Confessions of the Girl Next Door

Letting Go

November 27, 2013

Growing up we are so often told- you can do anything you want to, you can become anyone you wish to be. But the one thing you’ve never told that I now wish I had- you can make it through anything.

One year ago I sat on a stool while a makeup artist gently and ever precisely applied gold leafing to the entire right side of my face when I received the phone call that would change my life. I was half way through a photo shoot with a good friend of mine when I saw that my dad was calling me, realizing the time was much later than our normal communication times I decided to not let it pass through to voicemail, I excused myself into the hallway to talk, this must be important news for him to be calling so late.

At this point my mom had been fighting breast cancer for two years, and while she had quickly reached stage 4, the doctors had much hope on each new round of chemo they put her on- that “this one” was the heavy hitter, it would target just the right cells to move her onto recovery. And round after round she held the brightest hope that each treatment was to be her last. “Hey I just wanted to give you an update on mom.” My dad’s voice spoke calmly over the phone. I knew they had gone in earlier that day for her newest round of chemo and I eagerly listened for some ground breaking miracle to be relaid, we all knew it was coming, it was just right around the corner. The day my mom finally got the results that she was free of cancer. My dad preceded to relay that they had come across a minor setback- her body seemed to have caught an infection of some sort and that they wanted to get that under control of before they once more pumped her body full of chemicals once more. One issue at a time. She was going ok, in pain but we’d receive the test results shortly. Plans were discussed on the subject of me coming out their way soon to visit her and get her spirits up once more. Saying a quick prayer I ended the phone call and slipped back into the shoot. What transpired over the next hour of that evening I could not tell you, for my world was about to come crashing down, and I didn’t even know it.

The phone call two came about an hour later, I answered the phone this time a bit quicker, eager to hear what antibiotic regiment they planned to put her on. Instead I heard my father’s voice break through my ignorance, “The tests came back, mom’s in liver failure. You need to come home, she’s not going to make it much longer”. Now I’m not sure how many of you reading this have ever experienced this, but there comes a moment where, when you receive news that shakes you to your core, your world begins to spin out of control and stop dead in its tracks all at the same time. I stood there, doubled over in the hallway, gasping for air that never came. Auto pilot took over as we begin to discuss how I was going to make it three states over to say goodbye to the women who bore me and raised me. My world was shattering around me and I no longer had anything to hold onto.

10 hours and no sleep later I boarded a plane and prayed that slumber would take me away. I’m not sure who that 2.5 hour plane ride was longer for- me or the poor helpless gentleman sitting besides me as I cried myself to sleep. All I could think was “I need my mom, I need my mom, I need my mom”. A short time later I arrived at the hospital with my brother and sister-in-law, my dad greeting us and quickly updating us on mom’s status- she was coherent, while she seemed to hear and grasp what was going on, she hadn’t been fully “awake” since the night before, she seemed peaceful, low drug usage was needed, but most of all- that we needed to prepare ourselves for her physical condition, she no longer held the youthful, energetic, healthy women we all knew her to be. As we walked my auto pilot drove me forward, repeating over and over “Be strong, you need to stay strong”. Stepping into that hospital room was like stepping into a twilight zone where my heart and head were no longer attached to one another. I made it all of 20 minutes before asking everyone else to clear the room. I told myself that I wanted to have a lovely mother daughter moment where I could so eloquently lay my heart before her. But what rose up from within me was wail that shook me beyond emotional comprehension as I cried out “Mom no, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, I need you”. I crawled up on her bed beside her as well as I could without causing her more pain than she already was in. I would like to have told you that I gave some great speech to her on how she impacted my life and how her legacy would live on through her family, but I can’t. I laid there and cried like what I could imagine the terrifying pain of a young child who believes to have lost their mother in a crowded room. I just wanted my momma to sit up in bed, hold me, and take all my pain away.

Many, many things were to happen over the period of the next 24 hours, most which are too intimate to share so frivolously over the internet, moments and memories that I hold dearest to my heart. Memories that would be betrayed to simply leave typed up on some blog eventually to be forgotten by its readers.

Approximately 24 hours after my brother and I walked into the hospital room, my mother began her journey home. The realization hit me when I reached out to hold my mom’s hand and realized it had turned ice cold, with quick look exchanged to my dad as he took her other hand in his, we knew this was it. Yes she struggled some, but she took those last moments in the same way she lived her life, with dignity and strength. My father and I began to say our final words, letting the woman lying before us know that we were going to be okay, we would be alright if she needed to go. Convincing ourselves and then her, that we could do this fucked up thing called life without her. In the midst of mine and my father’s encouragement my brother came to the edge of the bed where I was sitting and in his gentle manor whispered, “It’s okay mom, you can go home now”. Seconds later she took her last breath on earth and a calmness washed over the room, over our hearts. After fighting so fiercely for two years my mom finally received her healing. It wasn’t the healing that we expecting, it was the healing that she needed. My mom was gone.

Now as the hours tick by to the one year mark of her death my world has once more been turned upside down. My dad and I coined the phrase “finding a ‘new normal'” in the past year, it’s our way of saying I don’t know what to do next, life is no longer the same. And in these past few weeks processing my “new normal” has looked a lot like letting go. Not necessarily letting go of the pain and anger that comes with learning to face all the “firsts” without my mom. No those I face every day I wake up and am forced to deal with the reality that my mom is still gone. It’s more of letting go of expectations and dreams. The expectation that my mom is going to be there on my wedding day, watching me walk down the aisle. Letting go of the dream that one day I would be able to watch my mom hold my own children for the first time. The letting go of the idea that I would be able to watch my parents grow old together. Letting the painful reality sink in that my mom will never know the man I marry, that she was no longer a phone call away, and mostly that I had a lifetime a head of me that she wouldn’t be there for. I had to learn to let go of the grand question of “why“.

As the one year mark came closer I realized I had been holding my breath in a sense, thinking that once I had passed a year full of experiencing every mark and milestone a year brings (holidays, birthdays, etc.) that suddenly everything would simply ‘click‘. That after 365 days I would understand why, at the age of 24, I had to watch my mom die. Why she wasn’t healed. Why none of my friends seemed to understand. Why the doctors didn’t pull their head out of their asses and get her diagnosis right two weeks before when she told them something was wrong. Why there had to be such a hope risen in me when I lay down next to my mom’s body that day as I lay my head on her chest and heard the last bit of air being pushed out of her lungs once she had passed but for that moment I swore she was coming back to life. Why every day since then I wake up with the denial that she has been gone on a ridiculously long vacation and is due back any day now. Why I was a quarter of a century old and I had to learn to deal with losing my mom. Why heart hurt so badly. I had to let them all go.

