Dating Is Not For Sissies

Sometimes, I talk to myself ... not in the schizophrenic way, of course.  It's just that sometimes, I have to sit down and pretend that I'm talking to someone else in order to learn how to be kind to myself.  Why is that?  Why is it so much easier to be gentler with others than with ourselves?

Well, either way, before bed, a short letter from me ... to me:

Hi beloved,

Today's been a hard one, I know.

He doesn't want you, I know.

And for so long, it's felt like nobody does ... well, no man, at least.

And even though you know that God is looking out for you, and even though You believe He has a plan, and even though you're trying to be strong and trust that this is just your time to wait, well, this whole dating world seems incredibly random and confusing, and ... not for the faint of heart.

Your friends and family have seen your pain and tried to help ease it as best they can.  They've said things like:

"The waiting is so hard, but when you finally meet the right one, it will all feel worth it."

"32 is still young!"

"I'm so sorry, friend."

"Maybe this is just part of dating, the bitter with the sweet."

Or, my personal favorite....

"He's a douche bag."

****

You are so blessed to have such amazing friends.  But, still, there's the wound.  Of not feeling wanted. Because every woman needs to feel wanted.  

I could tell you so many things.  I could tell you that it just takes one.  I could tell you that you are the 567th billion person to experience the pain of unrequited affection for another, so, welcome to the club of humanity.  I could tell you to get busy living, and he'll show up when you're not looking for him.  I could tell you that he WILL be worth it.  I could tell you so many things.

And they're probably all true.

But, tonight, I just want you to know that I love you.  And that I think you're worth it.  And that someday, he will too.

And don't forget to keep laughing,

me

Milestones

So I payed off my car loan today. Now, granted, I bought it used, and it has over 100,000 miles on it. But, it's a Toyota and I'm crossing my fingers I've still got a few more years with it. And, it's all mine!! :) Seriously, though, this feels like a milestone, a small milestone, but a milestone nonetheless.

And I finished with all my clients at my clinic yesterday. I had all my last sessions and drove away sort of in shock that that milestone is now complete.

And my graduate degree should post any day now. Really truly, oh lovely registrar employees, would you PLEASE POST MY DEGREE ALREADY?! There, now that that's out of my system.

I feel like i'm in the middle of a lot of life transitions and milestones...

And soon, it will be on to the job search and the home search, and the school loans.

I've decided that there are two ways to look at this.

I can EITHER think to myself,

"Self (cause I do talk to myself, I admit), welcome to the rat race. You've paid off a loan, gotten a degree, moved out of a house. And now it's time to start paying off a new loan, work on the new professional milestone (accruing hours toward my license), and find a new place to move into that you will eventually move out of. Cheers."

(I know, cynical, huh? But those thoughts do come.)

OR,

I can say,

"Self. Take a moment. Stop. Rest. Enjoy the view. You did it. You paid off a loan. You moved out of a house. You learned how to sit with clients in their grief and stress and questions. And you did it on the days you felt like it AND (more importantly), on the days that you didn't. Yes, you made mistakes, several, actually. But you are persevering. Step by step, rung by rung, up you go. And now, as a reward, you have a whole new slew of places to experience, lessons to learn, milestones to walk toward. Keep on movin' sister. But take a moment, first. Stop. Celebrate what you've accomplished. Thank all who've helped you along the way. And smile at the joy of a life so rich in what matters."

I can say one of those two things to myself. And while I know that there's truth in the first way of thinking, I think there's much more love and life AND truth in the second way.

The second way it is.

Here's to a car that is all my own (mileage and all) and to the job applications to come!!! :)

Dear Rain,

I love you.

A lot.

I love the way you sound.

I love the way you make the air feel.

I love the way colors get brighter after you leave.

I love the way hot drinks taste on the days you are here.

I love that you enable me to wear scarves.

I even love when you surprise me, such that, while out on my morning walk with Charlie, he and I both end up soaked, trying to race home halfway through the walk, before you get us completely drenched.

I love that we got drenched anyway. And that I ended up laughing and humble, like a little kid, wiping water from my face as we splashed along.

But now I am warm again, bundled up at a coffee shop.

And I love that too.

And you made it all possible.

Thanks for showing up today.

