On Dating Again, Jubilantly

Breaking news: I haven’t lost my groove.

(I don’t even know why I was legitimately concerned about that. I was though. I shouldn’t have been. Turns out it is like riding a bike. <— I hate it when people say that.)

I went on my first official date in many years. It was fantastic. Not in a heart-stopping, butterflies way but in a hey, I feel like I’ve known you forever even though I know like seven things about you way. It flowed smoothly. There were no awkward pauses, no standing twiddling your thumbs and being weird. It just went, from the moment it began, very organically.

I dropped my phone that night and broke it. It’s really hard to try to explain to your date that you’re not that drunk, your purse just flips over sometimes, and even if you weren’t trying to blame it on your purse, you’re just that clumsy. He was cool about it. I was way more calm than I generally am when I break my phone. I have a new phone now. I have no idea what I’m doing with it.

Regardless, I’ll definitely see him again. There’s nothing sexier than a man who reads things. Literature, news magazines, the whole nine yards. I’m enthralled. I want to borrow freely from his bookshelf. His politics are wrong (they could be worse), but I have yet to meet a man in his early thirties who hasn’t flirted with libertarianism, so he gets a pass there.

Ah, well. I was reflecting on dating in my early twenties. I so desperately wanted to find the missing puzzle piece – the man who would be the solution, the perfect fit, the right answer. I realize now that there is no right puzzle piece, only ones that are better suited than others. The fact that there’s no right answer leaves a lot of room for interpretation and that’s where the fun comes in.

Am I the person I want to be? Not yet. Do I have growing and changing and reaching yet to do? Of course. Do I still need to get rich enough to hire a cleaning service because I’m just never going to grow into organization? Definitely. (For some reason, I still think that I’ll start to feel like an adult when I have a clean house all time. I have a sneaking suspicion that’s never going to happen.)

I am ready to enjoy the bounty that the world has to offer. I’m thrilled to start getting back out there in a social and emotional way. Life is full of adventures and I don’t want to miss a single one.

A

On Losing Your Best Friend, Morosely

We couldn’t do it. God knows we tried.

He started moving out yesterday while I was at work. He texted me to tell me that he was jealous of one of my dude friends and that he was sick of laying next to me at night knowing how unhappy I was.

I didn’t believe it at first.

We had a big fight last weekend, and neither of us could answer why we loved each other. I couldn’t think of things. He’s a great dad to the dog. I should have said that.

He took the dog. He told me today that I’ll be able to see the dog whenever I want, but he imagines that I won’t want to. I will. I’m a good dog-mom. I love that dog. I am hurt. He told me last weekend that I could keep the dog. He lied.

I know it wasn’t going to work in the long run, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to. I know that we had tried for too long to make it work; that he can’t meet my needs – generally emotional and support-related; that I’m too demanding of him, that I want him to be someone he’s not.

But at the bottom of it all, he is my best friend. He’s the guy I [used to] make dinner with; the guy I [used to] run errands with; the guy I [used to] play video games with. And now he’s gone. My other half is gone.

I knew it needed to happen. I guess it’s good that he initiated it. I never would have done it. I kept telling myself that I just needed to see if we could do it, if maybe this time would be different. I kept telling myself that it wasn’t so bad and that it was fine. Everything was fine. But it wasn’t happy. He wasn’t there emotionally or supportive or positive. He refused to compliment me on anything because he thought that it was me being too needy. I did a lot of handling of stuff. It wasn’t perfect. It was a lot of comfortable.

He was the one who kept me going through some really horrendous times. He’s been a huge part of my life for two and a half years. We had a little family, and for a while, we were happy.

When we started dating, I knew that this was going to be the relationship of my mid-twenties, that life-changing one where you have to start over and you are forced to reexamine your life as an adult. It’s not just fun and games, now it’s real. I don’t know – I had a better outlook on it when it was something that wouldn’t ever happen to me. But now that it has, I guess I’ll tell you more about it once I’ve hit that smug other end of survival, where it doesn’t hurt and I’m freely giving advice on how to heal. (Ha, could we just fast-forward to that point already?)

