We love each other so much. It's incredible. And the best thing is, there's something in both of us that values it deeply. That doesn't take it for granted.
We talk about our unconceived daughter a lot. (Yes, she already has a name.) What we're going to teach her, how she's going to be bilingual, musically inclined, what activities we'll do with her, what games we're going to play with her. Sometimes when we're out and see an adorable little curly-haired brown girl, we say that's how our daughter will look.
We were shopping at Kroger and I bought some body wash that had our little girl's name in it. Then my fiancé started talking about her and said that he would give our little daughter a bath and wash her hair and tuck her in and read her a bedtime story in Spanish. Major swoon. There was something about the image of him washing her hair that just made me feel all the feels.
Wedding planning is turning out all right. So far so good. Venue? Check. Photographer? Check. Caterer? Almost check.
We got time, baby. We got time.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
You Still Have You
My mind wanders. That's something that will never change.
This is something that I've been thinking about for a little while. Now, I know this is in no way original. It may even sound cliché. But even things that are cliché are based in truth. And that is a cliché.
What I want to say is that no matter what station of life you are in, you still have to deal with you.
I am super thrilled to be engaged. I super love my fiancé and can't wait to be his wife. But what I'm saying is that having a fiancé doesn't make me less me. Having a fiancé doesn't make me not get sad about things that the person I am has a tendency to get sad about. I'm still who I am. I am happy. I am grateful. I do cherish this very precious thing we share and that we've built together. But, at heart, I'm still the same person I was before I met him. Falling in love has definitely caused me to re-order a few priorities, but it hasn't caused me to undergo some kind of magical metamorphosis. I'm still me. And I still have myself to deal with.
The whole idea of myself being ultimately responsible for my own happiness is an idea that I finally began to grasp when I was still single and had absolutely no prospects on the horizon. Now that I'm soon to be married, that idea somehow hits home even more.
I do remember how I felt when I struggled with loneliness. It is a very real, palpable thing that should never be dismissed as a mere matter of perspective or mental fortitude. It can surface at the most unsuspecting and inconvenient times and manifests itself as a void that can be literally painful. I know. I remember. But what I wish that self knew was that once you're in a relationship, the terms change, but the ultimate responsibility doesn't.
In a relationship, you have help, so to speak. You have the comfort of knowing that you're on a team and that whatever comes, you won't have to face it alone. But you can never essentially shift the responsibility of maintaining your contentment with your life onto your partner. Not only is that unfair, it's simply impossible for one human being to meet all of another human being's needs.
My tendency to overanalyze, my tendency to give in to worry, and my tendency to indulge the melancholy strains of my personality are all things that I still have to deal with, that I have to come to terms with in my personal relationship with God.
There are things that the most handsome, wonderful, compatible, amazing person in the world cannot fix, alleviate or satisfy. You still have you.
What I want to say is that no matter what station of life you are in, you still have to deal with you.
I am super thrilled to be engaged. I super love my fiancé and can't wait to be his wife. But what I'm saying is that having a fiancé doesn't make me less me. Having a fiancé doesn't make me not get sad about things that the person I am has a tendency to get sad about. I'm still who I am. I am happy. I am grateful. I do cherish this very precious thing we share and that we've built together. But, at heart, I'm still the same person I was before I met him. Falling in love has definitely caused me to re-order a few priorities, but it hasn't caused me to undergo some kind of magical metamorphosis. I'm still me. And I still have myself to deal with.
The whole idea of myself being ultimately responsible for my own happiness is an idea that I finally began to grasp when I was still single and had absolutely no prospects on the horizon. Now that I'm soon to be married, that idea somehow hits home even more.
I do remember how I felt when I struggled with loneliness. It is a very real, palpable thing that should never be dismissed as a mere matter of perspective or mental fortitude. It can surface at the most unsuspecting and inconvenient times and manifests itself as a void that can be literally painful. I know. I remember. But what I wish that self knew was that once you're in a relationship, the terms change, but the ultimate responsibility doesn't.
In a relationship, you have help, so to speak. You have the comfort of knowing that you're on a team and that whatever comes, you won't have to face it alone. But you can never essentially shift the responsibility of maintaining your contentment with your life onto your partner. Not only is that unfair, it's simply impossible for one human being to meet all of another human being's needs.
My tendency to overanalyze, my tendency to give in to worry, and my tendency to indulge the melancholy strains of my personality are all things that I still have to deal with, that I have to come to terms with in my personal relationship with God.
There are things that the most handsome, wonderful, compatible, amazing person in the world cannot fix, alleviate or satisfy. You still have you.
Tuesday, July 08, 2014
The Impossible Desire to Be Understood By All
I'm laughing at the title of this post right now because it seems like the title of a 90s teen angst-filled miniseries. It sounds ludicrous, but it's the only thing that comes to mind for now.
