a glimpse

I’m going to rant, which I suppose I’ve been doing all week, but this is angrier. Just don’t talk to me, ok? Don’t tell me you got an apartment, in a city that I picked out, and then start asking me how I am and how my week has been as if you care.

Don’t tell me that you had time to think about what to say to fix things with your sister but that you didn’t have time to think about me.

Don’t tell me that you’re tired and don’t have time for this conversation when *you* were the one to initiate as if nothing had changed.

Don’t tell me you need time to think about if and when you want to have a conversation because it’s not pressing for you, as if this decision doesn’t impact literally the rest of our lives.

Don’t tell me time heals all wounds. You know how cliche that sounds, right? You know that the only way to fix this is to talk about it like adults, and be present and live in the emotion during that conversation, right?

Don’t tell me you know how it feels. Just stop.

You have no idea how it feels. I thought I couldn’t be punched in the gut more than I already had been. But to hear, well read, you say that you haven’t really thought too much about our relationship this week, that you made time to talk to your sister but couldn’t even spare a few minutes to think about me? I haven’t spoken to you in 48 hours. I was being strong and trying to just move on. You opened the door on this tonight. You can’t be mad at me for trying to figure out where your head is at. You have no idea what it feels like.

But whatever, we’ll talk when you’re ready. When you have moved. After your parents are gone. When everything is hunky dory with your sister. When you feel better about your life and your decision(s). And guess what? When you finally make that decision that we can talk on *your* time table, without consideration for anyone else’s feelings or needs, then we’ll talk. But when we do, I hope you’ll recognize that your window of opportunity is already gone, and the distance is insurmountable.

Because for the millionth time since we started dating, you’ve again shown that you value your needs over mine, that your decisions aren’t made with the lens of what is best for us, but best for you.

Huh, I just realized. Talking in your way on your timetable. Must be a trait that runs in the family.

Have a nice life. You surely don’t have any desire for me to be part of it so I’m not gonna even try anymore.

No invented reasons and no tears. Sure, I picked up my phone a few times to check, but as expected, no word from you. I resisted any temptation to initiate a conversation. After all, if you have nothing to say to me, no desire to communicate, why should I bother putting forth effort?

It was a nice morning. I showered and got ready for the day. I had a lunch date with myself, finished two books, and headed to work. Work was really stupidly busy. I guess that’s to be expected when you’re short 6 people in a single day, but it just felt non-stop and I had a headache by the early evening.

Driving home I started a new book. Mostly because as my thoughts wandered, I started to question whether we were ever really in love. Maybe I don’t know what love feels like. I know it’s not a movie portrayal because this is like, real life, but aren’t I supposed to be inconsolably heartbroken? Like crying all the time, stay in bed and watch terrible movies and eat Oreos and ice cream sad? Was it convenient having you around? Did I misinterpret all our interactions and convince myself I felt something that maybe I didn’t? Did I want to be loved and so I was willing to accept the love that you put forward? Was I scared of change and so I doubled down on my commitment to you because I didn’t want to go through the effort of finding someone again? Were we ever truly connected? Did you ever really see me? Did I ever really see and understand you? Did you feel the same about me, that we are at a physical age where we have to take what we can get? It’s dangerous finding out someone is different than how you imagined them to be. Is that what happened to us?

This is where my thoughts spiral. Even things that I feel so sure about, I question. Faith. Family relationships. Ice cream. Ok, never ice cream, but you get the point. Maybe I am mentally ill, but there’s something inside me that whispers that the foundation could be false. After all, it was widely accepted that Earth was the center of the universe until one day, it wasn’t. How can we be certain of anything except for change?

For the first time, I told someone about our breakup. A couple of my coworkers asked a question about you and I didn’t have the energy to keep up the facade. One asked me if I thought we’d get back together, and I answered that I really don’t know. I didn’t cry or get upset. I just told them as if it was an objective fact. Maybe I’ve disconnected from my feelings to protect myself. What are feelings anyway? I just said that all I know is that the longer we wait to attempt to fix it, the more difficult it will be to genuinely repair.