He told me he didn’t trust me, and I think that’s a shared feeling. I think we’ve struggled with that from the beginning. He told me that he wishes it wasn’t ending, and the best way to do it is by ripping the band-aid off and going cold turkey. I wish it wasn’t like that.

I think he’s been planning it for a while – he just got his car back from the dealership where it’s been for two months on Tuesday. He left Wednesday. He came back this morning, after I hadn’t heard from him for almost twenty-four hours, bringing the dog. I cried into his puppy fur. He doesn’t know. I don’t know when I’ll get to see him again.

I wasn’t ready. I knew that eventually, I’d have to be ready. But I wasn’t. This is a good kick in the pants. I know that this is a good thing. I know that this will be fine one day. I know that eventually, I’ll be able to think about moving on. But right now, it hurts. It hurts so bad. You know when your heart hurts, that tight clenching feeling, and then your palms ache? It’s that, interspersed with those horrible wails of anguish. Then some tears. Then I’m fine. And then I’ll think about something….and suddenly it’s back to the tears.

His friend told me that he’s surprised that I was so surprised by the break up. Even though I’d spent an hour the night before with my therapist talking about feeling like I need to feel ready to end it, I wasn’t ready. There was still something there. Apparently, boyfriend hadn’t felt great about us in a long time either. So it turns out that both os us are hurt, both of us felt frustrated, and neither of us could figure out if there was a way to fix it.

I’m sure the next few months will hold a million different challenges – the breakup depression, the loneliness (that’s what most likely to get to me), the panic about what now? But I’m taking the GRE in February. That’ll keep me busy – I need to relearn everything there is to know about math so I can get in to a good graduate school.

Mom, I’m going to need that spare bed, please.

According to NPR, science can help.

Merry Christmas, quickly!

So of course nothing ever goes exactly as planned. With my grandma fresh out of the hospital, our tradition of spending Christmas Eve at her house were scratched. Instead, boyfriend and I watched “The Interview” online and fell asleep. This morning, eager to avoid angering anyone, we went to my uncle’s house to see his kids for about forty minutes, then rushed home to clean the house and get ready for my dad and his wife to come over.

But, quickly, I must share what I’ve found – champagne and spiced apple cider! It’s delicious. I’m going to be too full of it to eat a proper dinner. It’s delicious. It’s festive. It’s sure to please.

I googled it because I thought I’d stumbled on something new and magical, but it turns out that like most everything, someone has discovered it before you do.

Check this recipe out:

spiced apple cider champagne cocktails

Merry Christmas!

On the Right Dog, Appreciatively

The Wrong Dog – New York Times 

We got Acorn when he was 4.5 months old. He was already broken – scared, shy, hesitant. Whatever had happened to him before we got him was enough damage to last a lifetime. Even now, a year and some days after we brought him home from Mississippi, he cowers every time he goes in or out of the back door; he remains terrified of wood/linoleum/tile floors; he begs for attention constantly. He’s the same nervous baby nugget we brought home with us, cowering, terrified, alone. He’s a beta, through and through. (Nothing wrong with that, of course.)1

I’m so very happy that our rescue situation worked out for us – he definitely needed a lot of love and discipline, but at his core, he’s the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet. Trouble, definitely, but the best kind. I’m so grateful that he found us and that he’s melded so well into our lives. I feel for people who’ve loved and had to let go of dogs who just aren’t a good fit. I know it’s hard and horrible, and I respect the choice to let them go. I hate it (for both human and dog) but I know that sometimes, it’s the only option. (It also helps that Acorn had probably never seen a cat – or been inclined to attack anything – our cat Carlos hates him, but they’ve come to tolerate each other – when Acorn isn’t trying to eat the cat’s wet food.)

