Love Changes.

It’s pretty amazing how fast your life changes in a moment’s notice.

I’ve had several friends tell me over the years that I shouldn’t be so sure of the path my life will take because tomorrow it could change. I ignored them because I didn’t think that it could be anything but ordinary for me. Predictable. Lonely.

I was wrong.

That’s how it always is, you know?

Just when you think you’ve got your life figured out, it changes yet again.

I was reading my last entry I made on here. I mused on love and connection and the one person I wanted to be with would probably never come back and I was settling (rather begrudgingly) on living this life solo.

I was wrong.

So, so wrong.

A few days after posting that, he came back into my life. The one that I always prayed would come back to me. He was home on leave and we re-connected and decided to get together.

It was like magic. I saw him and I felt everything fall into place. I just knew that he was supposed to be with me. He’s the only person I ever want to be with, I thought. And on New Year’s we decided that we should make it official. I’ve been in a whirlwind of happiness ever since.

I didn’t think I’d fall in love, let alone be in a relationship with anybody. It’s funny how life changes, eh?

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Love at First Sight.

Question:

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I don’t know if I’ve ever thought about this question too deeply before. I want to believe in love at first sight because who wouldn’t want to look at someone for the first time and think “That is the person I’m going to be with for the rest of my life.”

I’ve certainly been attracted to people. I’ve taken one look at certain people and thought how wonderful it would be to date someone that appeasing to look at. But for all I know, that could be lust. I’m sure other people have been in that situation and can attest to it.

I do believe though that you can feel connected to someone. You can meet someone and know they’re special within the first few minutes of talking to them. Maybe that is what love at first sight is all about, feeling like there is something there. Of course, I think being attracted to someone is the first major step into serious dating relationships. That is what makes us want to go over there to begin with, we find them attractive.

Once, I thought I felt a special connection with someone. I thought it was going to turn into something more. But it didn’t.

So, my answer to this question is this:

I don’t know if there’s love at first sight. It’s highly possible and I want to believe it to be true. But more than likely it’s not and I’m afraid to think that’s it right as it’s not very romantic at all. But I’ll give it the possibility of hope because I’m still a bit of a romantic even as I become a love grinch these past few years.

To write and to feel.

I prefer to write in black pen.

I don’t know why, but it seems more solid and official.

Don’t get me wrong, I like blue pens and I’ve even written in blue pen before, but I prefer to write in black pen.

Black pens seem more official, you know? And there seems to be more of them around. If I started writing in blue pen, I’d have to keep that blue pen around because if I sat it down and lost it, chances are I wouldn’t pick up another blue pen, it’d be a different color (most likely black) and it just wouldn’t look the same and I’d be bugged about it and eventually throw the paper away and end up writing it all in black pen anyway. I’m just that type of person.

Also, I prefer pens over pencils. When I was a kid, it was the other way around. When I was a kid, pens felt weird in my hands and didn’t seem to write smooth. Not only that, I could erase more easily with a pencil. Obviously.

These days, I avoid writing with a pencil. The led always lines the side of my hand and I’m not even left handed. Maybe I press too hard, maybe I sweat too much when I write. A combination of the two. Who knows. I just prefer pen. Because you can’t really smear pen, can you? Unless you’re writing with an inkwell and feather. That’s just weird to me. A nice aesthetic, but weird.

I’ve been in solitude for a while now. Don’t ask me why. I just like being in solitude. I prefer solitary activities. I thought I wanted to be more social a while ago but it just depleted me terribly and now I just want to be alone.

What have I been doing?

Listening to YouTube. Reading (a little, but not much, to be honest.) Playing mandolin. Writing a poem a day. Working my designated shifts. The usual.

Trying not to feel lonely.

Everybody has somebody to love. Even if they go for months without speaking to anybody else, they still have that one person to give body warmth to next to the couch. That’s all.

The older you get, the harder it is to date. And I was never good at dating to begin with. I’m mostly good at being single, but when the majority of your friends and acquaintances have significant others, it’s hard not to notice being the odd one out. Nobody wants to their perceived faults to be pointed out.

And nobody wants to help you, you know? They say, “You’ll find someone who will love you!” And when you say “Oh yeah? And do you know of anybody I can go out on a date with?” They say, “No…”

I thought so. Then don’t bring me hope when it doesn’t work. I’ve been on that road a long time ago. I’m in that weird purgatory of enjoying my solitude and hating it at the same time. Don’t destroy me.

Go somewhere else unless you know someone worthy of dating me.

I’m not sure where I was going with this. Just to write. And no, I’m not sad, not really. I just want to find something different.

In This Together.

There’s something that I’ve learned about bloggers over the years:

We’re all a little insecure.

We want to be authentic, but we’re afraid of opening ourselves up because we’re afraid that someone’s going to take a stake to our heart.

We stop writing because we’re afraid that our writing is not good enough and then come groveling back because we can’t stand not writing anymore.

We try to rationalize our feelings, swinging from one branch of feeling to another, as if we need to justify to others why we aren’t writing. Or painting. Or creating in some way or another.