The distance between us grows wider and deeper ever passing moment. Because let’s be honest, we’re all conditioned by movies to anticipate how someone will react. If you truly loved me, how could you stand being so distant for so long? That’s not the kind of love you want though, the burning passionate all consuming, crazy, deeply-in-love love. You want the quiet steady love, more emotionally intimate friendship than anything else, a love where your spouse will be there unconditionally for you, and you can pick and choose when you need her companionship and when you want to be left alone. You’ve said before that you don’t want to feel attached at the hip, that you value your independence and spending time how you want to spend it. You don’t want to give up your freedom to act or to not act by being committed to another person. You don’t want to have to consider someone else’s needs above your own.

I suppose that’s one benefit. Now you’re free to find someone who is content with only having part of you, who won’t notice or care that you disconnect yourself emotionally, and that you aren’t present in so many situations. Someone who isn’t scared by the fact that your average screen time is 19 hours/day and doesn’t contemplate how that will impact a future where you end up married, and raising children. Maybe she’ll just be appreciative of the time you give her, grateful for the moments when you do show up.

You see, maybe it’s easy to disconnect emotionally from all of this because you’ve already been disconnected. Maybe our biggest fights come when I grow weary of feeling present. Maybe we were just kicking the can further down the road, saying future us can deal with our present problems. Maybe the problem is that you haven’t been here with me all along, preferring instead to be buried in the games on your phone, or worse, something much darker and selfish.

Maybe we set ourselves up for failure. The first time you told me that you loved me was after one of our first truly big fights. I was experiencing some extreme disappointment, that you didn’t value your commitment to meet my friends, that you knew in advance you may be late because of, surprise, your sister, but you were scared to tell me and so you said nothing. And I was mad, and frustrated, and feeling unheard and cast aside, and then you said “I love you.” And you said it because you were scared I would walk away in the middle of my big emotions and abandon you. So you said what you thought you should say to get me to stay. Maybe we set a precedent, that there have to be big emotions in play for you to finally see how I’m feeling, to finally be present enough to see that I’m at a breaking point.

Maybe you never meant to say it. Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe none of the last nearly two years of our lives have meant anything. Because if they did, would you really still be so far away?

I’m breathing, and we’re hopelessly out of time. Don’t wait too long, my love. God will open a window, but the door won’t be open forever.

No tears. A marked improvement over the last 3 days. I feel… settled? I’m not really sure how to describe it. Talking to you last night filled in some gaps with details, either spoken or unspoken, and with more information, I am able to be more at peace. Or maybe the 8+ mosquito bites I have from our conversation are distracting me from other feelings. Who knows?

I still don’t understand everything. Like when you said your intent was not to build a wall between us, but that you don’t want to see me and you’re not going to initiate conversation, then added to not take it personally. That, to me, is conflicting. Every day that we don’t see or speak to each other widens the gap between us, inch by inch. And how could I not take it personally that you’re ok with communicating but you have nothing to say to me? I tested the waters by trying to start a conversation about this apartment I looked at today. Your response left a lot to be desired, and it was clear you were uninterested, so I abandoned the conversation. I can make my own decisions.

It’s also conflicting when you tell me that you’re better, we’re better when we’re together. When you say that you a prone to more self-destructive behaviors on days when you don’t see me. I can read between the lines, I know which behaviors you’re referencing, and to be quite candid, the days where you engage with that content do nothing except put more space between us. I gave a last ditch attempt at reminding you that people are stronger together, that you don’t have to fight it alone, that multiple strands of string or spaghetti are strong than a single strand alone. It doesn’t seem to sink in though, and on some level, you’re right. I’m not accountable for your actions, and you need to figure out how to manage this without relying on someone else. It doesn’t mean that when we were together, I didn’t want to help you, but I don’t know what I can do now. We broke up, you don’t want to see me, and I know that it’s a slippery slope. I can see you falling into those habits on a consistent basis. And I don’t really know that I believe you should to this alone. Maybe if you go to therapy tomorrow night, they can provide what I cannot.

It sounds harsh. I don’t mean it to be. I still care very much about you. The words you said, they conflict with your actions. You still care about me and you don’t want to see me. You don’t intend to build a wall and you have nothing to say. You wish that I would feel like an equal member of your family and you also don’t want me to interact with your family. You love me and you’re going to to repair your relationships with your sister and parents first. I don’t really know what I should do or feel, and I’m trying to sort out all of this on my own.

For the first time since we broke up, one of the kids mentioned you, and how we haven’t watched a specific show in a long time. I was able to gloss over it, and move on to other topics, but I’m going to have to tell my family. My parents keep mentioning you, and although it’s not their business, I can’t pretend forever.