Our dog needed so much love to bring him into the confident dog he is today. He’s bad, but only when he hasn’t been walked enough. Case in point: the last three days. No walks = chewed up papers all over the house, chewed up trash in the backyard, catching him in the alley in the morning after I’ve let him out.

He doesn’t run though. Our yard is open, and we live on a busy street. He hangs out in the backyard, and every now and then we’ll find him in the front yard, lounging, or the alley, where, when called, he’ll guiltily sneak back through the gate like he hasn’t been gone. He doesn’t even approach the post man. He knows we’re his family. He begs for our attention, which I hate, but tolerate since I understand how much of it we had to give him in the beginning to earn his trust.

We couldn’t have been luckier. That post in the New York Times reminds me how lucky we are to have such a funny, expressive, adorable fur-child in our lives.

On German Car Problems, Furiously

We have a Volkswagen Passat.

We’re frustrated. Here’s the Yelp review for Emich Volskwagen in Denver that I haven’t posted yet:

My review is for the Service Department.

I’m thoroughly frustrated with the experience we’ve had here. Our Passat has had its water pump replaced here twice – only to break again recently. Our mechanic (not at this dealership) told us he’d replace it, but he’d rather us bring it back here since the part should have a warranty on it.
We brought it back – there was a twelve month warranty but we were four days past the twelve month mark. We asked if they’d see if there was any way they could replace the part.
They called us back and told us that there was nothing wrong with the car. Lance was incredibly rude to me while I was asking questions about the cooling system. I asked if he’d please see if there was any way they could still replace the part, as I’ve had the car overheat with children in the backseat and I don’t feel comfortable driving the car.
He called me back and left a voice message, which I returned a minute later. I left a voice message. My call was never returned.
I called back and was informed that Volkwagen won’t replace the water pump due to an oil leak that’s somehow caused the water pump to malfunction. (Far cry from nothing wrong with the vehicle, eh?) This was the first time I had heard of any oil leak, and called my mechanic to verify. We’d taken the car straight from my mechanic to Emich, so he’s knowledgeable about the car and its current issues. He told me that there had never been an oil leak and that he had never heard of an oil leak affecting the function of a water pump. He also told me that during his own testing of the system, he’d been unable to get it to leak — but kept trying, and all of a sudden, it started pouring water. He agreed with me that the water pump needs to be replaced.
I’ve left another message for the head of the service department, but have had no response.
I’m beyond furious. They had the gall to offer me a quote for services related to ascertaining the source of an oil leak we didn’t have prior to bringing the car here, and also offered to give me a price quote for fixing the water pump, which was four days past the warranty period. I will never buy another Volkswagen again, nor will I ever recommend this dealership to anyone. Their attention to their customers is appalling and I won’t trust them to do any work, particularly since it doesn’t see to hold up on the road.
We still haven’t reached a resolution, and while I’m hesitant to post this review since they still have my car – god only knows how many leaks it will have when I get it back – I’d like to offer this up as a cautionary tale to anyone considering trusting them with their vehicle.

On Feminism, Needily

I’m a feminist. I have been since before I understood what feminism was, and I’m grateful for that. I grew up thinking that I could do anything that I wanted to, without any concern for gender. I hung out with the boys until fourth grade, was never consumed by beauty or girlie things, but absolutely loved my Barbie dolls and everything else girl. It wasn’t an issue. My parents never pushed a gender identity, and I never felt the need to have one. I still consider myself somewhat of a tomboy, although I recently learned how to fill in my eyebrows with powder to make them look more fantastic. I appreciate that knowledge immensely.

I got to college, full of wonder and amazement at the mountains of theory that could be produced by academia, and found my calling. Sociology, women’s studies, and everything that goes along with it fascinated me. I thrived in those classes – to me, it’s like common sense, but more in-depth. More focused. More history, reflection, examination.

One thing that always struck me was Judith Butler’s description of heterosexuality as a performance of drag, meaning that in order to participate in society as a heterosexual man or woman, you’d have to put on the right clothes, and do your makeup a certain way, and act in a way that was socially acceptable.

