sure. No problem.
I was determined that this great, big goal was going to define my life this summer. It was the thing to keep me going, the thing to keep me distracted and busy from dating and waiting for Sol. And suddenly I wasn't going to be able to do it anymore. I actually had a doctor tell me to stop running until I heard back from the radiologist and even after seeing a podiatrist.
But the tiniest part of me was ok with it, ok with not having to push myself to do something really hard, to not go outside of my physical comfort zone. Pushing yourself physically is hard enough, and I've done it before with rock climbing, but running felt different. It felt different because it's a "single's" sport for me. I've never had someone right there next to me, pushing me, encouraging me, telling me they believe I can do it. So this tiny part of me was almost relieved to have a good excuse that I could pull on to bow out gracefully, and I was almost more disappointed with myself and feeling that way than actually having a fracture.
My sister was sweet and reminded me that there would be other marathons as I cried over the phone, but I knew this was something I didn't want to do alone. I probably couldn't do it alone, and the thought of having two sisters as a support system when the big day came was comforting. I knew I could do it if they were there beside me, but to imagine going and doing it alone was disheartening.
I would have though, if I needed to. Maybe because the vain woman inside of me was determined to not suddenly go to mush after finding out about a stress fracture. I was going to continue to cross train and exercise and not gain anymore weight and stay thin and be beautiful! The vain one was panicking, I'll admit it. She was quite distraught, and that didn't help my disappointment (I'll speak more of her one day).
I spent the rest of last week resting, no running, no cross training. Taking the prescribed naproxen from the doctor helped seeing as I took it for one day and spent that whole day dizzy and sick and in bed.
By Friday I was again worried because I hadn't heard from the radiologist and was loathing going to the podiatrist the following week. But as I walked home I received the voicemail saying my X-ray was a negative for a fracture.
Remember Christmas mornings as a kid? That's what it felt like. It was wonderful and scary at the same time, though because that small part of me that was ok with bowing out suddenly had to wrap its head around training again. I couldn't back out anymore, not without admitting my fear.
So instead I have 7 miles to run tonight; alone.
I'm not looking forward to it, but I am looking forward to the after part. The part where I get to text my two sisters and tell them I did it, and it was great (even if it wasn't).
I didn't roll it, never heard a pop, nothing. But it's continued to hurt and be a bother. So I finally went in to the doctor last week seeing as our half marathon was coming up on Saturday and I didn't want to really damage it.
I'm not a regular at doctors' offices and going always makes me nervous. I always worry that I'll be going in for a broken arm and they'll discover that I have an incurable disease and only ten days left to live.
I had only gone in for my ankle, but I suddenly felt like every move I made was being put on review and this man in a white coat had the power to alter my lifestyle with nothing but a look and the word sorry.
"I know that's not probably what you want to hear, but you have to stop running."
Yes, that is exactly what he said.
They put you in those rooms, alone, to wait quietly pondering over all the things you've done wrong. Giving you enough time to rethink your decisions so that when the doctor comes in you're just a mess, fragile and weepy, sorry for the smallest mistake: skipping breakfast, running on a bummed ankle, not sleeping enough, and from there all the other life decisions start to come into question.
It's miserable. I was miserable. I started to cry as I waited to get an X-ray and then again walking home.
I'm not sure why I was so heart-broken. I had my heart set on training and accomplishing this great thing, something I probably wouldn't have chosen to do except in the heat of the moment, which it was. My sister had called me 3 hours before registration closed (and since it's a lottery there was a chance I wouldn't even get picked) and I thought, what the heck?! Why not? What are the chances? Sure. No problem.
I was determined that this great, big goal was going to define my life this summer. It was the thing to keep me going, the thing to keep me distracted and busy from dating and waiting for Sol. And suddenly I wasn't going to be able to do it anymore. I actually had a doctor tell me to stop running until I heard back from the radiologist and even after seeing a podiatrist.
But the tiniest part of me was ok with it, ok with not having to push myself to do something really hard, to not go outside of my physical comfort zone. Pushing yourself physically is hard enough, and I've done it before with rock climbing, but running felt different. It felt different because it's a "single's" sport for me. I've never had someone right there next to me, pushing me, encouraging me, telling me they believe I can do it. So this tiny part of me was almost relieved to have a good excuse that I could pull on to bow out gracefully, and I was almost more disappointed with myself and feeling that way than actually having a fracture.
My sister was sweet and reminded me that there would be other marathons as I cried over the phone, but I knew this was something I didn't want to do alone. I probably couldn't do it alone, and the thought of having two sisters as a support system when the big day came was comforting. I knew I could do it if they were there beside me, but to imagine going and doing it alone was disheartening.