One day at a time, one breathe at a time, one inch at a time. This will get easier, easier to be alone, to not have consider what-ifs. And on the day when we both breathe easier without conscious effort, we’ll realize that there is an impassable gulf between us, that we ran out of time long ago, and that none of this matters any longer. I hope you feel peace on that day, and receive the clarity that you’re seeking.

Well, we knew it wild happen eventually. There would be an uninvented reason why we had to speak with each other. Turns out that I value my prescription sunglasses more than my pride. Or maybe my $160 sunglasses *were* an invented reason, and excuse to engage with you. Either way, I got my glasses back and a lot more to chew on as I try to move on.

It was hard again, going all day without speaking to you. I picked up my phone to share a joke, to ask you if I should sign up for work holidays, to tell you that my dad is having a biopsy. I didn’t cry for most of the day, but I’m immensely sad. I’m shifting through the grief stages like a lava lamp changes colors. One moment I’m sad, the next angry, then resigned, then sad again.

When we meet at the park to exchange glasses for your moms gift, it’s strange seeing you so calm. I feel like I’m on an emotional roller coaster, and you look perfectly normal, thank you very much. I’m hoping that you feel as sad and wretched as I do, but also scared that you’re actually relieved it’s over, and I don’t ask because I don’t want to know. When we start to speak, you state that you’re unprepared, that you need time to sort out your thoughts, and put pen to paper, and that you don’t know how long that will take. It’s kind of your thing, taking things at your own pace. And while that’s something I respect about you, that you don’t let the timetable of others rush you, the world doesn’t always allow for that, and sometimes you get swept along anyway. Or you lose a probably semi-great and affordable apartment.

We start talking about how we’re handling it. I, probably wisely, don’t tell you that I’m journaling my experience here. I’m not ready for you to read the raw emotion presented. This space, although on the internet, is for me, a place where I can document my feelings as I sort out what I want to do. It’s not for anyone else. Also, these mosquitoes in the park are impossible, and it dawns on me that as I try to bat them away from me and you, you just sit there. Another example of how I try to protect you yet don’t receive a reciprocal response.

You tell me that you’ve spoken with your parents, which comes as no surprise. I’m sure everyone in your family knows. But as our conversation deepens, I come to a realization, and it’s a punch in the gut. Your parents requested the conversation. Because your sister, one of the primary sources of our final conflict, has called to complain to them, and asked them to intervene. You didn’t go to them to seek counsel or comfort, rather you got hauled into the principal’s office for being mean to your sister. And although you stated you were angry at the time, and it wasn’t productive, you share that you are planning on discussing things with her this week, on Wednesday most likely. Which means that you value repairing your relationship with her more than with me. I get it — she’s family and she will always come first, and you have the added pressure of sharing a living space. But did I, do I mean so little to you?

The punch in the gut, the sinking feeling, is multifaceted. First that it confirms I was right — there will always be conflict with your family, which means we will always have conflict. It confirms that a decision to break up is not illogical, which still hurts but is validating. Two, that your family doesn’t value me enough to make me part of the conversation, when so clearly I need to be. I won’t allow anyone else to speak for me. I know my own thoughts and I have my own voice. It confirms another of my fears, that I’ll always be an outsider to your family, someone’s whose thoughts and feelings and opinions need to be filtered through a real member of the family before they are worth sharing. Three, that despite trying not to put you in the middle, and making a well-reasoned plea to your sister to do the same, she’s placing you squarely in the middle. Yet I get the blame for this. It’s hard to defend yourself when you don’t get invited to the conversation, and the consequences are that I’m cut out, cut off, left behind, while the family figures out how to move past it. I thought you said you wanted me to feel part of your family, that you wanted to marry me. How could I ever feel an equal when I’m discarded like this?

I admit to you that I was triggered in my last conversation with her. I tried to tell you that before we broke up. It doesn’t matter now. But I tell you anyway. I was triggered because I was truly attempting to reach out and resolve my differences with her in a mature, adult manner, and to take accountability for my actions. To make the conversation between her and I. To be met with an attitude that was such the opposite, an absolute refusal to have a real conversation, a refusal to take any kind of responsibility, *that’s* what was triggering for me. It’s almost triggering me again, knowing that she involved your parents in putting you in the middle. How is this behavior acceptable to you? I’m baffled. I don’t offer to share what was said between her and I. I’m sure you’ll read it from her point-of-view. You’ve already slipped and admitted that she tried to show you the text messages. She wants you to take her side. No matter what you say about your family being inclusive, being different, of not caring if someone is blood related or not taking sides with each other in a disagreement, I now have empirical evidence that this is false. You may not be ready to admit it, but this example is proof.