It all started to click. When I was in high school, I’d given up my nerd persona to try to fit in as a teenage girl. Of course, that meant denying my identity as a “know it all” in pursuit of acceptance. In time, of course, I found that trying on different identities had led me to the truth – that I am who I am, regardless of my outward appearance. I came into my own and found that it was entirely freeing and wonderful.

But let’s get back to feminism. To me, feminism can be summed up in one word: equality. It’s not about being better than anyone, or denying anyone. It’s about being respected and treated as equals.

Here we are, in the twenty-first century. We’re officially post-postmodern, but we’re at a crossroads. Women have gotten the right to vote, and we’ve proved ourselves to be a force to be reckoned with at the polls. We’ve attained degrees, and sought higher education. We’ve entered the workforce and become politicians. We are no longer relegated to the role of teachers or secretaries, not that those roles aren’t absolutely necessary. We’ve been given choices. Motherhood isn’t an absolute identity.

And yet, we’re not there. There isn’t true, sweeping equality. We haven’t broken all of the glass ceilings. The pushback has been intense. Men’s emasculation at the hands of feminists have caused many a sleepless night for those concerned with that sort of thing, those people who believe that it’s a serious fear, that somehow women are determined to undermine our societal stability. (What societal stability?)

Recently, I was made aware of a blog that is focused on submissions from people who believe that they don’t need feminism. It’s called “Women Against Feminism.” It hurts me to read.

We’ve got women being raped and gang raped in India without any assistance from the police. We’ve got ISIS ordering Iraqi women to undergo female genital mutilation, and then backtracking to deny those claims. We’ve got women being kidnapped in Africa for wanting to get an education. It goes on and on. Our world is a broken place, one where being a woman is often a very dangerous thing to be.

You think you don’t need feminism?

The posts are laughable. They claim that they don’t need feminism because they don’t want to be a victim, or because they want to be a stay-at-home mom, or because they want respect and equality.

That’s feminism!

Feminism is about respect. It’s about equality. Feminism has nothing to do with “angry vaginas” or victimization or the furthering of political agendas. (Well….feminists do believe that women should be able to advocate for themselves, so I guess that in itself is a political agenda. I’m guilty of wanting to make my own decisions about my body! One poster says that her daughter is a privilege and not a choice. I’m confused about how feminism had a hand in that. I’m curious how the struggle for equality and respect became the choice to procreate or not — even natural family planning attempts to in some ways influence procreation, and regardless, that’s not about feminism. That’s about birth control. I’m a feminist. I’m pro-choice. I would never have an abortion. See what I did there? I made a choice about my own body….I didn’t make a choice that affected anyone else’s body. That’s feminism.)

One of the posts denies that patriarchy exists; another claims that she can’t think of an instance where feminism hasn’t caused more destruction and violence (I’d love to see her sources). Yet another claims that she doesn’t need feminism because her son shouldn’t be made to feel like less of a person because of his gender. That one got to me. Where does it say that feminism is about making a person feel like less of a person? Aren’t we fighting for the exact opposite thing?

I have a boyfriend. I’ve had him for a while now. Six weeks after we met, I dumped him because he was being a misogynist. He was ridiculous. He made comments that offended me. He said things that outraged me. He made me feel disrespected, devalued, and incompetent. We later had a long talk about what it means to feel respected and valued.

I know that he will always be a “man’s man,” embodying a very traditional type of masculinity. He knows that I’ll always be a feminist. We’re an odd pair, but we’ve learned from each other. We’ve learned to live with each other. He’s learned that I’m a valuable partner and that my intelligence is an asset. He’s become more understanding. He’s become more open. He’s grown emotionally. I’ve done the same. I’ve learned where he’s coming from. We’ve had endless amounts of debates about things, particularly women’s roles in the world. I expect us to contribute equally to everything, be it financial or domestic. Since he’s working right now and I’m not, I’ve taken on more domestic tasks. It’s a give and take.