Now I wish I could tell you that I found some magic key, and that is has provided the answers to all my hearts’ questions and taken away every last bit of pain I encounter on a daily bases. No, I still get up everyday, swear, and think “It wasn’t just a bad dream“. But everyday when I get out of the shower I look my reflection in the eye and tell myself “You can make it through anything”. Some days I don’t believe myself, the pain is too overwhelming, but miraculously I make it through the day. And tomorrow, if I believe hard enough, I’ll make it through the day again.

How My Dad And Country Music Ruined My Dating Life

October 1, 2013

A few weeks ago I sat at a restaurant with four friendly faces, three of those which I had met only hours before. All eyes had turned on me, expectedly awaiting my answer. I had been warned at the beginning of the evening that this question might be basked and yet, even with a decent heads up, I found myself not knowing how to answer it. It’s one of the few questions that I both loath and fear with equal intensity. The question anyone in my age brackets hates to hear- “why are you single?” Yes I could go ahead and launch into my usual jokes about rejection issues or fear of commitment (while those do flair up, they are issue mostly dealt with), they are merely a deflection, hoping the subject gets changed before the question gets asked again. But I couldn’t do that, not this time. After many attempted sentences later, I bashfully shrugged my shoulders, shook my head, and replied “I don’t know”. The questions that followed were no better for my poor little brain to wrap itself around either- “what’s your type?” “what kind of guys are you into?” “are you interested in anyone now?” My answers came as quickly as I could spit them out, hoping someone, anyone would change the subject before I crawled under the table and curled up in a fetal position- “I don’t have one. “I don’t have one.” “All kinds.” “No.” I tried to satisfy the firing squad with a final “I’m just not much of a dater” and hoped that would suffice for now. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of the people who sat before me that preventing from diving into where my heart lay with the dating game, then again maybe it was just that I was still trying to figure out my thoughts of the gentleman that sat directly to my right. Either way, I walked away feeling like I once again survived my own person World War III, I had survived “the question”.

It isn’t a question I just cringe from when others bring the subject up, it’s a question I struggle with asking myself as well. I am a human woman, I get lonely. And more than that, I desire companionship. This isn’t something I will ever deny. But there are those moments in my days where I become a little too introspective and let my mind wander over to the ‘dark side’ as I wonder why it is that I haven’t found myself snatched up. I’d like to think I’m a catch- why doesn’t a man? If my self awareness doesn’t kick in right away, I begin to spiral down into a pit of wondering sadness. Let me tell you- that place sucks. The easiest way to pull myself out of this rut? My dad and country music. Strange combination, I know; mostly because my dad hates country music. One time he even grounded me because he caught me listening to it…. but that’s another post for another day.

Let me first start off by giving this little piece of advice- guys, don’t fall for a country girl. Just don’t do it. Let me tell you why… us country girls have raised ourselves on the music of our people. Here’s the part where country music haters will make some crack about ‘your dog dying, your woman leaving, you tractor breaking and your drunken bar fights. Sure, there are songs like that out there, but there is also songs like “Gangnam Style” that tops any “depressing country song” (I think my point is proven here). No, we inundate ourselves with love songs by men who sing so bluntly of their adoration for their women. Blake Shelton asking his wife Miranda to let him in on the women she is when he not not around in “Who Are You When I’m Not Looking“. The Eli Brown Band reassuring a woman in the song that no matter what they might fight about he’ll hold her and tell her how much he loves her in “Crazy Girl“. Even little Hunter Hayes NAILED IT in ‘Wanted“, what woman wouldn’t want a man to feel that way about her, it is what we as women ache to hear a man say to us. My all time favorite? “She’s Everything” sung by country heart throb Brad Paisley. If there was ever a song written in likeness to my heart it would be this one. From the he first time I heard that song when it came out 2005 I always find myself closing my eyes and imagining a man ‘someday’ coming up to me and asking me to dance when that song came on. Yeah, my poor husband, I know.

I didn’t grow up listening to songs that told me I had to ‘shake what my momma gave me’ or offering to let me ‘blow his whistle’ (really Flo Rida, REALLY?!). No I grew up listening to men teach me that someday a man will have no problem looking my in the eye and saying “I need you”, that pouring out their feelings and wearing their heart on their sleeve is standing up and being a man. fighting for his woman’s heart. Country music doesn’t play games, neither do country girls. So guys- if you’re going for a country girl you better man up. We expect nothing less.
(See dad, listening to country music taught your daughter some good things!!!)

So there’s the country music part, now how does your dad play into why you’re single? I’m glad you asked, let me explain… Growing up in my house hold was an… interesting thing. I could cover a multitude of different subjects, both good and bad, on the happenings in my childhood and the family dynamics. I was a home schooled, preachers daughter, whose family didn’t live in one location for over 5 years. Oh and did I mention I was a daddy’s girl? No matter what my family went through the keel to my ship was alway my father. No matter how much he failed me, made me angry, or became disconnected to, I kept a steady eye on the core of how he lead his life. He wasn’t perfect, I still have the memory engrained in my mind of going into the kitchen to see my mom after I had heard them fighting and offering her my stuffed bunny because she was crying, my bunny always helped me when I cried. I was to young to know or understand why they yelled, all I knew was that my dad had made my mom cry. I also have the vivid memory of watching my dad lay aside his dream of pastoring his own church because he knew his family was falling apart at the seams. For the next 5 years I watched the man I had seen my whole life change into the husband and father every wife and daughter dreams of. Did he become perfect? Nope. He still had his humanity like the rest of us, but he became self aware, humble, sensitive, loving, he became my dad again.
How does all this play into my singleness? Let me say it again- I watched a man give up his dreams for his family. I watched a man, for two years, care for his wife while she struggled with cancer. And I watched as he gave up his dream all over again when she wanted to go back to the one place that felt like home to her. Now you tell me how I can settle for some boy, when I watched my father so willingly lay down his dream not once, but twice, for my mom, for my brother, for me? Tell me how I can settle for anything less than a man who would lay down himself for his bride? Because I can’t.
I know my father didn’t start off as this self sacrificing man I now see before me, and I know whoever the lucky guy who gets stuck with me won’t be perfect either. But I can tell you one thing- my dad set the bar pretty damn high for any man (notice I didn’t say boy) who tries to “snatch me up”.