I don’t want to put you in the middle, and so I didn’t say this to you. But I don’t really think this fight is about you and me. The fight is our enduring, forever conflict. It’s about what happens when reality brushes up against your rose-colored view of your family, when you are forced to confront a perspective of your family that pierces one of the illusions you’ve added to protect yourself. And because I so often am the source of this unwanted perspective, it’s easy to blame me. Am I quick to temper, judgmental, and super harsh? Sure. I’m not perfect. But there are mine fields to navigate when it comes to your family, and you’ve built yourself a little home in the middle of that field. I’m not sure where you got the idea that the perfect partner would know how to navigate those on their own to reach a happy, safe place with you, but that idea seems so firmly entrenched that it’s impossible to battle with you on it. Forever conflict.

I’m just rambling now. We left in peace, and I didn’t cry on the way home, or falling asleep, or this morning as I was writing this. I feel strangely calm. It’s like knowing this now, about your family, about how little regard they have for me, it makes everything slightly more palatable. I still miss you, I still love you, I still wish things were different. I wish it worked, but it doesn’t, and won’t, and won’t ever, until you decide that your partner matters to you as much as your family.

I’ve apologized and said all I could say on my end. I’m out of time, there’s nothing left I can do. And the longer you wait to decide what you want to say, to decide that I am worth fighting for, to decide that your future is more important than your past, well, you’ll run out of time too. Sometimes the world sweeps you along, and then all you or I can do is continue to breathe.

It’s really strange not talking to you all day. It was hard not to start the day saying good morning, and asking how you slept, and letting you know what’s going on in my world. I didn’t cry on the way to work, and instead of trying to fill that space, I just sat in silence and let my thoughts wander. It’s hard to be one with yourself, and the sinking feeling as the workday progressed, knowing that this was really finite, that you weren’t going to say anything, was bitter.

You’d be proud though. I didn’t break down at work, and I didn’t tell anyone. I kept it inside, and had one lonely tear roll down my cheek as my work schedule got changed for the Saturday before Memorial Day. The Saturday where I’m not invited to spend with your family. The Saturday where my feelings were brushed aside to make others comfortable. Another point of contention that, if I’m honest, is a relief to not have to pretend around anyone else. It hurts but I suppose this is one hurt that will heal.

I broke down I’m the parking lot, the emotional toll of holding my emotions in check finally besting me. It was short lived though. I turned on a podcast, scared of where my thoughts might take me if otherwise unoccupied, and allowed my ragged breaths to even out, and even a slight smile at a bad dad joke to cross my face.

Your mother’s Mother’s Day gift arrived today. Fresh salt in a wound that I’m convinced will never heal. It’s the middle of winter, and I feel like summer will never come again. I’m planning on mailing it to you. I don’t know if I could bear seeing you or being close and not being able to talk to you.

The comfort I found in the littles yesterday was quickly replaced by annoyance today. More than ever since moving here, I long for my own space. To cry in peace, to be left alone. Perhaps that’s because I didn’t sleep very well, or at all. I’m exhausted, emotionally and physically. And it’s only the beginning of the week.

I wish I was saying goodnight to you. I wish I could hear you tell me that you love me, that tomorrow will be a better day, that all of this has been a bad dream. But instead I’m watching a Disney movie I’ve seen 1000 times, laying on an air mattress and thinking about how I put my life on hold for you, and how I allowed my progress to be stagnant, hoping that you would decide that you want me.

We’re still out of time. I’m still alone, and all I can do is breathe.

I don’t really even know what happened today. It feels so surreal.

How did we get here? The culmination of 18 months, to the day, is that we can no longer see or speak to each other? The cold finality with which we said goodbye is breaking my heart, literally. I’d always imagined that if we ever made the choice to say goodbye, it would be with a sweet embrace, and a mutual understanding that we had some really tender memories to cherish. Maybe that’s the problem. I spent time imagining the end, and not enough energy focusing on the present. Like you said, you can’t have hope for the both of us.