One thing that I take from my discussions with him is that the physical differences between men and women are tangible. He’s stronger than me. (He was a Marine. It was really no contest.) I’m smarter than him, at least on paper. We both enjoy learning. He’s wittier than me – dry humor. I’m better at expressing emotions. He’s horrible at it. He’s better at math and cooking. I’m better at socializing, communication, and administrative tasks. I pay the bills. He pays me.

Feminism is not about one gender being better than the other. (This is based on the heteronormative assumption that there are only two genders….it’s not a discussion I want to have here, I have points to make.) Feminism is about acceptance and equality. I’m not trying to feminize men. I’m not trying to make all men seem like rapists, and all women victims.

The reason boyfriend and I work is because we complement each other. My weaknesses are his strengths, and vice versa. We’ve been able to work together to begin to achieve our goals. We’ve been able to laugh about our differences, talk about our differences, and grow as people because of them.

We need feminism.

I write about my relationship with my boyfriend because I feel that it’s important to discuss – feminists are often portrayed as lesbians (oh god, not lesbians!), or militants (what does that even mean in this context?), or violent, abusive, women-hating people, man-haters, or some combination of those adjectives. Feel free to insert your own.

Feminists aren’t those things. We’re people. We’re human beings. We exist with or without a partner. Some of us are men. My identity is not just his girlfriend. My identity is my own. I am a human being. I seek the same things that other people seek: happiness, love, acceptance, friendship, shelter, food, accomplishments, glory, and so on. (Glory, because who doesn’t want that?)

Another poster writes that she doesn’t need feminism because she likes men like Christian Grey, the super dominant billionaire sex god from the “Fifty Shades of Grey” books. Okay. That’s fine. As a feminist, I would also love a super dominant billionaire sex god. Doesn’t mean I can’t be a feminist and still get one. (Super dominant billionaire sex gods, please feel free to apply.)

I bring up my boyfriend because I think that feminism and anything can co-exist. Maybe not. Feminism and racism aren’t a great pair, nor are feminism and fear-mongering, nor feminism and slut-shaming, which is often cited as being something in which feminists engage. I disagree. I’m pro-women. I’m pro-people. I’m pro-human. I’m pro-good-people-doing-well-for-themselves-and-others.

He’s way stronger than me. I was joking with his grandparents on Facebook today (after posting an article talking about the Women Against Feminism and their repeated insisting that feminism is moot because we need men to open jars) that every time I threaten to strangle my boyfriend, he responds that I don’t have the upper body strength. It’s true. I probably don’t.

But that’s not important. What I bring into our relationship is. To me, it’s like this: everybody has certain abilities, certain areas in which they excel. Lately, we’ve been seeing a rise in women in the workforce and stay-at-home dads. This has caused plenty of concern for plenty of people. But here’s how it is for me: I believe that everyone is suited to some things. For instance, my brother, who’s super manly, is way better at organizing than I will ever be. He’s in charge of organizing. I’m in charge of scrubbing. It works out.

Every relationship is based on give and take. Boyfriend is good at some things, I’m good at some things. Together, we’re great at a lot of things. Every single relationship is based on complementary attributes. So what if someone is great at childcare and the other is  whiz at engineering? Are those tasks only to be completed by someone of one gender or another? No. Everyone has an energy, whether it’s more masculine or feminine doesn’t matter.

I can’t be trusted in the kitchen. (Look at my foot scars and my lifetime knife ban…) Boyfriend is fantastic. You should try his pork tenderloin some time. Does that mean I do a lot of dishes? Yes. Because he cooks. Do I do a lot of sweeping? Yes, because he gets all the stuff in the right place before the sweeping.

These internet people (yes, internet people, take it with a grain of salt) claim that they want to be stay-at-home moms without being harassed. They should be allowed to do that. Anyone who’s harassing them is not a feminist. They say that they’re not afraid of men. Feminists aren’t afraid of men. I was assaulted by one, but I’m not afraid of them.