So why am I single again? Because I’ve been raised to desire a man who is not afraid to stand on a rooftop and declare his love, a man who wants to want me, who will give everything up in the name of love. And I know men like that exist because I watched my dad become that man. That I’m safe to ‘hold out’ until I find someone (or rather they find me) like that. A man like my father.
But mostly, one of the main reasons I refuse to settle. I’ve work hard to become the woman I am today. I’ve been through a lot in life, and no matter how hard life knocked the wind out of me, I kept pushing back. I’ve been through too many battles where I shed my own blood, sweat, and tears to become a better me to settle for someone who hasn’t done the same himself. A long time ago I heard someone teach “stop looking for Mr Right, and start focusing on becoming the right woman”. Looking for the right guys isn’t going to do jack shit for my life if I haven’t first learned to fall completely and utterly in love with myself.
I know that if my loneliness overcame me and I just ‘had to find a man’ I could. I’m not sitting here crying because there’s a lack of male interest, it’s there, they make themselves known. There are men in my life who from time to time venture to cross the line of ‘let me feel out if we can be more than friends and/or coworkers’ line. Clearly none of them have made it, I would say it wasn’t due to a lack of trying… but lets face it- it is. Once again kiddies- do not ask out a girl over texting, pick up the damn phone. I’ll be the first to say any man who tries to use social media to ‘holla’ at me will get an instant shut down. But once again that’s another post for another day…..

Drinks, Dance, and Beer Pong

May 30, 2012

Three things you should know about me before reading this; I have an unusually tender heart, I love dancing, and after a few beers all my emotional walls begun to crumble. Now that you have some kind of idea as to where this could go let’s begin…

After a few texts and a dozen outfit changes later, I was driving with the windows down, radio blaring, and having a dance party of one as the night steadily grew upon the world surrounding me. I had a smile on my face as the wind blew my curls from my face, something told me the night that lay before me was going to be a good one. Beautiful friends, wonderful family, and plenty of drinks- how could it be any less than perfect? This last month wasn’t exactly what I would describe as easy (don’t worry, one of these days we’ll talk about why) but it was real, as was I. But now I was ready for a night of careless fun and these were just the people to have that with.

A shot of whiskey, some good ol catching up convo, and impatiently waiting for two of the guys later we were all jammed into a car and headed to a house party. Granted we got lost multiple times due to misled gps and all of us yelling at the poor driver the wrong directions, but we finally got there in one piece. I learned many things that night, the first of which, I am terrible at beer pong… er, let me rephrase that- I have terrible aim. Sure I may have made the first shot because I was paying more attention to trying to figure out which beer was mine than attempting to be any good at what I was doing, but for 90 percent of the game my poor partner had to carry more than his weight on our little team of two. Thankfully he was a good shot and my naivety created just enough entertainment to make the ordeal bearable. Until the very end, two cups remained on each teams side, my partner had sunk his ping pong ball into one of the opposing teams cups (there is just no proper way to say that) and he encouragement rang out into the air as we both realized I could quite possibly tank the game. With one last pitiful look at him, I sincerely apologized in advance for missing and half heartily tossed the ball. I don’t know if it was skill, luck, or the entire universe smiling down upon me.. but by god I made the shot. Although half the garage might have went deaf with my shrieking, I was determined to let the room know what had just happened. The girl who spent half the game cheering for one of her best friends even though she was playing on the other team had just made the winning shot. That ladies and gentlemen is the moment, somewhere out there, a pig flew for the first time.

The night went on- someone cried, someone threw up, and someone fought (and to save reputations and just keep you wondering we’re going to go ahead and keep those identities concealed from the rest of the world). Somewhere between laughs, unsuccessful games of pool/beer pong, and countless drinks my friend and her father (the man who so graciously offered his garage to our enjoyment) started showing off their dance skills. Now as I mentioned at the beginning of the post, I love dance. Anytime it is near (in person or even on tv) I am instantly captivated by it. There is just something about two people in motion to a melody that not only is being heard, is being felt. A man offering his hand to his partner willing to take the lead and the female being venerable enough to follow, accepts his gesture. Now a fact not known to many before this moment is that I have never danced before. Sure I’ve gone to ‘the clubs’ with my friends and we shake what our momma’s gave us in good fun, but I have never danced with a man. Growing up in a more conservative home where school dances were off limit (sorry mom and dad I learned bad things without donning on a prom dress) and seeing as none of the guys who came in and out of my life didn’t seem to have the same dancing desires pressing at their heart, I had never had a man extend his hand and ask me to dance. Nonetheless I still never gave up the fantasy. So many times over the years I have closed my eyes and let visions of being drawn into a man’s presence as one hand is slipped around my back and the other is offered as a guide as he leads me around the dance floor. I often find myself imagining this scenario over and over as I drift off to sleep, letting my heart dare to believe that one day my vision will come true. One day I’ll be asked to dance.

My friend’s attention was soon caught by something other than dancing with her father and off she fluttered, her eyes full of light. He turned to me, hand extended, and said “What about you Andy?” Somehow, in the middle of the evening when we were all at our peek my friend’s father had pointed out that I had a striking resemblance to Andie MacDowell (just slightly younger) so the name seemed to stick for those around who heard his comparison. My head shook as laughter escaped from my lips, I tried to protest saying how I had never danced with anyone before, yet my feet and the few beers I had consumed moved me froward to accept his offer. He started me off with a simple two step to the music we could barely hear over the hum of the room and soon introduced in the three step until something in my body feel into the rhythm my heart had been dreaming of all those years. Some stopped and watched, challenging my statement that I had never danced before. Blushing, I said it was just in my blood. Someone in the room demanded country music be played and if you know anything about me, strip off my surroundings and my heart is that of a homegrown country girl. We quickly changed our pace to match that of what was coming through the radio and I’m not sure my eyes could have shown any brighter than they were in that moment. Looking around the room I saw the faces of my best friends, heard the music that makes my heart happiest and I was dancing…. I felt top of the world and my laughter let everyone know it.

Our movement slowed down as a slower song began to play and everything else faded away. I closed my eyes to let my mind shut off and for my body to move without first thinking. To let what was in my blood take over. I suddenly became aware of the warm tears that were streaming down my face. No thought sparked the emotion, no mental buildup, nothing happened but me letting my heart take over. “Why are you crying?” This gentle father asked me, clearly surprised at the sudden change. “My heart hurts” I whispered back. I wanted to tell him everything, about my heartache, my pain, my confusion, my family. I wanted to tell him everything so badly, but the words just got caught in my throat. Pulling me in and holding me like only a man with a father’s heart could, he softly told me “You’ll be ok Andy, I promise”. “I know I will be,” I breathed as we transitioned into the next song, “it just hurts. It’s all so heavy”. With those words I felt my entire world every so gently kiss my war torn shoulders, the pain almost unbearable. In the safety of a strangers arms I let my walls down as he guided my feet in a circle around the cement floor. He listened as I let a few words spill out about a broken heart, a love lost, a past I was trying to over come, and a future I couldn’t quite figure out. And just when I thought my heart couldn’t take any more Hunter Haye’s ‘Wanted’ came on and with each note that played through the radio I let our dancing once more take me away. With every step we took I found myself letting go of everything once more. The words of the song reminding me of a love I’ve dreamt of for many years. Letting all disappointment, shame, pain, misplaced hope slide off my back until both my head and my heart were clear. Love clouded my vision, love for my friends, my family. Love for myself, my future.