But I did have hope. I had hope that you’d choose me, that you’d choose me forever, that you’d see past the anxiety and fear and truly see me, and that you’d love that girl. I thought you knew who I am. Or was. Am I the same person you started dating? The past year has taken a toll on everyone, I can’t claim to be special in that regard. But the last 2-3 years has been particularly hard for me. Harder than I care to admit, harder than I wish it was. You were the one bright spot, the sign from the Lord that there are miracles amongst the hardships. And now you’re gone, and I really don’t know. Maybe it was false advertising. Maybe your imagination of me was different than who I am.

I feel numb. I don’t know what to say or do. There’s nothing I can say or do. I’m trying to breathe. I’m trying not to re-examine every inch of our life together and pinpoint when exactly you decided that your love wasn’t enough, that my love wasn’t enough. It doesn’t happen like that. Maybe you fall out of love so slowly that it happens all at once. One day, after a week of fighting, you just are tired and don’t want to do it anymore.

I get that. I don’t want to fight either. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of feeling like I have to constantly hold myself back, of feeling my strengths are weaknesses, of having to advocate for you to even consider considering my point of view, of feeling like I’ll never measure up to the uncommunicated fantasy in your head. I’m tired too. I want a partner who puts our needs first, who puts me first. Maybe I was so caught up in trying to make you that person, that I didn’t offer you the same in return, or appreciate you for who you are.

I don’t know. I’m out of words, and we’re out of time. All I can do is breathe.

I have SO much to write about. I always think I’m going to write more, and then I am woefully neglectful — partially because writing out my thoughts and emotions lends them an air of credibility and reality that maybe I don’t want to think about, and partially because I don’t make it a priority. But I really want to get in the habit of writing more; not for site views or anything like that, but just for me, as a journal or catalog of my thoughts and feelings. Somehow, I feel like it’s going to be important for me to have one day. It’s already been helpful in remembering how I felt in specific situations, positive or negative.

This has been quite a year. Rereading some of my drafts and the last two posts, it’s hard to believe that I am where I am today given where I was 10 months ago. 6 months ago? 4 months ago? It’s certainly been a roller coast of emotions and questionable decisions, but I’m grateful to say that I’ve come out on the other side mostly intact.

I’m dating a wonderful man now. I have a job which I mostly love. I moved into an apartment with friends, and although I was nervous, it’s actually been really nice to have people to come home to. My assignment for church has changed, and is significantly more/less responsibility (I know that makes little sense and is vague, but it’s a real thing). At the beginning of the year, I didn’t dream that I would have any of this, and I’m so entirely grateful for where I’m at in my life. I feel almost guilty at being so happy, but I am.

Does my happiness mean there aren’t still trials and disappointments? Of course not. Last week, my bank account information got stolen, and I’m still without funds as I wait for the details to be resolved. There are still annoying life problems to deal with. I suppose I just feel like because I’m happy, I’m able to accept those things in stride and continue moving forward rather than letting them derail me.

It’s November and everyone is cheesy-sappy grateful for EV.ER.Y.Thing but I would be remiss if I didn’t reiterate how grateful I am for the positive direction my life has turned. for the people in my life who care about me and want me to be happy and successful, for my crazy family, and to be alive and living in the sunshine.

…NOW! 🎶

I had the amazing privilege of seeing Avenue Q last night at the theatre., What a thought-provoking, heart-warming, raucous little show! I laughed, I… cried? Ok, there were no tears, but to say that it elicited only one reaction would be grossly unfair. I lost myself in a world where humans interact with puppets, where learning how to adult is messy and complicated, where everyone is struggling to find out their purpose. I identified and empathized with the struggles the characters face, and even though the medium is puppetry, it felt genuine.

There’s something magical about attending a live play in the theatre. Having listened to the soundtrack several times, I was familiar with the music, so I figured that not much would come as a surprise. I’m glad to admit that I was wrong. Seeing the actors breathe life into the characters that I was so familiar I with, seeing the choreography and staging, knowing the bits of dialogue that come in-between the amazing score — it brought a more complete picture and sense of reality than I had realized was possible. I mean, it’s puppets a la Sesame Street style; my expectations were fairly low. From Princeton’s moving boxes backing up his vocals during “Purpose” to the hilariously inappropriate gesturing during “The Internet is for [xxxx],” there were so many times that I was completely delighted and blown away by the talent of the actors and director(s), and by their ability to bring depth to the characters. (The facial expressions alone deserve a standing ovation!)