What I’m trying to say is that you do need feminism.

These women who are against feminism are allowed to do the things that they do because of the courageous women who fought so hard for basic human rights. They are allowed to vote because women stood up for that right. They are allowed to walk in the streets alone, which isn’t allowed in some places, places that could use some feminism! They are allowed to be stay-at-home moms or nuclear physicists or teachers or doctors or lawyers because of the perseverance of the women who came before them. That is not something to deny. That is not something that should be shunned. Their choices are their own because of the people who spent their lives fighting for that freedom.

Our world is not a world without women. The world needs mothers and lawyers and teachers and thinkers — men cannot shoulder that burden alone. The world needs people who think and create and nurture and care. Women are half of our future — we need to make it so that their voices are heard.

Denying feminism is at best ignorant and at worst setting us back as humans. The stigma that surrounds feminism is shameful, because women are active participants in our future as a global society. We are feminists because there is a need for understanding and equality. We are feminists because we work for freedom. We are feminists because we support education for all people. We are feminists because at the end of the day, a woman’s work is never done, nor is it valued enough.

I hate that there are women out there who decry feminism as an attack on men. I love men, but I don’t love men who don’t give me the respect that I deserve. I love to get dressed up and put on makeup (and now, fill in my eyebrows!) but it doesn’t make me less of a feminist, or less of a woman.

I am woman. I am so much more than that, though. I’m a human being.

Gender Bender

Brianna makes some fantastic points here, and I think that every woman should be more aware of socioeconomic situations and how to take action to work for change.

ghostfaceknitter's avatar

It has been quite some time since I’ve written about gender in a socioeconomic way. Perhaps, it was a natural ‘distancing’ that occurred after I finished my MA thesis and did not immediately jump into another higher education program? Or rather, it was the disgust in being labeled a ‘feminist’ in a vulgar regard, much the same as I would be labeled a tramp or a whore? Anyways, I wanted to share some things that I find to be incredibly interesting regarding gendered economic thought and its place in our culture and society today. Don’t worry I’m not gonna start burning my bra, I’m looking to set fire to the whole damn system.

Gender and economics are something every single woman (AT THE VERY LEAST) should be thinking about, talking about, and getting f&*king PISSED about. Things are dire. In fact, I went my whole higher education without ever hearing…

View original post 990 more words

On New Restaurants, Not Importantly

I’m a sucker for anything pulled pork, and when I heard that the sweet pork at this place called Costa Vida was delicious, I had to try it. (Pictures from my boss didn’t hurt either.)

I went there today for lunch. The guy ahead of me was clearly a regular, and proceeded to tell the guy running the line that he’d come by the restaurant on Sunday, but found that they were closed and ate somewhere else instead. The guy running the line laughed, told the regular that they are always closed on Sundays and then told the regular that he’d be by on Sunday morning to pick him up for church and that he didn’t need any more marijuana.

I laughed. The guy helped me choose a burrito and then reminded me that they are closed on Sundays but told me that it would be nice for me to go to church. Sweet.

On Love, Simply

The funny thing about relationships is that they’re never what you think they’re going to be. That’s a good thing.

Relationships are a terrifying prospect. Relationships are, for me, a finely tuned machine, something that only works when so many tiny moving parts click into perfect place. Relationships are the result of effort, careful attention to detail, and compromise.

The beginning stages of a relationship can resemble a series of interviews. You are on your best behavior. You are spontaneous, energetic, upbeat, interesting. You are a carefully packaged product, marketed just so. You find someone whose company you enjoy, and you begin a relationship. There are dates, milestones, so many adorable firsts.

Eventually, after months of careful consideration for the other person, you get comfortable. I don’t really do comfortable. For me, being comfortable is a sign that something really bad is about to happen. Comfortable isn’t a state for the long haul; it’s a transient time from which you’ll someday cull happy memories.

But comfortable is a very real state, and eventually, it must be acknowledged and accepted, because sometimes, comfortable is the very best state, with far more potential for permanence than other sorts of emotions.