Your fan,

Charlotte

A Letter To Myself

Dear Reader, I seem to love letter writing these days. I hope you don't mind.

Dear Charlotte,

Hang in there, girl.

I know you're feeling heavy these days (not physically, because -- in an effort to combat the stress and take care of yourself, you've actually lost a few unnecessary pounds -- go you!). But I know you're feeling sort of like an elephant sauntered along and sat down on your chest one day when you weren't looking. Well, you weren't looking, because you saw -- out of the corner of your eye -- that that elephant was there. And you thought that maybe, if you didn't make eye contact, he might not notice you. That's the way it works in the streets of NYC, right? Why wouldn't it work with an elephant? But he did see you (dangit), and now he's sitting on your chest.

And the worst part is, he's not the kind of elephant you can just wiggle your way out from under. It's gonna take some head-on-face-your-fears-maneuvering on your part. And you might have to actually disassemble him, rather than trying to get out from under him.

And he's not solid either. He'll only come apart in pieces.

You'll have to lop his arms off by facing that most frightening of worlds, finances (gasp!). You'll need to look over your account balances and budget and face the grim realities of grad school shortage. It's not gonna be pleasant; I won't lie to you. But, it's also not permanent. This too, shall pass, beloved. I know you wish you could buy a new shirt to make yourself feel better. But, the rub is, that actually won't make you feel better; it'll make you feel worse. Because, then, you'll feel irresponsible, and that'll make you want to avoid your finances even more. And well, you know how that cycle goes. Let's not repeat it, you and me; we can do this.

The good news is, his legs will come off pretty easily. Just make sure you sleep eight hours a night (even seven some nights will do), and you won't feel like such a grump; I promise. It's amazing how much a good night's sleep can change the colors you see.

His trunk will be a bit harder, but even that isn't impossible. His trunk can only be removed by sitting yourself down and writing those papers that you sooo don't want to write. I'm sorry, sister; there's just no way around that fact.

And his body.... The body is actually not so heavy, though it probably seems like it. His body is composed of lots of things you can't see ... emotions you don't realize you're feeling, worries you don't realize you're worrying, cares you can't control. I guess I take that back. His body is very heavy. But, you don't have to bear that weight alone. God's more than got your back on that one (pun intended). Take a deep breath and try to trust. These are the things that have to be given back to Him every day, sometimes, many times a day. You weren't made to carry them. They're too heavy.

His head is of the ambiguous variety. It's all discombobulated and twisty-like, and it's hard to get a grasp on it, isn't it? It's all the ways you're falling short. It's the ring around the toilet that you haven't scrubbed. It's the email you haven't responded to. It's the shirt that's hanging on your door knob, waiting to be hemmed. It's the scruffy fur that sticks out from under your dog's collar, whispering, "cut me, wash me." It's the birthday present you've yet to buy, the papers you've yet to file, the mail you've yet to open. I have a word of advice for you on this head of his. Grab him by the face. Use both your hands. Tough love is required. Look him straight in the eyes and say, "Quit making me feel crappy for all I haven't done. There are only so many hours in the day, and I am not superhuman. I will do what I can. But I will go to sleep with some things unfinished. Quit taunting me. Quit speaking to me of failure. I am fighting. I return phone calls. I wash dishes. I turn in my homework. I walk my dog. I call my family and tell them I love them and ask about their days. And what's more?! I work with men who don't know how to manage their temper, because no one has ever taught them, and they got beat up by their fathers and saw things little eyes shouldn't see. I hold them accountable for their actions while teaching them grace. And I challenge them to be better even though they are bigger than me. I sit with couples who don't know how not to fight. I pass kleenex to hurting women whose husbands have left them and help them find a way to mourn and live at the same time. I love people. So don't you make me feel like I'm a failure. Because I do pretty well, all things considered. And I'm not finished yet." You might even tell those eyes that are staring at you to "shut up," even though your mom told you those are ugly words. I think she'd understand now.

So, Charlotte, take heart. We can do this.

I know you don't like this elephant, not one bit. But, the longer you just stare up at him, the weaker you're gonna feel to change things.