(P.S. I have a hard time discussing how art impacts and shapes me personally. I have never excelled at articulating my feelings in general, but there’s something deeply intimate and personal about describing how you experience any given medium. It’s like, when you share a book that you love with someone, but you worry that they wont love it quite as much as you do, or worse, that they will judge you for liking it at all. It’s hard being vulnerable, especially when you’re unsure if you have the right vocabulary to express your emotions clearly to another human. But I digress.)

I left the theatre with a feeling of exuberant joy. As I walked through the City back towards my car, I wanted to sing and dance along the streets (don’t worry — I refrained), and to share this feeling with the whole world. I wanted everyone to be able to have this little slice of joie de vivre that I was experiencing. I know it’s an amazing privilege to live so close, and have access to the arts.

The closing number is titled “For Now,” and it illustrates how the challenges and obstacles we face in life, our disappoints and even failures, aren’t permanent. For me, this is really where the power of Avenue Q lies. It’s about a shared understanding that life isn’t perfect, that sometimes things really suck, but that it’s temporary, and we have the ability to hang out and get through it. To quote John Green, “your now is not your forever.”

So this morning I am gratefully reminded: my stress and anxieties about work “are only for now”; my disappointments in romantic relationships “are only for now”; my homesickness for my family “is only for now”; this damn persistent cough that I can’t get rid of “is only for now.” Life isn’t so bad, and even if it is — even if I feel like there is no light at the end of the tunnel — that feeling is only for now.

From my experience, everyone looks back on the years they’ve lived and questions some of the decisions they have made (or not made). It doesn’t mean that they regret the lives they have lived. It merely indicates that our brains are simply that amazing. We have the power to imagine infinite worlds and possibilities. It seems natural that we would consider the deeper questions of the universe, and even more natural to use that imagination to wonder what would have happened if?

I divide my what-ifs into several categories. People, Decisions/Events, etc. Today I’ve been pondering on my people. There are 4 of them; 4 great what-ifs in my life. And on occasion, I look back and say I wonder how my life would be different if this person was a for real (or a not for real) instead of a what-if.

#1 High School Not Sweetheart. Boy, I had a crush on this boy for FOREVER. Even though we didn’t date, I think that a piece of my heart will always belong to him, and to what might have been. It’s the same old story that’s been rehashed a million times by millions of people. We went to high school together, had classes together, so I got to know him. We were friends, and his parents adored me. I think if they could have married us off right then and there, they would have. He was super smart and sweet and fun to be around. It took me over a year to realize that I had a crush on him, and I had a plan to be brave and tell him. One day on the bus after a school field trip during our sophomore year, I noticed he was holding hands with another girl in our class, and I was crushed. They dated on and off through the rest of high school. Shortly before graduation, they broke up for good (at least, I though it was for good at the time) and I was the girl on the other end of the phone, helping to pick up the broken pieces of his life. But alas, as the end of most of these stories go, I was moving across the country at the end of the summer to attend university, and in terms of timing, it just wasn’t meant to be. I’ll always wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t been oblivious to my own feelings, or if I had stayed in-state for school, or if I had been less shy when I had a chance to be.

He’s married now. He got married the same month I did, actually, to a lovely, fun, smart woman. He has a beautiful baby girl, and he’s doing exactly what he wants with his life. We still talk on occasion, and it never seems like there has been time or distance between us. We just pick up right where we left off the summer after graduation. (The best friendships are like that). I love him, but not a crazy, swept off my feet, infatuation kind of love. It’s a love that comes from knowing someone for half your life, and supporting each other through good and not-so-good experiences. He’ll always have a spot in my heart, along with his family.