Letting someone see your weird is another part of this alignment of relationship longevity. You get past the initial interview process, the fun stuff, the activities, the really “deep” conversations about things, and you’re left with the day-to-day stuff. Day-to-day stuff is far deeper than any sort of philosophical debate.

That’s where everything you think you know about your relationship changes. Somewhere in the comfort zone, when you’ve let down your guard, you stop and realize that you’re in it for real, that this is real. You’ve stopped analyzing every text message for clues about love or chances at a fifth date. You’ve stopped panicking over which outfit to wear out (because you don’t have to wear anything but pajamas to stay at home!). You’ve started somehow syncing up your lives, your routines, your meals.

Eventually, it’s “we” and “us” and errands. (Those aren’t the worst things, after all, despite what we’ve heard. Errands are my favorite part of a relationship. If you can run errands with someone, you can be with someone. It’s that simple.) That mindset is a gradual progression, whereas the actions tend to move as swiftly as they please. (Or is it the other way around?) The feelings of “I love you” come long before they are spoken out loud, hesitantly, anxiously.

The best relationship advice I ever got was from a friend of mine who’s been with his girlfriend for three or so years (which, to me, seems like for-ev-er). He said, “You have to wake up every single day and decide to love that person.” It’s an active, ongoing decision. I love that. An active decision to love someone is so much more than that fairy tale happiness we’ve heard so much about (but very rarely see).

When I told boyfriend this yesterday, he scoffed and told me that he hardly wakes up every day and thinks to himself, “I guess I’ll love Katie today, but I’m only doing this for Acorn.” I laughed, then tried to explain to him that how I love him is constant, present always, just a soft hum of normalcy coupled with that deep-seated sense of need for proximity. “It’s just there,” I said. He knows what I meant.

What it is that draws you to someone isn’t what makes you stay with them, but sometimes the pull is unavoidable and the attraction undeniable. That’s when you finally have to accept that there’s something more there, that the questions and the expectations of how you thought you’d fall in love must be thrown to the wind (a pinch of caution should go, too, even though that’s terrible advice). It’s a weird journey. Sometimes it happens overnight but sometimes it takes forever to fall into place.

I don’t know where it comes from, but I have this internal fear about relationships ending. Maybe everyone does. Maybe that’s a universal fear. Maybe every relationship will end. Columnist Dan Savage once said something about how you date people, you break up with people, you repeat the cycle over and over, until finally, you start dating someone and you never break up. That’s slightly comforting.

Over the past month or so, I’ve been evaluating my relationship, removing myself from the bubble of “us” for assessment (something I’ve also tried to quit doing so much). We’re seven months in (this time), and other than the occasional little bump, we’re doing quite well. When we started dating again this summer, I was determined not to engage in the panic that goes with new relationships (or the resumption of an existing relationship). But I did, a little. The over-analyzing, the careful consideration.

But here we are, months later. I am comfortable now. It caught me off-guard. I didn’t really see it coming. I don’t know what I was imagining when I started, and perhaps not having any sort of idealistic outcome in mind is the best thing. It’s not all magical, twinkling lights and rose petals and candles, but it’s real. I like that. This is the real. I like it.

I have loved him for a very long time. I realized it this spring. During our first fight, almost six months into dating, I spat out, “I almost told you I loved you last night.” I had been holding onto it for so long, I knew it was only a matter of time before it came rushing out.

When he finally told me, he said, “I was waiting for the perfect time to tell you, but now I realize there was no more perfect time than when we were in the oak bottom with the leaves falling around us. I love you. I love you. I love you.” And I knew he meant it. Now, every time he tells me he loves me, I imagine the day we spent the morning on a hill in the forest in Mississippi, not hunting, but just watching the leaves fall down around us. It was magical.

Life is that weird journey where you have to let go sometimes and hope for the best, or at the very least, a great adventure. Love is, for me, the very best adventure.