The music finally changed back and I timidly thanked him, slightly embarrassed at the tender place my heart had gone to while dancing with someone I had met only hours before. Patting me gently on the cheek he repeated, “You’ll be alright Andy, I promise”. “I know” I replied, this time with a smile as I was pulled off by my best friend to another round of terribly played beer pong, my words more of a reminder to myself than my friend’s father. Even many hours later as I drove home at 6 o’clock in the morning after taking all of my friends home (we know how to make an evening last let me tell you) and tears once more found their way down my face those words rang inside my heard. Sorrow and joy swirled around until all I felt was the here and now of the moment. I took everything- my heart, my future, my family and laid them at the feet of someone much bigger than my own and walked away.

I have my faith and my hope and if I am who I say I am, I know I will be just fine. I am a tender-hearted girl who is naive and has hopes as high as the tallest tree. Yet I am a woman who has a fire burning so fiercely within her she believes she can change the world. I might be just the right mix of chaos that’s needed to guide my my heart through this spinning thing we call life, and make something absolutely beautiful out of it.
Stay tuned… you just might be able to come along for the ride. One dance at a time………….

Enough is Enough… Isn’t It?

January 28, 2012

“Are you happy?” My words lingered in the air between us, the darkness of the room creeping into the subconscious of my thoughts. With a gentle sigh his arms tightened around me, pulling me closer, his nose softly grazing my cheek. His voice dripped with exhaustion as he whispered, “So much”. The ache in my heart grew more than I thought one should be able to handle. Though he said the right answer to what I had asked, the bigger question remained unanswered. My lips had asked, ‘are you happy’ but everything in my heart was crying out- ‘am I enough?‘ It was everything I could do to hold back the tears until moments later I headed down the stairs of his apartment and into the cold Colorado night. Stepping into the safety of my own car, I turning the key and the engine came to life as the sound of his voice filled my every sense as the music poured from my stereo speakers. I wrapped my arms around the steering wheel as the sobs begun to erupt from deep within, one question fueling the fire that had become my demise. ‘Am I enough?’

I wish I could say this was the first time I’ve had to ask that question, that this was a rather unusual occurrence in my life. But it wasn’t. In fact, this is a question that has plagued my life for as far back as I could remember. It’s a question that has infiltrated every possible area of my life that I operated in. My relationship with my father. School. My job. And now in the last few years, the thought of what my worth was in what a man could see in me.
As a young girl my family housed foster children for short amount of times until they could be found more permeant homes, and each time their stay with us was coming to an end a certain dread would fill my entire being. I was terrified that my parents would like whatever child was staying with us at the time more than they did me, decide to keep said child, and send me away in their place. Where this fear came from I might never know, but I do know that was the beginning when I started questioning whether or not who I was would ever be enough.

Now, many years later, I am faced with a new relationship and my dear old friend self doubt is rearing his ugly head, louder than ever. As a little girl I didn’t dream of becoming a ballerina, or the first female president I dreamt of one thing- being a wife. I spent my whole life mentally trying to prepare myself to be the ‘ideal woman’ for a man one day, striving to become as low-maintenance as possible, even to the point of being a little too accommodating , making sure my emotional baggage was a light as possible (that one didn’t quite work), and attempting to be as aware of other’s needs and desires before my own. I strived to create perfection. Yet there came time some months ago where I simply gave up, or perhaps I simply grew tired of the constant holding of my breath. Letting a reassurance settle in my heart that one day a man could actually love me for who I was, that perfection would not be a requirement for him to want me.

Months after this new found confidence took place, he came into my life. I wasn’t looking for anything at the time so when he approached me I was caught off guard in the way that my heart didn’t have time to put up it’s usual walls. I fell for him with my confidence and self worth still in tact. Yet as the weeks go by and the process of getting to know one another continues I find it harder to suppress that twenty-three year old question that rings steadily in my ear- am I enough? For the first couple months I was able to ignore it, he had chosen me so why would I doubt that? But as I sat in my car with makeup filled tears streaming down my face I could no longer drown out the voice in my head. What had changed? Had he done/said something to trigger such a painful question to rise up in my mind? No, in fact over the past few weeks he had done nothing but gotten sweeter, treated me move lovingly, letting me know how special I was to him. This fault laid in my hands, and my hands alone.

So often as women we expect the men in our lives to ‘fix us’. No we would never admit to this in those exact words, we like to think of it as asking our significant other to cater to our insecurities, demanding they fix a part of our heart that someone else (dad, past boyfriend, etc.) broke.
‘One man told me I was ugly, so you have to make me believe I am beautiful’.
‘He cheated on me, therefore you don’t get to look at another woman, not even your sister’.
‘He broke me so badly, you can never say the wrong thing for fear I might freak out’.
We do all this subconsciously, not realizing that it is us alone that holds the power to heal our own hearts. No other human being can be responsible for my heart. Not my father, my teacher, my boss, my boyfriend, not even my husband (speaking future references of course). That’s my job, and my job alone. ‘Am I enough’ is not a question that his wrong doings has created in me, it’s comes from a lifetime of choosing to look at myself through the cracked lenses life gave me rather than rising above the breaks of my heart and saying goddamn it I’m worth something spectacular. Not because a man told me so, but because I know it to be true.

Yes, I could ask him the question ‘am I enough’ day after day, and yet no matter how perfect his response is, it will never fill the void that question leaves in me. It can put a bandage over the wound, but days, minutes, seconds later that voice will remind me of my bleeding heart and his perfect response would be forgotten. No this question can only be answered by the green-eyed girl looking back at me in the mirror. It is my responsibility to silence that voice that rings so loudly. To, if needed, sit in front of my reflection day after day and tell myself “You are beautiful. You are lovable. You are worth it… you are enough”. Because until I can fully believe this, I will never trust anyone else’s word. And when he tells me how cute he thinks I am, I can answer with a ‘thank you’ and not a ‘really??’. I’m not saying coming to that point is easy (I’m still wildly struggling with it myself) but I’m saying it’s worth the fight to become a whole person again. How could I not desire to look in the mirror and love who’s looking back?

Once Upon A Homeless Time

December 5, 2011

Home. This is a concept that I have struggled with for years now. Wait no, let me take that back, for my entire life. Growing up my family moved around from town to town, state to state quite often, going with the ebb and flow of where my father felt his heart leading his family’s journey to go. I loved it, it allowed me to see so much and experiences things I wouldn’t have had the chance to other wise. Yet somewhere in-between all the moves I began to grow up and a spirt of searching settled into my heart. Never staying in the same place for more than a handful of years somehow drove it into my head that I didn’t belong anywhere and I couldn’t be happy until I found that exact place. Home. Being the good girl that I am I used my multiple relocations over the years to blame for the loneliness that gripped at my heart each night as I pulled the covers over my head to swallow myself in darkness. Standing in a crowded room was even worse. I would look around at all those faces that were supposed to bring me so much security and companionship brought me nothing but an ache in my heart, a longing for more. I needed to find my people. Those who simply ‘got me‘. For a misunderstood girl, my greatest wish was for someone to see me. The last leg of my family led journey took me to a small town in California. Just when my life was on the edge of completely and utterly falling apart in Oregon (the state we previously lived in) California reached out her hand of health and I grasped on. And while I can look back on my so far short life and see that those 5 years I resided within those city walls were the years that I ‘grew up’. I had just walked through hell and California offered me a land of serenity. Yet I still was searching for more. My heart still wouldn’t unpack my bags and call it home.

