The very word ‘love’ is too gooey for me, it is so rehearsed, unauthentic, and cliché in every way. When I was a teenager and romanticizing the world, the thought of what love could do in my life made me drunk with the possibility of untold bliss. A mysterious trigger shot guns the crazed pursuit of attention and adoration in a young girls mind for an indefinable feeling.
Then, not much older and certainly not wiser, the cynic of love takes over. The traumas of high school affairs have done their damage and unrequited triangles cemented warning signs on the heart, never again.
This is, of course, followed by an age of independence, self-reliance, drinking freedom mixed in with feelings of terror not being able to pay the bills, thinking you may die alone and waking up in the morning with a headache questioning, “What the hell did I do last night?” Naturally this is also the age you date sub-standardly, dress and wear makeup like a peacock and make life altering decisions you can never take back no matter how much you want to. This stage in love, or severe lack of, seems to drag on the longest and just as your life seems doomed to be spent doing mind-numbing, long hour, low wage work by day and vodka stupors by night you meet someone. This someone takes you completely surprise, is nothing you ever expected and everything you ever needed.
Here is my condensed story, in defense of love; from the naïve beginnings of what I thought love should feel like, the cynical resistance to it and coming full circle to appreciation and gratefulness in marriage for the ability to recognize love when it is carrying me and restoring my faith and hope that everything will work out in the end…for better or for worse, in sickness and in health:
I thought myself a poet when I was 14; my journal was the most dedicated all-important ritual I had in my life. I poured everything I had ever dreamed up in my Barbie and Ken playhouse universe onto the pages of numerous college ruled binders. I blabbed on about the boy who sat in front of me in honors English class who distracted me so badly I failed the class, on purpose; hot boys never want smart girls. I was certain of that.
Then there was my brothers best friend who I always dreamed of kissing but who kissed everyone else, I was devastated by him and every tear can be accounted for in that ridiculous journal. I wrote of how on the playground across the street from my childhood home we sat on the swing set together, also accompanied by a third party, my infatuations’ sidekick who sat on the swing in between us (an obstacle that I was sure to overcome). The subsequent event was a defining moment in my life’s lessons on love and remembered so vividly by the utmost embarrassment a teenage girl could feel. My infatuation dared his sidekick to kiss me and there we sat looking at each other like deer in headlights as he counted down the seconds of his dare. His sidekick, looking even more terrified than myself, took no action and upon the threat of the countdown running out I leaned over the swing and kissed him myself. There, dare done! It was both mine and sidekicks’ first kiss interrupted by my infatuations’ booming laughter and him yelling at us both, “Now we know who wears the pants!” The last thing I wanted in the world was to wear the pants, I just wanted to be a girl who was kissed by her crush and I had ruined everything.
I was going on 15 and sidekick ended up being my first boyfriend ironically enough. We went on our first date to a movie ‘That Thing You Do’ and bought me my very first cd, Oasis, which still reminds me of that date. Music seemed to bond us and he wrote me love songs and learned to play the guitar. We wrote god awful cheesy music and talked about fate and how great it would be if first loves end up together forever, all the while I was still infatuated with my Infatuation and I don’t know if anything was real with sidekick but how can anything be at 15.Yes, I am a horrible person. Then I went to high school and left him behind, so you know that was that. I was a year older and couldn’t be seen with a middle school kid. I might have broken his heart at the time but karma is a bitch and high school is even more of a bitch, so I was sure to get what was due. Besides my heart felt forever broken by my Infatuation so it didn’t matter if I broke anyone else’s.
Freshman year was a blur, a whirlwind of meeting people and doing random stupid things to fit in that totally go against who you have always been. Freshman year is just the beginning of a lot of things to a girl and I was no exception. Feelings of self criticism, standing in front of the mirror pinching my waistline and grimacing, throwing all the clothes out of my closet, slamming a lot of doors, crying myself to sleep because my parents wouldn’t let me go to the fair…seriously I probably couldn’t have been more annoying or been more annoyed. I was completely spoiled and nothing was ever good enough, I’m sure all that is very attractive to boys at that age!