I would have though, if I needed to. Maybe because the vain woman inside of me was determined to not suddenly go to mush after finding out about a stress fracture. I was going to continue to cross train and exercise and not gain anymore weight and stay thin and be beautiful! The vain one was panicking, I'll admit it. She was quite distraught, and that didn't help my disappointment (I'll speak more of her one day).
I spent the rest of last week resting, no running, no cross training. Taking the prescribed naproxen from the doctor helped seeing as I took it for one day and spent that whole day dizzy and sick and in bed.
By Friday I was again worried because I hadn't heard from the radiologist and was loathing going to the podiatrist the following week. But as I walked home I received the voicemail saying my X-ray was a negative for a fracture.
Remember Christmas mornings as a kid? That's what it felt like. It was wonderful and scary at the same time, though because that small part of me that was ok with bowing out suddenly had to wrap its head around training again. I couldn't back out anymore, not without admitting my fear.
So instead I have 7 miles to run tonight; alone.
I'm not looking forward to it, but I am looking forward to the after part. The part where I get to text my two sisters and tell them I did it, and it was great (even if it wasn't).
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
missing...
Love letters in the mail.
Secret notes.
Gifts, just because.
Wearing his t-shirt around the house.
Staying up late together because we don't want to stop talking.
Making dinner together.
Setting reservations for a night out.
Holding hands in the movie theater.
Or as we're crossing the street.
Getting dressed up to go to plays.
Knowing what his favorite drink is.
Watching movies on the lap top, snuggled up in bed.
Reading books out loud.
Good morning texts.
Kissing pictures.
His hand on my knee.
Surprise work visits.
Camping trips.
And roadtrips.
Sharing a bowl of ice cream.
Stargazing.
Him.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
because i wasn't being honest
I wasn't being honest with you or with myself, and it wasn't until yesterday that I admitted that maybe this has meant more to me than I have let on. Maybe I fell a little bit harder than I expected to. Maybe I opened my heart up a little too quickly. Maybe I did daydream a little too much, wished a little too hard, ached a little too tenderly.
But where is the error in that?
Everyone is always told over and over and over and over again to live. Live. Live. Take risks, go and do, just do it, believe, reach for the stars. How many slogans tell us to take life by the horns, get back on the saddle, jump in head first, go for the high dive? So where was my error?
I spoke earlier about how I wasn't going to listen to all those other voices, how I was going to accept the bumpy road that I chose. And yesterday as I sat in a room full of friends and strangers I admitted to myself that part of this struggle has been the fact that I wasn't being honest. I wasn't being honest with anyone about just why this has all mattered.
So let me be honest.
Let me tell you why I'm fighting for me, for him, for a chance.
I'm fighting because there was something in the way he sang. In the way he expressed his dreams in song. The ones he wrote and the ones he just played. We sat forever on his bed thumbing through the whole Beatles Collection, picking song after song after song just for him to play and sing to me with his raspy voice that scratched from a weekend cold. And then he would play a song that he had wrote for someone in his future and I caught a glimpse of the man he is, and the man he some day will be.
I'm fighting because it only took him 5 days to tell me how he felt. Not 5 months. And after a long time of not having someone in his life, I felt pretty special that I was the one he picked. That from that first night of just taking me to dinner we moved through months of silence to end up in my hallway scrubbing floorboards after a night of him going out of his way to just be there for me (someone he barely knew), during a time of transitions and endings.
I'm waiting because of all the little things he did. The drives home, the hand always on my knee, the wait before I let him kiss me, the late nights of just holding me, the reservations at restaurants, the defending me to his best friends, the reading books out loud as I fell asleep on his chest, the crazy stories, the silence as we laid there - a mess of limbs and blankets.
I'm waiting because of all the things he said. And I won't say all the things he didn't say, because he said everything. He was honest, he was open, he was unabashedly exposed during it all. And I guess it's my turn to finally be exposed too.
I'm waiting and I'm fighting because I saw something that could be. Because I saw a chance to do something good, to make something good of me and someone I cared about. I'm fighting because I kind of wanted to tell people I was his and he was mine. Because I wanted to see if I could maybe, actually, possibly, fall in love with him. And see if maybe he could love me too. Because I saw someone who wanted what I wanted. Someone who treasures family and love and life as I do. I saw someone who struggled, who felt pain, who felt joy, who felt frustration, who felt ecstasy. I saw someone I wanted to make smile. Someone I wanted to bug, to be bored with, to be angry with, to cry with, to kiss. Someone who could understand me better than I did.