5 years into living there I heard the wind whispering so softly to be on my way again. By this time my parents had moved to Denver and I knew I was supposed to join them. But to my heart it was more than just a move, it was yet another chance to seek this place I had convinced myself existed. A place where once I stepped into the town, all my worries would fall away and something deep inside would sigh from relief knowing it was exactly where I was supposed to be. But it wasn’t. I was a little girl frantically searching for security. A security that didn’t exist. But what I discovered was myself.

All my life I was the quite one. The perfect ear to listen to all you had to say, never giving you back my own thoughts. My mouth was so sewn shut that I couldn’t open it to say something even if I wanted to. You needed someone to walk all over? Baby I’d be your freaking doormat. I’d but up with anyone’s bullshit, with a polite ‘please and thank you’ each time. The funny thing about uprooting your life to a new state where you know all of 4 people and not being the most out going person to walk this earth, I found myself with a lot of time to do nothing but to reflect upon my own life. For the first time I looked in the mirror and saw someone I recognized from all the visions I had once had of who I wanted to be. Over time I ripped out the stitches that held my lips so tightly in place and I found my own two feet standing on solid ground. I became confident, sure of what I wanted, who I was. And damn it, I’d hate to be the person who tried to tell me other wise. Away from my past I formed my opinions, unaffected by the ones that had so influenced my silence before. I stood with my eyes wide open and a heart that would never back down from what she believed. Everyone I encountered knew the new me, so of course it was easy it operate out of the rebirthed women inside me. When I try and explain to the people at work how I used to be quite and passive, they so often scoff at the thought. For I had done a complete 180. It was easy, there was nothing left to shut me back into the box I had so uncomfortably lived most of my life in.

Nothing until now. For the first time in over a year of being gone, I sit thousands of miles up in the air in a metal plane, taking me mile by mile back to my old stomping grounds. I cannot help but let my mind race wondering how my trip will play out. I know I will be walking into a lot of the same situations I left a year ago, some of the same people in the same ruts. From hundreds of miles away I can already feel their expectations pushing upon me, they’re the same, why shouldn’t I be? I resist the urge to grit my teeth in preparation for the battle that might lie ahead of me. But every couple of minutes I have to remind myself to put my weapons down, this battle is not my responsibility to fight. In fact, there is no battle at all. I have fought for the rights of my own thoughts and opinions and not ever my past can take them from me. Sure, I’m guessing some people might be surprised, for the same girl who left them a year ago is not the one returning to them today. But I am her, and she is I. Perhaps the battle is found no further than my own head.

I have found my home, and it is located no further than the confines of my own heart. My confidence is not something I’ve found, it’s what I’ve fought for. And won. And no one can take that from me, not even the ghosts of my past. So you better fucking buckle up California, baby girl’s back. And a little bit more improved feisty than the last round.

Crushingly Awkward

December 4, 2011

Annnnnd big sigh. Here we go again. I know I have said this before and yet I just feel the need to say it yet again- I hate having a crush. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing quite like the feeling of 5 million butterflies fluttering around in the pit of my stomach, somehow managing to push my heart straight into my throat. The subconscious smile that crosses your face as they enter the room. And sure, if I were somewhat of a normal girl, I would thrive off of getting crushes. Let them be my emotional cocaine, going from high to spinning high, just to feel my heart pound. But no, I just can’t be one of those girls can I? No of course not, that’d mean being somewhat mentally graceful (and that kids, I cannot seem to be).
I get tongue tied, what my brain is so eloquently telling my mouth to say seems to come out in a spillage of backwards, misspoken words. I blush, my goodness do I blush. I can’t seem to, for the life of me, keep eye contact for more than 2.5 seconds. And if I make it that long, I take it as a personal victory. So let me spell it out for you- if I find myself attracted to you I become very, very awkward.

Having this knowledge of myself I tend to stay away from getting a crush on someone as if they were a runaway car on fire. This usually consists of avoiding any single guy who I find myself attracted to, and/or (and this is my usual go-to plan) I become a complete and utter bitch (there, I said it). If I find myself getting a crush on you- I will avoid you at all costs. But sometimes, when I’m walking out of the restroom and am caught off guard by the one person I happen to find myself terribly attracted to standing right there in the hallway and my face lights up like the freaking rockefeller christmas tree as I squeak out “hi” then realize my face is turning bright red and hurry past him. I love having fair skin, but moments like this is when I hate it, because any color that embeds itself into my cheeks when I blush gets magnified. To the point of my coworker yelling out, “why are you red?!”. Because I’m an idiot and can’t function like a normal human being around my crush, that’s why. Meet me on any other day and I can chat it up like no one you’ve ever met before, bubby, loud, extroverted, I will converse with you until the cows come home. But put me in the presence of someone I am attracted to and I become the shyest introvert alive as my twelve-year-old-girl insecurities rise up.

So maybe I should take this moment to come clean on something.. I don’t hate crushes, I hate the insecurities they bring to light within me. I love who see myself to be when I stand alone, I am a strong, confident woman who nothing can phase, and no one can convince me other wise. Yet, place a man in my life and all that goes to the wind. Wondering how long it’s going to take this one to decide I’m not enough like so many before have let me know? Yes, I know through and through that this is simply a reaction to wounds caused by others and it isn’t the truth, their words should not define how I expect men to see me now. The truth is, (and I bet you didn’t know this) I’m not perfect. I sometimes believe the lies that whisper so gently into my ear, ignoring the screaming voice from within me letting me know I am worth a man’s attention, and even more so, his affections. Yet no matter how I’ve been treated in my past, or how many wounds I’ve acquired from those times, there is still a girl who believes in fairy tales. That likes seeing that guy walk into the room and having to bite my lip before a smile breaks across my face. That keeps hoping he’ll ask for my number, or at least that I can have a functioning conversation with him without repeating to myself over and over ‘don’t be shy, don’t be shy, don’t be shy’ as I train him on the registers (hypothetical situation of course).