Right before my 16th birthday we sold my childhood home in Tennessee and headed across the country to California. I finally had something real to cry about, it felt like my life had ended and everyone I had ever known was ripped from me. I even missed sidekick, I would read the pages of my old journals over and over again, just to torture myself a little more. I started to feel like maybe he was my one true love and romanticized our relationship like Romeo and Juliet and that someday I would escape evil California and be reunited and ride off into the sunset of Germantown. One night I was in such a deep depression I took a lighter to my journal and set it on fire. I watched it burn into nothing because I felt like nothing. Teenagers, they are such drama queens. Even so I couldn’t let go of the life I left and the last three years of high school were spent in such a “whatever” attitude, it’s hard to pinpoint any real moments of consequence. I happened to be good at playing the clarinet and was fairly labeled a band geek and didn’t do much else outside of school besides music. Since I now attended an all girl Catholic school I thought that it would be a century before I had a chance to see the face of a boy. My one social event I went to was a Catholic youth group gathering once a week and I wasn’t even Catholic. So even the things I did join I didn’t really feel a part of. I hadn’t learned the art of saying no when people asked me to do things, which in high school is a huge danger to your well-being. Since I was in band we did travel some to do competitions and music festivals. My junior year we took a bus to Disneyland for Music In the Park and before we left one of the saxophone guys, who was also a football player, asked if he could sit next to me driving down. I said sure, after all he was a Palma football player, I couldn’t say no. He was not my type, I knew he wasn’t. I didn’t even like sitting next to him really. We were sitting in the very back of the bus and it was after midnight so everyone was sleeping, including me. I had fallen asleep on his shoulder when I felt his hands going up my thigh. I glared at him like “what the hell are you doing?” which is what I meant to say but nothing came out. It was like someone hit the mute button and I couldn’t find the remote. He knew I didn’t want to do anything with him, right? My stomach churned and I felt nauseous. Any minute now I could unmute and change the channel. Apparently I was broken. Any self confidence I may have had exited the building after that.
Finally, senior year was almost over. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. I had heard the same phrase over and over again, “You have so much potential, you’re just letting it all go to waste”. My response was always the same, “WHATEVER.” It was true, I did waste it. I let my obsession with the past ruin whatever happiness I could have found in the present moment and whatever potential I may have had academically. Luckily, despite my horrendous attendance records, total lack of study or trying I still managed a 3.0, a perfectly average average, which was good enough to get me into a number of state colleges I applied to.
Right before graduation we had the rite of passage trip to Disneyland which combined our school with the all boys’ school, yippee. Bad memories of Disneyland, I’m not even sure why I went. Upon arrival I managed to get separated from my small group of girl friends and got “stuck” with several boys from Palma, only one of whom I knew. It was terribly awkward at first and I was extremely pissed at my fickle friends for losing me but as it turned out it was quite a happy accident. On that night I went on ride after ride with the same boy. He was sarcastic and quirky, painfully shy but still I know he noticed me. Later we joked about how we met on the teacups and fell in love in Disneyland, the happiest place on earth. When we got home and had our year book signings, his friend wrote my Disneyland Love’s phone number in my yearbook and said to call him. I did and that summer we spent nearly every day together. We went to Lake Tahoe and jet skied, to shows and dancing in San Francisco, he showered me with presents and I showered him with adoration. We joked about everything and then that fall I went to state college in the central valley and he went to a UC 8 hours south. He helped me move into the dorms and spent the night to ease all of my fears. I had never lived away from parents, he made light of everything, even my pot smoking roommates. He was straight edge and looked down on people who smoked and drank. I reserved judgment. Soon my RA’s were dragging me out to parties and soon after that they didn’t have to drag me. There was a party every night and he couldn’t stand it. I told him I need to live my life, experience college life, and he couldn’t keep me from my experiences and judge every person I hung out with. Sometimes I wish I would have just listened. In many ways that year was the most fun and the most painful year I ever had. I broke up with him over an instant messenger; it was cowardly and completely cold hearted. I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for that. They say that sometimes you remember more the people that you hurt more than the people who hurt you, for me this couldn’t be truer. I spent years after that trying to make amends, to make him love me again but yet again it was broken and it was my entire fault.
My first year of college defeated me, I had gotten nowhere. I drank and tried to be the life of the party and had nothing to show for it so I retreated home to start over. My parents were surprisingly lenient with me, I think my mom was more crushed about losing my boyfriend who I think she loved even more than I did. I went to work and community college part time. I still wasted a lot of precious time. I changed my major from music to business, and then to aviation. I thought if I became a pilot like my dad they would at least have something to be proud of me for.