I saw something.
I guess that's why I'm here. Still wondering, still waiting.
So please tell me where my error is. "Where was my fault in [wanting to love] you with all my heart?"
But where is the error in that?
Everyone is always told over and over and over and over again to live. Live. Live. Take risks, go and do, just do it, believe, reach for the stars. How many slogans tell us to take life by the horns, get back on the saddle, jump in head first, go for the high dive? So where was my error?
I spoke earlier about how I wasn't going to listen to all those other voices, how I was going to accept the bumpy road that I chose. And yesterday as I sat in a room full of friends and strangers I admitted to myself that part of this struggle has been the fact that I wasn't being honest. I wasn't being honest with anyone about just why this has all mattered.
So let me be honest.
Let me tell you why I'm fighting for me, for him, for a chance.
I'm fighting because there was something in the way he sang. In the way he expressed his dreams in song. The ones he wrote and the ones he just played. We sat forever on his bed thumbing through the whole Beatles Collection, picking song after song after song just for him to play and sing to me with his raspy voice that scratched from a weekend cold. And then he would play a song that he had wrote for someone in his future and I caught a glimpse of the man he is, and the man he some day will be.
I'm fighting because it only took him 5 days to tell me how he felt. Not 5 months. And after a long time of not having someone in his life, I felt pretty special that I was the one he picked. That from that first night of just taking me to dinner we moved through months of silence to end up in my hallway scrubbing floorboards after a night of him going out of his way to just be there for me (someone he barely knew), during a time of transitions and endings.
I'm waiting because of all the little things he did. The drives home, the hand always on my knee, the wait before I let him kiss me, the late nights of just holding me, the reservations at restaurants, the defending me to his best friends, the reading books out loud as I fell asleep on his chest, the crazy stories, the silence as we laid there - a mess of limbs and blankets.
I'm waiting because of all the things he said. And I won't say all the things he didn't say, because he said everything. He was honest, he was open, he was unabashedly exposed during it all. And I guess it's my turn to finally be exposed too.
I'm waiting and I'm fighting because I saw something that could be. Because I saw a chance to do something good, to make something good of me and someone I cared about. I'm fighting because I kind of wanted to tell people I was his and he was mine. Because I wanted to see if I could maybe, actually, possibly, fall in love with him. And see if maybe he could love me too. Because I saw someone who wanted what I wanted. Someone who treasures family and love and life as I do. I saw someone who struggled, who felt pain, who felt joy, who felt frustration, who felt ecstasy. I saw someone I wanted to make smile. Someone I wanted to bug, to be bored with, to be angry with, to cry with, to kiss. Someone who could understand me better than I did.
I saw something.
I guess that's why I'm here. Still wondering, still waiting.
So please tell me where my error is. "Where was my fault in [wanting to love] you with all my heart?"
Monday, June 30, 2014
dream life
A week ago yesterday, Em and I were headed home from beautiful San Diego. As the conversations of a 22-year-old friendship and roadtrip music had died down and as we drove through sleepy Utah, she asked me what my dream life would be.
When my sisters and I were younger and we played The Game of Life, I always wanted to have the Country Cottage with its white picket fence and two cars full of kids. I was going to be an artist with a paycheck of $100,000. I had a great imagination then.
Over the years that dream has been reshaped often. In the beginning years of college it was often formed and carved upon by whoever I was dating, with a few small parts of what I had wanted as a kid. I was easily swayed by what they wanted. Maybe not swayed. I formed who I was based on them. I hadn't really found myself yet. All I knew was that I wanted someone. And a family. And a house. I didn't really care about the details.
But as I've gotten older and found my own footing. As I've discovered all the parts of me that have been hiding, the parts that will be forever here to stay, the parts I love, I've started to recognize the value in having some insistence on the details.
I don't think I'm picky, most importantly I want to marry and start a family with someone who loves me and if what comes with it isn't exactly how I had imagined, I don't care. As long as I'm happy and he's happy and our children are happy.
But as Em and I drove through the soft light of dusk, the green hills of central Utah twinkling with farm light, I told her what I wanted my dream life to be, because I finally really knew what I wanted. I finally knew the lifestyle I desired and hoped to create...
I'll marry someone who's fitfully, patiently, warmly in love with me, and I him. We'll have kids, four or five. Though maybe we'll give ourselves a year to travel and just be the two of us taking on the world.