#2 Intelligent Movie Buff. I’m about to walk into a building on campus one evening, when a boy wearing a bath robe and what appears to be war paint on his face rushes past me holding a toy lightsaber. As yells an apology as he rushes past, and I stand dazed and confused for a moment. A few minutes later, he returns bearing his original props, plus a cardboard cutout of a storm trooper– and thus begins our story. We became really great friends (despite my initial skepticism). We had a lot in common, he was smart and funny and had really great hair, and even though I wasn’t looking to be romantically involved with anyone, the heart can’t always help who it falls for. It never worked out– we were both too young to treat each other kindly, or with much honesty. He was in an out of relationships with ex-girlfriends, and I didn’t have the guts to tell him how I really truly felt. I pushed my emotions aside for “the greater good of our friendship.”  I was naive, to put it mildly. We remained friends for the rest of college, and I would dare say friends of a sort to this day. We’ve had our ups and downs and because of him, I learned how to stand up for myself, and to articulate how I want to be treated.

We had a pretty “on again” friendship the summer/fall before I started dating the boy I married. Movie Buff came to my wedding, and we had made peace with our lives. He got married a year later, and we haven’t talked much since. I kind of hate that he is a what-if for me. I wish I could say that I learned my lesson at the beginning, but I’ve spent more time and energy on our friendship/not-relationship than I’d care to admit. I’ll always wonder how my college experience would have been different, and what my dating life would have been like if he hadn’t been the first college crush that informed my opinions on how guys interacted/dated post high school. We’ve been through some pretty emotionally turbulent times together, and somehow we managed to come through it mostly intact.

#3 Husband for a Time. We met in a hot tub. I was visiting with some friends from work. He was there because my friends were his ex-roommates. What more can I say? It just…worked. He asked me out, and I said yes. We dated, got married, and the rest is history. He was the first true love of my life who I knew loved me in return, and who I thought loved me for me. Sadly, things don’t always work out the way you think they will, despite infinite amounts of planning. Sometimes, love just isn’t enough, but it’s not a story that I’m ready to share with the world.

I’ll forever wonder if I was honest with myself when I said yes to marrying him. I’ll forever question myself, wondering if there was more I could have done, something else I could have said to make it better, if I could have sacrificed more of myself to make it work. He’s my what-if not. How would my life be different if I had been smart enough to recognize the signs, and strong enough to act on that knowledge before we committed our lives to each other? I’ll never know, but for better or worse, he’s helped shaped who I am today, and I’m continually working towards being the person that I want to be, and hoping that I’m not too damaged in the process.

#4 Mr. Knows Me Better Than I Know Myself. We met almost a decade ago. According to my roommate at the time, I ruined her chances of marrying him. I’m not so sure that would have happened, even if I  hadn’t moved into that apartment, but it makes for a good story. We became friends, though to this day neither of us can pinpoint exactly when that happened, or what brought us together. Pretty early on in our friendship, I told him that I wanted to date him, but my feelings were unrequited. He shut me down rather bluntly, and it’s taken me the better part of a decade to realize that the words he chose in that moment have subconsciously informed my opinion of myself, though through no fault of his. The blame for that one is entirely upon my shoulders. I’m working hard to undo 8 years worth of learned behaviors and patterns of interaction because I want our friendship to be different. I want to act confident and trust that I’m smart and funny and nice enough to be worthy of his…time? emotions? effort? friendship?  I might not have been, and might not be, worthy of his romantic love and affection, and that’s ok. I’ve often wondered if I had been patient, if I hadn’t let my friends convince me that he was “into me,” if I hadn’t pressed the issue, if we would have dated. I doubt it, but I’ll never know. It doesn’t really matter now. It’s the past, and there’s no point in dwelling on it. He’s my one great what-if that technically remains an open possibility to this day, although in statistical probability, the chances of that happening are smaller than the chances of being hit by a meteor (182,138,880,000,000 to 1).

He’s now one of my best friends. I know that he’s got my back no matter what. He’s been with me through some of the hardest times in my entire life and seen me at my worst. I know that even though he doesn’t say it in these terms, he loves me too. He’s not in love with me– I know the difference and I’m not clinging to any futile hope that he ever would be– but our friendship means the world to me, and someday, I’ll find a way to tell him that. We’ll be celebrating our decafriendiversary next year, and I hope it’s the first of many such monumental milestones in our friendship.

I write all of this to say: you never know where life’s path will lead you, despite best efforts and planning. You can’t help who your heart will choose, and you certainly can’t change the past. Would it really be worth the time and energy to regret any of these people in my life? No, but I spent the time to write because looking back, reflecting on how each of these individuals have helped shape my life and influenced who I have become, that’s invaluable. I know where I’ve been, and as such, I can better know where I’m going.