Ok wow, that got deep there for a second didn’t it? Let’s pull this story plane back up before I have anymore emotional downward spirals (in this post at least) and spill some more embarrassing purging of the infinitive awkwardness of my pretty little self. So what am I trying to say here? Two things. I have a crush (scandalous right?). And I’m fighting hard to let my scars be just that, scars. And not reopening wounds that cause insecurity to shut me down. I’m a catch damn it, excuse me while I remind myself a few more times before I can fully function in the presence of someone cute.
Baby steps, I’m going for baby steps here. So mayyyyyybe I don’t hate crushes after all……

Excuse Me Ma’am But I Think Your Boyfriend’s Gay And Other Socially Unacceptable Things You Shouldn’t Say Part 1

August 19, 2011

I’ve found as I’ve gotten older I’ve become more… well honest. Growing up a home-schooled, preachers daughter with a astonishing lack of bff’s running in and out of my life, taught me one thing- you have to become what ‘they‘ want in order to be accepted. One of my personality’s biggest strengths became my biggest weakness (tale of everyone’s life I know, but I’m the one telling the story here). I have this innate ability to be dropped in any situation and in 2.5 seconds or less I’ll know exactly how to operate in a manor best fitting to be responsive to what’s going on. This can be both a good thing and a bad thing. Good thing as in if it comes down to sink or swim, honey I’m aiming for the shore. Bad thing, if I’m not feeling 100 percent confidant in who I am/where I’m at in my current daily life, I don’t adapt, but rather I conform. As a little girl my dad would call me a chameleon, because every time I would come home from a friend’s house I would be more ‘them‘ than ‘me‘. As much as I hated when he said it then, I now know he was right.

Being a child and having no sense of identity as well as having limited relationships beyond my immediate family left me somewhat handicapped in the area of leaning to stand on my own two feet in social interactions, so my best offenses became my defensive downfall. This wasn’t just a young girl trying her best to fit in, it was an experiment of how I could alter myself over and over until I got the result I thought they wanted. Most of this came though not how I acted, but by what I said. I learned to become a yes-girl. From my being able to read people’s emotion (we call that empathy- number 1 on my strengthfinder test) paired with my ‘always knowing what to say’ I verbally became your best friend. I never took sides, joined in your foe bashing, or egged you on, I simply listened and inserted little words of encouragement until I played your emotions like a finely tuned violin with my subtle words. Need a little encouragement? My god I’d give you the pep talk of the century. You’ll be believing you can take over the world after I’m done with you. Always agreeing, never seemed to play true to the peacemaker my heart really wanted to be. Natural instinct told me to give enlightenment to what they weren’t seeing. No, not tell them that they were wrong, just provide them with the necessary elements of both sides so they could come to a proper, well educated conclusion. But I couldn’t. I had a desire in me stronger than the that of telling the truth. I wanted friends. So with each nod of my head I could feel the bull shit rising.

I’m not sure when it was or what exactly caused my sudden change, perhaps it was picking up the life that I knew and replanting it in a state where I knew no one but my immediate yet again, maybe it was New Years Day when I decided that 2011 was going to be the year of honesty (day one started off with telling my long time crush I had feelings for him- see how well that worked out for me), maybe I had just grown up. But standing here looking back on these last 8 months I can’t help but to see a new pattern emerging from the rubble. I stopped caring about what I thought people thought of me and actually started caring about how I saw myself, and I just so happened to see myself as a rather truthful person. In this, my drastic side kicked in a little less graceful as I’d sometimes like it to, and most (if not all) my filters seems to have disappeared, sometimes in the most inconvenient of moments. There’s one line that seems to pop into my head at these times “why not?”. Let’s face it, I have one little life to live- why the freck would I spend it pretending I feel something that simply isn’t’ true. When airport boy asked me if our curbside kiss stirred up old feelings I figured what did I have to lose besides my humility. Working retail and people ask me if they look good in a shirt that is a terrible fit for them I’m guuna say yes. No way am I letting them leave my store looking that bad. When a guy friend asked me out on a date I had to have that potentially awkward conversation that I wanted nothing more than friendship from him. No it doesn’t always turn out perfectly (like telling one of your best friends who you’re going to see that you’re all but in love with him) but I’m learning. I just can’t be that person anymore, I have a LOT on my mind, and in my experience I’ve lost more in hiding the truth than telling it straight from the beginning.

Maybe it’s my desire to have the same be told to me that drives me. No I don’t want you to tell me the outfit that I’m wearing is hideous (more than likely I think I look amazing), but take a stab at this whole ‘open and honest friendship thing’. I just don’t get it, what exactly are you waiting for to happen before you are honest about how you feel with other’s in your life… with yourself? Hey-o there’s a key point. If nothing else, I know that I am brutally honest with myself. I, sometimes force myself to, look in the good ol’ internal mirror to see exactly what it is that I need to see. An attitude adjustment towards someone when it’s actually my ish. A reality check that a ‘potential crush’ is really only in my head. Or simply taking a look around my life to see what could use a little love-and-attention improvement. I don’t want to wait until I’m 85 before I start telling it how it is. I’ve had over 2 unsuccessful decades to tell the lies I thought they wanted to hear and it’s gotten me no where. At this point it’s either keep on putting up with the heartache of experiencing the disappointment of living behind a mask or taking the chance I just might get somewhere by telling the truth. I have the thoughts/feelings I do for a reason right? (Or I could turn out to be clinically insane). Beeesides, what’s the fun of life if you don’t rock the boat with something outrageous to say every once in a while. That’s why people like me are around for, give ya a little shocking from time to time.

Moral of the story- take the handsome John Mayer’s advice when he sang “Even if your hand are shaking, and your faith is broken, even if the eyes are closing, do it with a heart wide open and say what you need to say”. Take a stab at actually speaking your mind. You just might find out that your thoughts are what they need, not what they want. But rule number one when it comes to honesty- use tact. No one like a bitchy bully. Life goes by faster than we’d like to acknowledge, you’ve got to start looking fear dead in the eye. No one ever died from telling the truth (okay, that’s probably not true but I think you get the point).

Bartender Pour Me Another Shot of Patience. Actually, Make That A Double

August 10, 2011

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it ten thousand more times- I hate crushes. No, I’m not saying that I hate the person I have a crush on (that would be rather pointless wouldn’t it?), it’s the ‘getting the crush’ part that I despise. Sure the feeling of catching their eye from across a crowded room and a million butterflies start flapping their magical little wings around in your stomach leaving you wanting to puke up whatever you ate within the last 24 hours is a lovely thing and I, as well as every other human being, can learn to appreciate that moment. But it’s the moment 2.5 seconds following that time-slowing glance where all hell is unleashed and the thoughts of ‘Wait, what did that look mean?’, ‘Was he smiling at me because he likes me, or was he just being nice?’ comes crashing down, taking all sanity with it. And then there’s my specialty- letting you’re imagination run wild, naked through the woods, creating something out of nothing as your girlfriends encourage you to read into things that just aren’t there. All single people, do yourselves a favor and watch He’s Just Not That Into You. It’s golden. Key line of the movie I’ve taken to heart- “If a guy want to be with a girl, he will make it happen. No matter what”. Ladies, if there’s one thing we know about guys is it’s that they’re not all that great about subtlety. We’re the ones who hide everything in double meanings and emotional scavenger hunts, not them. So watch the movie a few times and take notes.