We'll have a house with a big porch and a bit of land some place green. There will be a garden, maybe a barn, but definitely a shed with a worn down old VW bug for the kids. A pair of dogs and maybe chickens.
We'll have a studio split in two with one side for my writing table and another side for his desk for whatever he does. My heart still yearns for a creative soul, but if he's an accountant I'm sure I'll manage.
We'll go on adventures as often as possible. We'll conquer mountains and explore the deep waters. And every now and then we'll go live some place exotic for a year while I research and write a book.
We'll raise our children to love God and the earth and all that is in it. We'll nurture, guide, and protect them to the best of our abilities. We'll start our own family traditions and give them some place safe and cozy to always come home to.
And we'll continue loving each other and doing good in the world. Kissing the scrapes and bruises, wiping the dripping ice cream from our chins, and forever holding hands. Fingers intertwined.
When my sisters and I were younger and we played The Game of Life, I always wanted to have the Country Cottage with its white picket fence and two cars full of kids. I was going to be an artist with a paycheck of $100,000. I had a great imagination then.
Over the years that dream has been reshaped often. In the beginning years of college it was often formed and carved upon by whoever I was dating, with a few small parts of what I had wanted as a kid. I was easily swayed by what they wanted. Maybe not swayed. I formed who I was based on them. I hadn't really found myself yet. All I knew was that I wanted someone. And a family. And a house. I didn't really care about the details.
But as I've gotten older and found my own footing. As I've discovered all the parts of me that have been hiding, the parts that will be forever here to stay, the parts I love, I've started to recognize the value in having some insistence on the details.
I don't think I'm picky, most importantly I want to marry and start a family with someone who loves me and if what comes with it isn't exactly how I had imagined, I don't care. As long as I'm happy and he's happy and our children are happy.
But as Em and I drove through the soft light of dusk, the green hills of central Utah twinkling with farm light, I told her what I wanted my dream life to be, because I finally really knew what I wanted. I finally knew the lifestyle I desired and hoped to create...
I'll marry someone who's fitfully, patiently, warmly in love with me, and I him. We'll have kids, four or five. Though maybe we'll give ourselves a year to travel and just be the two of us taking on the world.
We'll have a house with a big porch and a bit of land some place green. There will be a garden, maybe a barn, but definitely a shed with a worn down old VW bug for the kids. A pair of dogs and maybe chickens.
We'll have a studio split in two with one side for my writing table and another side for his desk for whatever he does. My heart still yearns for a creative soul, but if he's an accountant I'm sure I'll manage.
We'll go on adventures as often as possible. We'll conquer mountains and explore the deep waters. And every now and then we'll go live some place exotic for a year while I research and write a book.
We'll raise our children to love God and the earth and all that is in it. We'll nurture, guide, and protect them to the best of our abilities. We'll start our own family traditions and give them some place safe and cozy to always come home to.
And we'll continue loving each other and doing good in the world. Kissing the scrapes and bruises, wiping the dripping ice cream from our chins, and forever holding hands. Fingers intertwined.
Friday, June 27, 2014
all the love you can give
I recently read this post on a friend's blog (I say friend but really he's an acquaintance from The Porch who I told the first time meeting him that I wanted to meet his mom). Aside from that, and the fact that I have been blog stalking him endlessly during my down time at work.... this specific post was about The Sound of Music and all about our dreams, our situations, our realities. It was about looking inward and being honest with ourselves.
I got to this specific part of his post:
"Mother Superior tells Maria to be willing to climb every mountain and do all of the hard things and self-reflection she needed to do to find her dream, 'a dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life, for as long as you live.'"
And it struck me that I haven't given my dreams all the love that I could give them, and then I wondered what that even meant.
He went on to talk about how Maria has to be brave and strong enough "to do what feels right and true according to her capabilities and life circumstances."
I feel like I've done a good job in always being honest with myself, in admitting my fears and in knowing what I want. But I got to thinking about this past week and the discouragement and frustration it has been and maybe I haven't been brave enough to do what has felt right to me all along.
I've been raised to say a prayer every morning and every night, but lately I've really only been good at the night part. Most times when I remember in the mornings, it's during my walk up to work, so I stumble out a quick thank you and please-bless-us. But it just so happens that the morning before I read Eli's post I found myself mindlessly stitching together something to resemble a heartfelt plea. And as I stuttered my way up to work, I found myself really talking to my Father in Heaven. It was then that a groggy lightning bolt hit- I've always felt that my Father in Heaven has faith in me and trusts me to make good decisions (despite the years of making some really dumb ones, He still believes in me). But even though my Lord trusted me, I didn't trust me. I didn't believe I had it in me to make a good choice. Especially when it came to love because, well, I've done a fair job of always making what seems like the wrong choice. I've had moments where I have selfishly told the universe and my Father in Heaven I was going to love someone despite all the red flags and signs, I've had moments where everything felt right and good and in the end that person made a choice to not continue forward, to not love.