Remember that moment a few years ago? You were talking to your mom, crying because you couldn't figure out what to do with your life. And you didn't know where to begin. The resume-writing, job-searching, city-finding ... it all felt so ... BIG. Your mom stopped you, and said, "Honey, you are trying to do it all today. Big things can't be taken on all at once. Just do one thing toward your goal today. Just one. Do you know how to eat an elephant? You eat it one bite at a time."

One bite today, Charlotte. Or two, at most. We can do this.

I love you,
me

A Love Letter

Dear Hubs,

I miss you. I know I don't know you yet. Funny, isn't it? Well, maybe funny isn't the right word. Strange, perhaps? That you can miss someone you don't know. That I can....

I wonder what you'll think of me writing you a letter like this once I know you and you can read it. Will you find it endearing that I wrote to you? I hope so.

Missing you happens at random moments, my love. The other day, it happened when I rolled over first thing in the morning, my mind not yet fully awake, and expected to roll onto the soft skin of your chest, but found a flat, empty mattress instead. Sometimes missing you is more practical. It's in the rattle of my car engine, in my wishing you were there to listen to it and to take my car to the shop if need-be. And sometimes missing you is simply a longing that sits in my chest and drapes itself across moments that should be happy, but are only partly so, because you aren't there to share them with me.

I am well, love. I don't want you to worry, not that you could anyway. Most days, I am content with my life. I have been so blessed. I have some of the best friends in the whole wide world; someday you will meet them. And I have about as devoted a set of parents as you could find and sisters and brothers-in-law and nieces and nephews. And the whole clan is woven into the fiber of my being, such that I never feel entirely alone.

But, still, at unexpected moments, I miss you.

I miss the children we'll have, the way their features will tell family histories and stories, miss the way I'll see a more beautiful reflection of myself in your eyes ... because love does that you know, makes you feel prettier. I miss the way I'll love you, a way that'll make me stronger and braver and more vulnerable all at once. I think I even miss your mannerisms, the way they'll feel so familiar, the way I'll learn to read the subtle intonations of your voice, so that I'll know whether you are having a good day or a bad one as soon as you say hello. And some days, what I miss the most, is that you'll want to hear my stories, is that I'll tell them to you and know that you care. I have lots of stories, my handsome man.

I know our love won't be perfect. Judging by what I know of marriage, I imagine there will be days where you don't like me much at all, and days where you irritate the heck out of me. I know you'll have quirks that'll bug me. And I've lived with myself long enough to know I'll have my fair share of traits that'll bug you too. Maybe we'll say things we don't mean in fights. Maybe we'll say things we do ... and that'll be even worse. Maybe you'll leave your dishes in the sink, no matter how many times I ask you to put them in the dishwasher. Maybe you'll get completely exasperated at my passive refusal to keep my checkbook balanced. Maybe one of us will get sick. Maybe some days, you won't want my stories. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But, still, I miss you. And I wonder why -- if it was Adam who was made first and had to wander around the earth, naming animals while he waited for Eve -- why I feel like I'm wandering the earth, naming things, growing things, learning things, while I wait for you. If I am substance of your very own ribs, the strong cage that protects your heart, where are you? And why do you keep me waiting?

Maybe you don't. Maybe it's I who's not ready. Or maybe life is more random than either of us would like. And maybe that doesn't mean that God is not good, that He doesn't have good gifts for us. I have known so many of His good gifts. I know He's not holding out on me. He's not like that. So, I wait.

But tonight, I miss you.

Signed with love,
Your wife

meandering thoughts on faith....

And perhaps, this is faith....
that as I walk upstairs -- the nightly ritual that graduates me from daily living to slumber,
with thoughts of impossibly complex conversations still ruminating,
with thoughts of complex life,
weighted down by the burden of not knowing, not seeing,

that I open up a space for You,
infront, behind, beside, within,
that I wait to see You face to face,
that I trust -- even though my heart is bewildered at this thing called life, the tangible and mystery of it all -- that not only are You with me (though I cannot feel or hear You),

but that You Are.

And because of that, I have an orbit. I am not reeling, freefalling into empty space (even when it feels that way). You are my Sun, the Maker of my seasons, the One who tucks me in and wakes me again in the morning, to start anew, who greets me with a sunrise and bird songs, "Good morning, my darling, my beloved one...."

Perhaps this is faith.
I hope that it is faith.
It is small, tarnished, a humble offering.
But I give it to You, from my heart.