Another thing I hate about the whole ‘crush thing’ is the waiting part. Sure, sure it’s supposed to be a magical time to cherish and not rush. But if you have a track record that looks anything like mine you dread this time as much as I do. It’s all fine and dandy if you’re playing the waiting game until this dream guy sweeps you off your feet, but I am the queen of unrequited love, so this waiting period isn’t all rainbows waiting for him to ask me out, it’s until that crashing reality check that lets me know it’ll never happen. Good times kids. Where am I going with this? Oh yeah, I do have a point to all this…

I was in the middle of a text conversation with a good girl friend of mine back home when I asked her about her current crush seeing as they had just spent time with each other while she was out on a work trip and he had come to meet up with her. Saving the identity revealing details, she had asked for me to say a little prayer that he’s open up a little, while she was feeling the chemistry she could sense that he was holding back. Trying to figure one’s feelings out is a complicated little bastard to wrestle with and for the fact that I don’t know this guy of hers beyond what she’s told me, I have no gage on what’s he ish. So I responded- ‘man it’s hard being a girl and balancing going after what you want and waiting to figure out if he wants to pursue you or not. So I’m just going to be praying that you get patience’.

Struggle with crushes number 3- having patience. Now I consider myself the old fashion type when it comes to guys in the sense of I will wait it out until he makes the first ‘move’. My infamous if you want it come and get it stand point. No, I’m not asking someone to jump through a fiery ring to catch my attention, just have enough respect for me to actually take a stab at pursuing my heart- NOT through text message or Facebook chat thankyouverymuch (boys, grow some balls and call a lady up). Anyway, I know my friend well enough to know through and through how much of a strong, confident woman she is and is used to going after exactly what she wants, how she wants, and when she wants. Friendships, jobs, and yes, even boys. But I continued to text her my worry asking her to hold the reigns of her heart just this once. For not the sake of her heart in feeling a man pursue her in the way she truly desires but for this guy in her life as well, giving him the space to figure out if she is what he wants and if so, allow the ‘white knight’ every guy has in him win her over. A man needs the battle of fighting a dragon to feel the victory of winning his lady’s heart.
I’ve seen so many women get feel the fire lit beneath their rears and forgo the waiting period of the guy approaching them, and they go after him, just ‘making it happen’. So either they crash and burn because they ‘came on too strong’ or months into the fixed relationship they wonder why their boyfriend isn’t striving to meet their needs. That’s because you demasculinized him sweetheart. The moment you started the relationship out wearing the pants you pushed him out of the driver’s seat, why would he suddenly take over when you had your fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel from day one? It’s a woman’s desire to be pursued and it’s a man’s nature to fight.

As women we grow up watching prince after prince battle dragons, cruses, and weird octopus ladies and thus began our dreaming of our very own prince fight to win our hearts. But over the years of failed attempts and a little too much women’s empowerment gone to the head and we start changing the game by switching gender rolls the moment we take away the man’s privilege of pursuing us. All the while that seven year old girl inside of us is still wondering when Prince Charming is coming to rescue us. As I begun I was typing all this out to my friend, letting her know she was worth gaining the patience to be fought for, I realized I should have been looking in a mirror as I said that (well, I actually was looking in a mirror- I was at the gym running and they have mirrors lining the walls. but that’s not the point). Sure it’s easy for me to offer up the whole ‘waiting’ idea to my friend while there isn’t a single man of interest in my life (sort of, well the reality of anything happening isn’t there) and hasn’t been for a while. I can’t really even the last time I had a crush on a guy, so butterflies, crushes, and waiting is completely irrelevant to me right now.

It’s easy to stand firm in ‘if he wants it, he’ll have to come and get it’ when there’s no one wanting it. I’m sure whenever someone comes along bringing a basket full of rainbows I’ll have to reread my own words of wisdom in waiting. But maybe that’s why I’m still single, giving me the time to find every ounce of worth I have so when prince charming does come along I’ll wait it out until he fights a dragon or two. Hell, for all I know he’ll show up tomorrow or my luck, I’ve known him forever and he’s the patient one. Frankly, I really don’t know and I don’t care. But what I do have it a growing sense of patience. And a tattoo lining the inside of my arm that reads “None but the Brave deserve the Fair”, reminding me that I will settle for nothing but the man that is brave enough to take a stand in pursuing me.

So ladies moral of this little story- hold your little horses and let a man do his thing. If he want’s you he’ll come and get you, in his own way and his own time. Don’t, don’t, don’t rush it. Take a moment to listen to that seven year old girl inside and actually give yourself the benefit of the doubt that one day Prince Charming will come for you. In the mean time settle down and learn to enjoy where life has you at right now. It’s hard, TRUST ME, I know. We’ll get through it.
Keep smiling kiddos.

We Can be Just Friends… Can’t We?

August 2, 2011

Seeing how I am so diligent in keeping up with this whole ‘confessing all that goes on in my life thing’ even though three weeks have passed (as well as plenty of entertaining incidences that I haven’t told you about) but to stay a tiny bit consistency I thought I’d pick up where I left off on my last posting: my awkward, lives-an-hour-away, vacation buddy and the thickening tension that was seeming to grow between us.

Me, being my quite, stalkerish, observing self, begun to watch this acquaintance and take mental notes on how he interacted with the different people that we met in that quaint little town. (Okay that lasted all but four minutes before I felt weird watching him and talk to my host and then decided to rely on my brilliance and abnormally detailed memory filling system). It was then that I realized a pattern- when a new/cute girl came along I watched the person who was reserved towards me open up, strike up conversation, and make those pretty little girls giggle. And let me tell you- I became offended. It became clear, because he had no interest in me, there was no point of a connection.

Okay sure, in some vague sense we are friends, but I think (I’m speaking for the both of us right now) we both ruled each other out a long time ago as one another’s possible future mates, so we’ve become stuck in this ‘let’s pretend we’re better friends than we actually ever will be‘. A good ol’ case of the ‘fuck its‘. Even though I knew this, the unoffendable one was ragingly offended. Not because I wanted him to turn on the charm we all know he has and make me giggle along with the rest, I just thought since we were kinda were on vacation together there would be a touch of social interaction or two.

Seeing as I can’t keep a grudge to save my life, I quickly got over my offense long before the sun set but it set off a train reaction on my mind that led me to ask this question- what is the point of being friends with the opposite sex?

Right now all your little mental reactors are flying around in all colors of fury wanting to give me the ‘lecture of a life time’ on how I’m SO wrong. But this is a blog so you can’t really.. unless you take your ranting out on my comment box. But it’s okay, you’ll get over it, or you’ll let it ruin your day by obsessing over it.