And then I've had moments like now, where all the goodness and hope is staring me in the face and all I can do is get defensive and worry about what others must think of me because I chose the hard way. I know I chose the road of heartbreak. But the fear of judgement and worry from others has almost paralyzed me. I find myself lying in bed asking what to do, what to do. Someone pick for me, someone choose for me because I don't trust myself to make the choice you all want me to make.
But that's not what life or love should be. I should be making choices on what I want, I should be following my dream. And even if our dreams are similar, my journey there is my own.
I need to do what feels right and true to me, depending on my capabilities and my heart. Because I am the one who gets to love that dream "every day of my life, for as long as I live." So even though it may seem stupid and wasteful to others, I've chosen something I believe in and something I could maybe love. If my God can trust me, then I should be able to trust me too. And trust that I can make not only good decisions, but ones that I want and love and that really are good, even though it may not seem like it to those on the outside. So I'll keep praying for my personal miracle and courage in myself. And I'll keep trusting and believing in that person and hoping that maybe he'll come and prove everyone wrong. And if not, I'll find a new hope (wow, didn't even try for that. Too much Star Wars lately).
And while I patiently wait I will enjoy my life now. Because it is good, and all is well. And all the worry of what I feel others might be thinking won't make the empty nights any easier. Being me and enjoying what I do have is what will help me up that mountain.
I got to this specific part of his post:
"Mother Superior tells Maria to be willing to climb every mountain and do all of the hard things and self-reflection she needed to do to find her dream, 'a dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life, for as long as you live.'"
And it struck me that I haven't given my dreams all the love that I could give them, and then I wondered what that even meant.
He went on to talk about how Maria has to be brave and strong enough "to do what feels right and true according to her capabilities and life circumstances."
I feel like I've done a good job in always being honest with myself, in admitting my fears and in knowing what I want. But I got to thinking about this past week and the discouragement and frustration it has been and maybe I haven't been brave enough to do what has felt right to me all along.
I've been raised to say a prayer every morning and every night, but lately I've really only been good at the night part. Most times when I remember in the mornings, it's during my walk up to work, so I stumble out a quick thank you and please-bless-us. But it just so happens that the morning before I read Eli's post I found myself mindlessly stitching together something to resemble a heartfelt plea. And as I stuttered my way up to work, I found myself really talking to my Father in Heaven. It was then that a groggy lightning bolt hit- I've always felt that my Father in Heaven has faith in me and trusts me to make good decisions (despite the years of making some really dumb ones, He still believes in me). But even though my Lord trusted me, I didn't trust me. I didn't believe I had it in me to make a good choice. Especially when it came to love because, well, I've done a fair job of always making what seems like the wrong choice. I've had moments where I have selfishly told the universe and my Father in Heaven I was going to love someone despite all the red flags and signs, I've had moments where everything felt right and good and in the end that person made a choice to not continue forward, to not love.
And then I've had moments like now, where all the goodness and hope is staring me in the face and all I can do is get defensive and worry about what others must think of me because I chose the hard way. I know I chose the road of heartbreak. But the fear of judgement and worry from others has almost paralyzed me. I find myself lying in bed asking what to do, what to do. Someone pick for me, someone choose for me because I don't trust myself to make the choice you all want me to make.
But that's not what life or love should be. I should be making choices on what I want, I should be following my dream. And even if our dreams are similar, my journey there is my own.
I need to do what feels right and true to me, depending on my capabilities and my heart. Because I am the one who gets to love that dream "every day of my life, for as long as I live." So even though it may seem stupid and wasteful to others, I've chosen something I believe in and something I could maybe love. If my God can trust me, then I should be able to trust me too. And trust that I can make not only good decisions, but ones that I want and love and that really are good, even though it may not seem like it to those on the outside. So I'll keep praying for my personal miracle and courage in myself. And I'll keep trusting and believing in that person and hoping that maybe he'll come and prove everyone wrong. And if not, I'll find a new hope (wow, didn't even try for that. Too much Star Wars lately).
