DISCLAIMER: Major love fluff ahead, but I ain’t scar’d…
Breezy Saturday afternoon, slightly unhampered by winter, pulls all of the poison out of unimportant activities like negative thoughts, reprimanding my inner Nina for not studying ahead for Tuesday’s class, and cruising facebook for self-worth. Instead, I can meditate and bleed reflection on whomever feels called to read.
Today’s subject? Puppy love. In particular, Corgis in ninja outfits love. The last post was a small, end-of-entry carol to my phenomenal boyfriend and I plan to continue for just a few hundred words more.
Life has seen that my heart should be cradled by only a small number of guys: I believe the destitute sensitivity of it couldn’t manage an increase. This began to bother me when I turned twenty-five, so I rummaged through the closet of serial dating. After tasty books by Henry Cloud and John Townsend, I joined an online dating service and sought to unfurl the relationship-hungry wallflower within. Awkward, nervous musings turned into cool, relaxed dialogue. For this I am thankful. While it didn’t produce any type of serious relationship, it opened up the dusty doors and fostered confidence. (I’m hoping that serial grad school presentations will donate this same aplomb to one day teaching undergraduates the joy of modern poetry…)
The journal entries of mid-summer 2011 show a deep, peaceful reckoning with living and working as a happy single girl. Not a constant state of euphoria, of course– but a solid knowledge and appreciation of my worth without a romantic companion. I knew deep in my heart that lasting love, contentment, and motherhood would still be mine…whether by myself or in addition to an amazing man. “By myself” no longer represented a tragic high note from Celine Dion, but the vision of walking tall and enjoying my own sweet, beautiful, adventurous company.
As God’s booming laughter and perfect agenda directed, I met Travis on the totally unexpected whim of a good buddy who thought we might hit it off. Many outings, shared affection, honest conversations, mutual friendships, and two holidays with families later, I unashamedly gush about the strong, capable man who calls me his girlfriend. We work as a team– discussing (and sometimes disagreeing) on politics, fighting hard and failing to love with Christ in mind, running up and down UNCG’s campus like out-of-shape bosses, searching for more ways to show we care, and navigating life together. This is the romance stage, dictating all the ways we are both loved. I’m sure the tougher stages will assert themselves shortly, but for now we will be that obnoxious couple that kisses and cuddles over beer and cheese fries. Don’t expect an apology.