When I was in pilots ground school, which I surprisingly took a great liking to, I met another flyboy. He worked at the airport which was extremely convenient for me since I was always there. He was very shy as well and it took several white Russians watching The Big Lebowski for him to get the nerve up to kiss me. We dated over 2 years, my longest running relationship by far. He took me camping, we flew a lot. He left to go to Emry Riddle in Arizona and I left to go to Sacramento State. We weathered the moves and my educational path change yet again to kinesiology. I figured I was dating a pilot so I didn’t need to be one anymore I guess. Things didn’t add up with us though, we were on separate playing fields. I wanted more, he just wanted to fly. I moved out to Monterey and he stayed at his parents. I struggled to stay independent. I worked and I went to bars and everything felt empty. My little bungalow was so cute; I had it decorated just the way I wanted. It was walking distance to downtown and for a couple years it was great just being single and enjoying myself. You can only enjoy yourself for so long though before you need someone else to fill the space.
I was 26 when I decided to sign up for match.com. This was not something I was proud of doing. It was kind of a last ditch effort to meet someone different, someone who I would not meet in a bar or who was in the military. This was after 6 months of having sworn off men. At that point I was ready for something real. And wouldn’t you know I started getting emails that very day I signed up from matches who met all of my very specific criteria in a man. Woohoo, it was pretty fun. I had my pick. I responded to a couple but Chris was the very first one who emailed me back right away. I chatted with him and one other person for a couple weeks. Chris was the first person who I set up a date with. We met for sushi which he said he loved. We made casual conversation while he fumbled with his chopsticks, he ordered what I ordered since he obviously had no idea what was on the menu. It was cute he had lied and agreed to sushi since I liked it. I think I talked a lot since I was nervous so I didn’t think it went particularly well. Still after dinner he asked me to go get ice cream. I said sure even though it was freezing outside. He barely knew his way around town since he had only lived here for 3 months from Ohio. He was the first real gentleman I had met in a long time, a genuine gentleman. He tells me he’s an accountant and immediately I think I’m screwed, I am terrible with money, it would never work.
In the meantime, I went on one other date with a military guy. He seemed nice enough on the phone and a great sense of humor which Chris had somewhat lacked on our first date. The military guy proceeds to tell me all about his knife collection and hunting and all kinds of talk about death. I was seriously creeped out, I have been on bad dates before but this guy took the prize. All I could think about was why I was even on this date when I had already met such a nice normal guy from the Midwest with great family values. I never called military guy back.
I moved in with Chris 3 months later, I had never lived with a guy before. Big step! Then 3 months after that Chris proposed to me on my birthday weekend. Everything was so easy with him. He wanted the next step when I wanted it, his family was all very close and everyone in my family loved him too. Still even after I said yes to marry him I don’t think it really sunk in deep with me what it really meant to say ‘I do’. I knew that I loved him and even more I knew he loved me. It was all happening very fast, especially for my track record.
Self doubt is a vicious thing, when it starts creeping in it can consume you. Chris is the type who makes firm decisions, he knows what he wants and it seems like decisions are so easy for him. I envy that. I painfully debate over everything, stupid things like which cereal to get in the grocery store. Big decisions such as marriage, one would think would be impossible for me to make yet when he asked I just started crying and said Of Course, of course! Chris is just like that for me, he makes everything in life easier and he makes it a better too. I really think sometimes he is getting the shit of the stick in this deal because I’m such a love cynic, I’m not the oooey gooey girl running around saying “I love you” all the time and I know I don’t say it enough. I think men need to hear it more than most women do. He proves it to me every day that he loves me and I wish I could be half the wife that he is a husband to me.
We have been married almost 2 years and I am still on the learning curve, maybe I will for a lifetime. I am in awe every day of his patience, kindness, compassion and dedication to my happiness.
At our wedding when 1 Corinthians 13 was read I have to admit all that crossed my mind was “How Cliché!” But sometimes in between the barrage of negative brain chatter and the weight of the days To- Do list the words from the verse creep into my thoughts.
‘Love is patient, love is kind, It does not envy, it does not boast. It is not proud, it is not rude, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.’ All of these things Chris is. The sad part, which is hard to say out loud, I have always felt I am not. I do not think myself a romantic and in many ways I lack faith in love. Resisting love is the best means to keep away the sting of losing it. At least, that is the way I have always acted.
Everyone needs that one true blue person who believes in you and eventually one day that person can make you believe in you too. I’m still working on believing in myself but at least I know that Chris always will, despite everything that I do to mess things up. He never fails me and that is why I married him.