And while I patiently wait I will enjoy my life now. Because it is good, and all is well. And all the worry of what I feel others might be thinking won't make the empty nights any easier. Being me and enjoying what I do have is what will help me up that mountain.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Monday, June 2, 2014
because pretending is good for the heart sometimes
I pull his t-shirt out of my dirty laundry basket and put it on. I slept in it that first week after things changed so it needs a good wash. But I don't care. I'm off to take a nap and I want to pretend that today is actually 3 weeks ago and he's going to call me in a couple hours to plan dinner and tell me he can't wait to see me.
I climb into bed and snuggle his sweater that I've had since the concert in my arms, and pretend it still smells like him.
Before my eyelids droop I tell myself that if this was all over I wouldn't still have these things.
My heart rests for a minute with that hope and I finally drift off.
I climb into bed and snuggle his sweater that I've had since the concert in my arms, and pretend it still smells like him.
Before my eyelids droop I tell myself that if this was all over I wouldn't still have these things.
My heart rests for a minute with that hope and I finally drift off.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Dear Sol
Dear Sol,
I really wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about you today, like I do every day.
But especially this evening. I went to a meeting only a couple hours ago and when asked a question you popped into my mind on your own volition. I took it as a sign. And then I thought about Meg Ryan as Annie in Sleepless in Seattle and how she says she doesn't believe in signs but then proceeds to spend the rest of the film chasing after "a sign" - Tom Hanks.
Can a person be a sign?
Is looking for signs bad?
It made me realize I still haven't seen An Affair to Remember and that I don't know if you can even stomach a chick flick. You probably can't, seeing as the last film we watched together was In Bruges, which don't get me wrong - I loved. But would you watch An Affair to Remember with me? Then I realize you probably could, because there's something special about you and love - like you have a reservoir of it waiting to gush over from the edges. You seem to feel things deeply, which is why I like you so much.
I thought of you earlier too, while in the shower. No, not like that. I wondered if you and Asher were going to watch Game of Thrones tonight and how I might skip out on going to the boys' place since they remind me of you. Plus they're watching Moonrise Kingdom tonight and I'm not sure I could handle it since Wes Anderson was something we shared. Does Asher still give you a hard time about me?
Then I remembered how just the other day I found the ticket stub to when you and I went and saw Her in Salt Lake for our second date all the way back in February and how stupid I was to not go home with you that night. And then I thought of all the things I've wanted to tell you in the last couple of weeks and they seemed so unimportant when I realized that all I truly wanted was to curl up next to you and be bored.
I remember you once saying you were a boring person. It made me laugh.
Can I be boring with you?
I found a blog that I love - Bon Iver Erotic Stories (so saucy, I know). I envy their life. I want to have it one day. I think you would be fun to share it with, and we could share our erotic stories about living on a farm and loving each other passionately. Then I stopped myself from thinking further since I was getting way too far ahead of myself because, well, I'm still waiting for you to call. I know you will. I just don't know when.
Maybe I should turn it into a game to make the time go by quicker...
I really wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about you - every day. I can't seem to get you out of my mind. I think it's a sign.
Mia
I really wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about you today, like I do every day.
But especially this evening. I went to a meeting only a couple hours ago and when asked a question you popped into my mind on your own volition. I took it as a sign. And then I thought about Meg Ryan as Annie in Sleepless in Seattle and how she says she doesn't believe in signs but then proceeds to spend the rest of the film chasing after "a sign" - Tom Hanks.
Can a person be a sign?
Is looking for signs bad?
It made me realize I still haven't seen An Affair to Remember and that I don't know if you can even stomach a chick flick. You probably can't, seeing as the last film we watched together was In Bruges, which don't get me wrong - I loved. But would you watch An Affair to Remember with me? Then I realize you probably could, because there's something special about you and love - like you have a reservoir of it waiting to gush over from the edges. You seem to feel things deeply, which is why I like you so much.
I thought of you earlier too, while in the shower. No, not like that. I wondered if you and Asher were going to watch Game of Thrones tonight and how I might skip out on going to the boys' place since they remind me of you. Plus they're watching Moonrise Kingdom tonight and I'm not sure I could handle it since Wes Anderson was something we shared. Does Asher still give you a hard time about me?
Then I remembered how just the other day I found the ticket stub to when you and I went and saw Her in Salt Lake for our second date all the way back in February and how stupid I was to not go home with you that night. And then I thought of all the things I've wanted to tell you in the last couple of weeks and they seemed so unimportant when I realized that all I truly wanted was to curl up next to you and be bored.
I remember you once saying you were a boring person. It made me laugh.
Can I be boring with you?