Seriously now, let’s back up and take a look at this- a guy and girl become friends and at one point or another, one party (usually the more sensitive of the two) falls for the other party involved. From here the fallen party can notify the other of ‘said feelings’ and 1. (i’f you’re living in a movie) the other suddenly realizes the feelings are reciprocated and birds start singing as the credits roll. Or 2. they have the endure that lovely, I think you’re great, but just not into you in that way (usually it’s more of a 2 hour-beat-around-the-bush pussy foot conversation that ends up complicating things more than clearing them up). Better yet they suffer in silence (my usual mode of operation) and slowly die inside wondering if that friend ever feel the same way (it’s terrible let me tell you, such a waste of your mental abilities).

So that’s the one friend falls for the other scenario, the other is quite simple, you’re good buddies, kickin’ it old school and such when bam, one of you starts seeing someone. Even though you promise yourselves ‘this isn’t going to change our friendship‘ you might as well start hand them the shovel and ask them to single handedly dig the grave and chisel R.I.P BFF’s. I mean you could always go for the third wheel action until the significant other starts to feel awkward, wondering who exactly the couple at the dinner table is. But in truth, I give it 3 weeks to 2 months until the he/she friendship drifts apart until you see each other at group gatherings or that random running into one another at the market ad you’re suddenly exchanging those awkward ‘hi how are you’s’

Still think I’m wrong? (probably so). My challenge to you- make a list of all the opposite gender friends you have, the ones you’d actually consider a close friend of yours, I don’t care, go through your phone, Facebook list, heck, break out the good ol’ pin and paper trick and jot those names down. Now tell me out of those guys/girls how many of them have you had a thing for or they had for you at one point or another in your relationship, even it was a two-week-before-you-really-got-to-know-them or a it’s a mostly-in-your-head thing. I promise you, you’ll be surprised. Sure you could still be friends and made it through the unknowing swooning for the other. But congratulations, you’re still apart of my little statistic.

All this being said, I still have friends who are guys and I always will. A large majority of them I’ve had a little thing for at one time, some I probably unadmittedly still do. I am the QUEEN of falling for my closet guy friends, no really, polish the crown and throw me a damn parade I am so successful at it. GUYS, here’s your warning now: unless you decide to make me your wife one day, do not, I repeat, do NOT attempt to become my best friend, I will most defiantly fall for you.

Realizing all this isn’t going to make me run to an all girls club and boycott the befriending of the male gender as a whole. It’s simply causing me to step back and take caution with how to enter my friendships from now on, mostly because in the past I’ve tend to be the more sensitive one thus falling for my guy friends and suffering from the dreaded enemy The Crush (although tables seem to have turned lately but we’ll talk about that at a later time).
Do I see the point in opposite gender friendships? Of course, being a relationship driven woman I couldn’t live without them without wanting to go on a estrogen killing spree. Besides, some of the people that have had the most impact on my life to this day have been my male friends.

So to my friend/acquaintance who I judged a little too easily and got WAY to offended at, I humbly apologize. I can understand the lack of built connection. Although I do still think we can be buds or at least go on pretending we are. Cheers

The Dilemmas of Group Vacationing

July 14, 2011

tags: Aw, Friendship

Okay, so something that you should know about me: I hate, more than anything in the world- AWKWARDNESS. Nothing like still in the same room as someone else and feeling the ever so slight awkwardness building with each tick of the second-hand click by, while the silence grows thicker. I mean, once you’ve reached that point (say around the 3 minute mark) of being in the same room as an individual and no one has said a word to the other, it’s either someone breaks the ice and tries their hand at striking up pitiful small talk (in my case it’s usually blurting out really stupid questions no one understands) or you both acknowledge the undeniable tension and continue in pretending one another are not sitting 3 feet away. It’s kinda like a social russian roulette- who can withstand the awkwardness longer before the other gets up and walks away or decides to be the grown up and break the silence. And then there’s me, I’ll usually decide to do one of two things 1. go on ignoring it, acting completely oblivious to the fact that there’s an elephant parading itself around the living room, eventually wondering if the person hates me or thinks I carry some deadly, contagious decease that they can only catch by entertaining conversation with me, or 2. I (rather bluntly) ask the person why things feel awkward or if it was just me who felt the ocean sized tension getting ready to over take our village of a friendship, then of course this little confrontation of mine seems to do everything BUT smooth things over. Rather with a wild look of confusion in their eye they deny everything and we go on with our awkward ways, this time no doubt in the lack of fusion we have going on.

So my current dilemma- four days into a seven day group vacation and the awkwardness between a friend of mine and I seems to be growing. Seeing as we’ve been acquaintances for about 4 years or so now and though it has mostly been long distance-ish and mostly know each other through other people, but for some reason in my overly positive working brain, I thought that since we currently live an hour away from each other and we did pretty much plan a vacation together then that would make us at the very least somewhat comfortable with each other. But no, there seems to be this underlying…well, awkwardness towards one another. Perhaps it’s the fact that everyone we meet while we’re out here thinks we’re (as one called it) a ‘Unit’ seeing as we’re from the same place and have come out for vacation together (yeah I can see their confusion), maybe I just weird him out, I mean, it’s been known to happen kids. Now the joke is for one of our hosts to make a comment how we’re not a couple each time she introduces us to yet another one of their friends.. although I do believe that’s simply making the situation worse.
In my trying to subtly break the icy of our once budding friendship I went ahead and bought his ticket into a local show we all went to. So I’m hoping somehow my gesture white-flagging the friendship boat might just move us from ‘awkward’ to ‘cautious’ acquaintances. OR my act of kindness might have been mistook as ‘hey, I’m in love with you‘ and misthinking that someday I’m hoping to birth his children rather than ‘I’m just trying not to act like a awkward bitch for reasons I don’t even know’, yeah, that wrong thinking could defiantly further the chance of possibly redeeming any chance of a friendship we once had.
Here’s option number 3: this whole thing is in my head. I could just be imagining each time we’re in a room alone together it feels as if the entire world is holding its breath trying not to make a sound as it exhales and that it’s not weird that we live an hour away from each other yet haven’t once had even a 5 minute conversation while we’re on vacation together. I mean this is quite possible, I have a wildly active imagination that so often runs rampid weather or not I like it. In the case a mix of the day dreamer in me mixed with the scars of insecurities from past friendships gone array.

One way or another I think it just might be getting to the point where I (as non awkwardly as possible) need to mention what I’ve noticed is brewing in the air, work on some good ol’ communication skills, and smooth the lines of acquaintances to friends running on their way. I just hate the current state of awkwardness, it crawls under the pale layers of my skin and burrows deep within my unusually positive heart.

bits and pieces of life processed through yours truly