I have to constantly fight to repress this adolescent idea that I am utterly singular, that my experience, my position, this place in which I find myself, is utterly unique. I really have to let that go. Because if I don't, I will constantly contend with this existential sense of "why me?" that is pointless and emotionally draining.
Nevertheless, the idea that anyone who knows me would look at me, look at my choices, look at this place in which I find myself and "not understand" is somewhat distressing to me.
Why do I insist on expending mental energy on thinking I could satisfactorily answer other people's whys?
I did something that only social media addicted people would ever conceive of doing: I checked to see if a particular person I more or less grew up with had "liked" the announcement of my engagement or the announcement of the wedding date on FB. Negative. It's a person that I've always considered a friend, but maybe a person whom others always assumed I would end up with and maybe a person who tried to explore the possibility of a relationship in the past.
Can I admit that it bothered me just a little bit? I hate that it did, but I'm just being honest. I began to think about the negative things he was thinking. That perhaps he just couldn't understand why I would reject the obvious, the practically inevitable (to some) and opt for the, for lack of a better term, less conventional. That my decision was so bewildering that he couldn't bring himself to congratulate me in any way or even "like" it to at least show acknowledgement.
Why do I care? I use this particular instance as an example, but perhaps there are other instances that fall under the same or a similar category. Besides, my imaginings of someone else's negative thoughts are just that, imaginings that aren't based in reality and would be better off disregarded. I really shouldn't care. I need to get over it. I recognize that. I honestly do.
When the new semester starts in the fall, I'm going to have to especially woman up and be prepared for encounters. lol. I know I'm being vague, but suffice it to say I'm just going to have to be matter of fact and then just keep it movin.
I keep coming to the same conclusion: I'm going to have to finally learn to own my choices. I'm going to have to learn to deal with the reality that there are some people who won't "understand."
I have to constantly fight to repress this adolescent idea that I am utterly singular, that my experience, my position, this place in which I find myself, is utterly unique. I really have to let that go. Because if I don't, I will constantly contend with this existential sense of "why me?" that is pointless and emotionally draining.
Nevertheless, the idea that anyone who knows me would look at me, look at my choices, look at this place in which I find myself and "not understand" is somewhat distressing to me.
Why do I insist on expending mental energy on thinking I could satisfactorily answer other people's whys?
I did something that only social media addicted people would ever conceive of doing: I checked to see if a particular person I more or less grew up with had "liked" the announcement of my engagement or the announcement of the wedding date on FB. Negative. It's a person that I've always considered a friend, but maybe a person whom others always assumed I would end up with and maybe a person who tried to explore the possibility of a relationship in the past.
Can I admit that it bothered me just a little bit? I hate that it did, but I'm just being honest. I began to think about the negative things he was thinking. That perhaps he just couldn't understand why I would reject the obvious, the practically inevitable (to some) and opt for the, for lack of a better term, less conventional. That my decision was so bewildering that he couldn't bring himself to congratulate me in any way or even "like" it to at least show acknowledgement.
Why do I care? I use this particular instance as an example, but perhaps there are other instances that fall under the same or a similar category. Besides, my imaginings of someone else's negative thoughts are just that, imaginings that aren't based in reality and would be better off disregarded. I really shouldn't care. I need to get over it. I recognize that. I honestly do.
When the new semester starts in the fall, I'm going to have to especially woman up and be prepared for encounters. lol. I know I'm being vague, but suffice it to say I'm just going to have to be matter of fact and then just keep it movin.
I keep coming to the same conclusion: I'm going to have to finally learn to own my choices. I'm going to have to learn to deal with the reality that there are some people who won't "understand."
Thursday, July 03, 2014
Thank you, friend.
Since my closest friends are married, looks like I'll be featuring matrons of honor instead of maids. Yes. Matrons of honor. As in plural. When you've been the maid of honor in the weddings of both of your closest friends...I refuse to choose. Both of them have been instrumental at different points of my life in different ways.
But I want to talk about one of those friends for a moment. She's a God-sent friend. All because of my mom wearing one of those poofy Pentecostal hair bows. This friend prayed for a friend who was a believer, a friend so that she wouldn't feel alone. She got up off of her knees and walked into the student center, and there was my mom in a skirt and the back of her head with that fateful hair bow. When I arrived soon after my orientation session, I joined the tearful chorus. And the rest is history. (The last line was corny and unnecessary and cliché, but that's what I do.)
I was being all un-giddy and slightly unmotivated concerning wedding planning. I just haven't really been into it, as I've mentioned before. Like, I'm excited, but I'm not all...you know, wanting to go to David's Bridal and pick out bridesmaid's dresses and look at accessories and decorations and everything. You might even say I was being cynical and negative. Just thinking about wedding planning made me sigh with a touch of ennui. (You're welcome.) All these fussy little details. All these questions to be answered, decisions to be made, people to deal with. Knowing that even though "it's my wedding," it's kind of not because I'm not paying for it and not just that, but it is kind of for everybody else.