I found a blog that I love - Bon Iver Erotic Stories (so saucy, I know). I envy their life. I want to have it one day. I think you would be fun to share it with, and we could share our erotic stories about living on a farm and loving each other passionately. Then I stopped myself from thinking further since I was getting way too far ahead of myself because, well, I'm still waiting for you to call. I know you will. I just don't know when.
Maybe I should turn it into a game to make the time go by quicker...
I really wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about you - every day. I can't seem to get you out of my mind. I think it's a sign.
Mia
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
vacation from my problems
I stepped onto the elevator today and found myself wishing it would break down. Wishing that I would be stuck. I don't really know why, just that I was tired.
Tired of being strong.
Tired of believing that everything was going to be ok, because in that moment things weren't ok.
I wanted to break down, just like I wanted the elevator to break down. Just fall apart in a metal box hidden away from the world for a few hours, not having to be accountable or answer to anyone.
There is a joke that no one really thinks about running away from home until they're an adult. It's not that I want to run away from home, although sometimes this town just about sucks the confidence and vivacity out of any living thing. It's more that I just want to run away from my problems, my responsibilities (thank you Bill Murray and Peter Pan). I know that you are suppose to carry them with grace, but some days it's just too damn hard.
And other days, I just want to be left alone. Stuck in an elevator with no one to touch or talk to me.
Often times I get sick of my own voice, hearing myself reiterate to the tenth person that day what I'm feeling and going through. But you know something? I made the decision and the only person I am accountable to is me (and my Father in Heaven). So stop telling me how to do things, stop giving advice, stop trying to protect me.
I can handle it. Probably better than I realize, but let me figure that out. And if I'm going to get hurt or get my heart broken... let me.
I'm at peace with who I am and the choice I made. And I'm just so tired of having to give anymore explanations.
Tired of being strong.
Tired of believing that everything was going to be ok, because in that moment things weren't ok.
I wanted to break down, just like I wanted the elevator to break down. Just fall apart in a metal box hidden away from the world for a few hours, not having to be accountable or answer to anyone.
There is a joke that no one really thinks about running away from home until they're an adult. It's not that I want to run away from home, although sometimes this town just about sucks the confidence and vivacity out of any living thing. It's more that I just want to run away from my problems, my responsibilities (thank you Bill Murray and Peter Pan). I know that you are suppose to carry them with grace, but some days it's just too damn hard.
And other days, I just want to be left alone. Stuck in an elevator with no one to touch or talk to me.
Often times I get sick of my own voice, hearing myself reiterate to the tenth person that day what I'm feeling and going through. But you know something? I made the decision and the only person I am accountable to is me (and my Father in Heaven). So stop telling me how to do things, stop giving advice, stop trying to protect me.
I can handle it. Probably better than I realize, but let me figure that out. And if I'm going to get hurt or get my heart broken... let me.
I'm at peace with who I am and the choice I made. And I'm just so tired of having to give anymore explanations.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
because kerouac
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars"
I'm drawn to the creative type. The ones who burn, the ones who pine.
Maybe it's because I feel like they understand.
It took me years to finally realize what it was I wanted to do and where I wanted to go with life and my career. And those years were a mess.
A beautiful mess of disaster and chaos. But it was worth it.
It was worth it to question and wonder and discover. To pull everything apart, including me, to find out who I am and what I want. To dig down deep and find my foundation.
So maybe that's why I like the mad ones. The ones who have rough edges and create beautiful messes, too. The ones who don't know all the answers but can read Wordsworth and kiss you with meaning.
The ones who see beauty in the imperfection and still love passionately.
I'm drawn to the creative type. The ones who burn, the ones who pine.
Maybe it's because I feel like they understand.
It took me years to finally realize what it was I wanted to do and where I wanted to go with life and my career. And those years were a mess.
A beautiful mess of disaster and chaos. But it was worth it.
It was worth it to question and wonder and discover. To pull everything apart, including me, to find out who I am and what I want. To dig down deep and find my foundation.
So maybe that's why I like the mad ones. The ones who have rough edges and create beautiful messes, too. The ones who don't know all the answers but can read Wordsworth and kiss you with meaning.
The ones who see beauty in the imperfection and still love passionately.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
it reminds me of the first time i met him
A poem.
A poem I wrote in that romantic poetry class where we first met. Met? Noticed each other. It reminds me of him. Reminds me of the first thought I had when I saw him across the room - "I want to know him." And how I was never brave enough to go sit next to him at the front of the room.
Speckled light through green
sets upon my dreams
there I below and
he above we stood
waiting out the day
The river full and
cold, sat there between
the mountain and our
path, calling out to
me waiting below.
No fear or worry
edged into my mind
just peaceful wanting.
So there I did sit
looking for what could
come, in that shade of
speckled light through green.
A poem I wrote in that romantic poetry class where we first met. Met? Noticed each other. It reminds me of him. Reminds me of the first thought I had when I saw him across the room - "I want to know him." And how I was never brave enough to go sit next to him at the front of the room.
Speckled light through green
sets upon my dreams
there I below and
he above we stood
waiting out the day
The river full and
cold, sat there between
the mountain and our
path, calling out to
me waiting below.
No fear or worry
edged into my mind
just peaceful wanting.
So there I did sit
looking for what could
come, in that shade of
speckled light through green.
Monday, May 19, 2014
please let me scorn you for treating me right
We went to a concert - Bombay Bicycle Club - a couple weeks ago. I hadn't planned on it. In fact, Sol was just suppose to check to see if there were extra tickets. He checked, and then bought me one.
Liz Lawrence was the opener. Sol joked that he wouldn't be surprised if she became my new favorite but I didn't want him to be right. It was cliche. Half way through her performance, with my jaw dropped, I turned to Sol and told him she was my new crush. He was right.
A couple days later we were driving home and I pulled Sol's phone from his hand to choose something to listen to and I found Liz's album. He told me that he had bought it for me. He knew that at some point we would be driving home and I would want to listen to my new favorite singer. He bought it for me.
There is no other way that I could possibly describe how I feel for him, except this song.
So, please let me love you black and blue.
her site
Thursday, May 15, 2014
because sometimes i fall apart
I found myself on the bathroom floor at work crying this morning because. Because I like you so much and it scares me. Scares the hell out of me. Because what if you never like me as much as I do you and what if one day you realize that and rather than give yourself the chance you walk away...? It scares me because what if I lose you? I can't do this again - mend a heart that's been torn to shreds and bruised till nothing bleeds out of it but ash. I can't be alone, every night waiting for someone to come hold my fragile body, scarred from years of pain and struggle and happy moments.
I found myself on the bathroom floor because I feel that if this falls apart it will be all my fault because I don't know how to do anything right. I push too much, I care too much, I'm there too often, I need affection too soon.
Because my insecurities woke up yesterday with a vengeance and have torn at my heart and soul until I am no more than the tape and string that holds me together.
I found myself on the bathroom floor because I feel that if this falls apart it will be all my fault because I don't know how to do anything right. I push too much, I care too much, I'm there too often, I need affection too soon.
Because my insecurities woke up yesterday with a vengeance and have torn at my heart and soul until I am no more than the tape and string that holds me together.
Life can be just as wonderful
I don't know what it is but every episode of every show I have watched the last couple days has been about people taking chances in relationships. Specifically about people who have been so stuck in their ways that when someone special comes along things get thrown off balance. But the people in these shows always say yes. They always run after the girl. They say they want to try it, they want to fight and make it work.
It's been driving me crazy. Life doesn't work that way. Instead it's usually a string of conversations about figuring things out. No grand gestures, just moments of panic, insecurity, and lots of worry. Wondering what the final decision is. Too many nights spent "discussing" and contemplating, rolling the fragile bits of a relationship in our hands trying to mold and mend the rough edges.
I hate it. I want to scream "Just do it!" Why is it so hard for some people to just open up and let good things happen? Why do we fear change? I have always believed that every relationship is a risk, whether you think you're going to spend eternity with this person or not, you're risking a part of your life and your heart to let them in. But if it does end "happily ever after" wasn't it a risk worth taking?
I've never been good at being stuck in my ways, but I thought that was a good thing. It has always been easy for me to fall head over heels for someone, to jump in head first risking it all. I don't know what it is like to be alone for that long, to be unsure when something good does walk in, but that is a post for another day.
But I am trying to understand. I'm trying to be careful and recognize that sometimes people aren't full of crap, and sometimes they actually just struggle with things I won't relate to. I'm trying to be patient and remember life isn't like the movies. But that doesn't mean it can't be just as wonderful.
I've never been good at being stuck in my ways, but I thought that was a good thing. It has always been easy for me to fall head over heels for someone, to jump in head first risking it all. I don't know what it is like to be alone for that long, to be unsure when something good does walk in, but that is a post for another day.
But I am trying to understand. I'm trying to be careful and recognize that sometimes people aren't full of crap, and sometimes they actually just struggle with things I won't relate to. I'm trying to be patient and remember life isn't like the movies. But that doesn't mean it can't be just as wonderful.
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