But my God-sent friend came to visit, insisting that we go to David's Bridal. At least to pick out a main color and look at styles of bridesmaid's dresses. So we went, and I immediately got overwhelmed with all the choices laid before me. All the styles, all the materials, all the possible accessories...(sigh). But at least I decided on a color. Iris. (You're welcome.) And eventually I did find a style that I thought was classy and versatile and could be accessorized with either a chiffon shrug or a satin bolero. (You're welcome.)
But then...my God-sent friend wanted me to try on wedding dresses. But my wedding dress is being made. But she insisted. I tried to be a good sport about it, just to try to get in the spirit. I tried on the first dress and it looked very classy and pretty and lacy and everyone oohed and ahhed and I felt like a how I imagine a princess might feel. But then the saleslady put a veil on me. And when I saw myself in the mirror with that dress on with a veil, I just teared up. I'd never seen myself like that before, and I was shocked at how moved I was. Seeing myself in a way that I'd only previously envisioned for other people was profound. A Lacanian moment if there ever was one. (You're welcome.) There was something about seeing myself in a wedding dress and a veil that brought the reality home in a fresh, poignant way. I'm getting married.
I don't know how to explain it, but weddings and wedding dresses and wedding colors and flowers and venues and receptions and honeymoons were for other people. These kinds of things weren't for me. They weren't things I would ever realistically need to be concerned with anytime soon, or so I thought. They were in other people's vocabularies. They were other people's concerns. They were a part of other people's lives. In other people's orbits. Not mine.
It took seeing myself in a wedding dress and veil, as a bride, to realize that these things are mine. That these things are a part of my vocabulary. A part of my life. A part of what is happening to me right now, not in some indeterminate future. I have a ring on my finger and I have a date set. What's happened and what's happening now is what is going to continue to happen: Everything falling into place.
So, thank you, friend. Thank you for helping me to realize that this is a singular time in my life. Thank you for taking the time out to come see me. Thank you for making things special for me.
But I want to talk about one of those friends for a moment. She's a God-sent friend. All because of my mom wearing one of those poofy Pentecostal hair bows. This friend prayed for a friend who was a believer, a friend so that she wouldn't feel alone. She got up off of her knees and walked into the student center, and there was my mom in a skirt and the back of her head with that fateful hair bow. When I arrived soon after my orientation session, I joined the tearful chorus. And the rest is history. (The last line was corny and unnecessary and cliché, but that's what I do.)
I was being all un-giddy and slightly unmotivated concerning wedding planning. I just haven't really been into it, as I've mentioned before. Like, I'm excited, but I'm not all...you know, wanting to go to David's Bridal and pick out bridesmaid's dresses and look at accessories and decorations and everything. You might even say I was being cynical and negative. Just thinking about wedding planning made me sigh with a touch of ennui. (You're welcome.) All these fussy little details. All these questions to be answered, decisions to be made, people to deal with. Knowing that even though "it's my wedding," it's kind of not because I'm not paying for it and not just that, but it is kind of for everybody else.
But my God-sent friend came to visit, insisting that we go to David's Bridal. At least to pick out a main color and look at styles of bridesmaid's dresses. So we went, and I immediately got overwhelmed with all the choices laid before me. All the styles, all the materials, all the possible accessories...(sigh). But at least I decided on a color. Iris. (You're welcome.) And eventually I did find a style that I thought was classy and versatile and could be accessorized with either a chiffon shrug or a satin bolero. (You're welcome.)
But then...my God-sent friend wanted me to try on wedding dresses. But my wedding dress is being made. But she insisted. I tried to be a good sport about it, just to try to get in the spirit. I tried on the first dress and it looked very classy and pretty and lacy and everyone oohed and ahhed and I felt like a how I imagine a princess might feel. But then the saleslady put a veil on me. And when I saw myself in the mirror with that dress on with a veil, I just teared up. I'd never seen myself like that before, and I was shocked at how moved I was. Seeing myself in a way that I'd only previously envisioned for other people was profound. A Lacanian moment if there ever was one. (You're welcome.) There was something about seeing myself in a wedding dress and a veil that brought the reality home in a fresh, poignant way. I'm getting married.
I don't know how to explain it, but weddings and wedding dresses and wedding colors and flowers and venues and receptions and honeymoons were for other people. These kinds of things weren't for me. They weren't things I would ever realistically need to be concerned with anytime soon, or so I thought. They were in other people's vocabularies. They were other people's concerns. They were a part of other people's lives. In other people's orbits. Not mine.
It took seeing myself in a wedding dress and veil, as a bride, to realize that these things are mine. That these things are a part of my vocabulary. A part of my life. A part of what is happening to me right now, not in some indeterminate future. I have a ring on my finger and I have a date set. What's happened and what's happening now is what is going to continue to happen: Everything falling into place.
So, thank you, friend. Thank you for helping me to realize that this is a singular time in my life. Thank you for taking the time out to come see me. Thank you for making things special for me.
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