We go from writing too much, to not writing at all. And yet we still write.

We still write because we want to be heard. We want someone to tell us that we’re alright.

And we are alright. We are still here, you and I.

We are here together.

If you need to take a break, I’ll still be there. I didn’t come this far with you just to come this far. I will still read your writing even if you need some time off to focus on yourself. Because God knows we all need to boost our morale.

It’s okay.

It’s okay to be uncertain. It’s okay to feel the way you’re feeling. I’ll waiting for you, for that next post. I followed you because you write quality, not quantity. You find the words to describe how I’m feeling in just a way.

I feel the insecurity. I’ll write and write and write. And then I’ll stop because I’m feeling insecure. I’ll then write and write and write about how insecure I’m feeling about my writing and obsess over why I’m not as good as any others. People actually have things to write about, I say, and then pull back. They travel, they cook, they get involved with their communities.

I just live an average life.

An ordinary life, you would say.

I wanted to show that living an ordinary life could be extraordinary. You didn’t need to travel extensively or cook fancy meals every day or be especially literary with fancy words. I wanted to show that a small, normal, ordinary life could be just as worthy as any other blogger, writer, x successful person.

And yet I got sucked into the belief that I need to be something in order to write about it. I needed to do things, be extraordinary. And yet–

And yet that was tiring.

It was boring. I’m not that sort of person to put myself out there underneath the spotlight all the time.

I am quiet. I can be weird around people that I most want to talk to. I get awkward. I’m by no means as confident as I make myself out to be.

And yet here I am…still writing. And people are still following.

Thank you.

Thank you for following me. And if you write a blog, thank you for writing. We’ll find our footing. We’ll get to the other side.

We’re in this together.

This is partially inspired by Chris Nicholas’ post “Epoch” which you can read here if you’re so inclined. Give him some love, he deserves it, I’ve never met a bad piece of writing from him.

A Broken Love Story.

“So, Ian — welcome to the graveyard of ambition!”
~David Nicholls, “One Day”

I like a good love story like the rest of them. But unlike the rest of them, I tend to fall in love with the stories that don’t end so happily. One of the main characters dies at the end, or another unavoidable circumstance irrevocably pushes them apart forever. It’s not that I don’t hope for a happily ever after, it’s because it seems to reflect real life so much more than an actual happily ever after.

When I was 19, I had hoped that college would be the defining moment for me in my life. It was, but not how I expected.

You see, I never dated in high school. I was never taken out on a date or asked out to prom or homecoming. I was one of those people in the middle: not quite popular but not quite at the bottom of the cesspool. I was just that average girl that everybody liked but nobody thought about. When it came time for college, I was excited at the prospect of meeting new people: new friends, new mix of guys who might like me enough to take me out on a date.

It didn’t happen.

Well. Kind of. There were a couple of guys interested enough to spend some time with me. Very brief, nothing lasting. Every time I hoped that this time would be different, it wasn’t. They just wanted a couple dates or someone to flirt with.

I decided that the effort was too much and decided to focus on studying instead. It was hard, I don’t think I succeeded in forgetting about dating.

Time passes and feelings change. I’ve come to realize that you don’t always get what you want. What you set out to do changes into a series of disappointments.

I’m not writing this because I want people to feel sorry for me. Nor do I want people to comment with consolation, trying to lift my hopes for a love that’s everlasting. Because sometimes that sort of thing never happens.

I still ache, but I am happy. I am alone; it has become entwined with me. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if that ever change. I’d probably have a panic attack. I’m too used to having the bed to myself, falling asleep listening to YouTube, and spending the day in my jamis if I want to. Having a boyfriend would mean I’d have go out and do stuff and that’s just…not me anymore, somehow. At least, that’s what I like to tell myself. I’ll still roll with it.

Aliterate

Aliterate:
Knowing how to read, but choosing not to.

I don’t read as much as I used to. In fact, this has been a trend in the last seven years or so. I have come to the realization that pushing myself through books when I don’t want to is really silly and rather dumb. So I’ve just stopped doing it.

In the beginning, I still read a lot, but in the last couple of years not so much. Only five years ago I read fifty to seventy books; now, I’m lucky if I make it to thirty.

That’s okay.

In fact, it’s more than okay.

In a world where education and literacy is more important than ever, it takes a lot of strength to say “I don’t want to read that right now.”

This is the problem with most things:

We push people so much on the importance of reading, of exercise, of art and science and belief, that we’re doing the exact opposite of what we want people to do. We are pushing them away from things.

I think we go through cycles in our lives where certain passions in our lives become less than as others emerge (or re-emerge in some cases.) What once became the center focus of our passions take the back seat while new ones become what we want to spend our energy on.

If I come back to reading in full force, then that’s okay. If I don’t, that’s okay too. Making me feel guilty for not reading more often will only make me resist doing so even more.

What Do You Like About Your Town?

I have a board on Pinterest exclusively for journal prompts. I do this because I don’t always know what to say and I need a little help boosting myself in the right direction. I had stuff I wanted to say today but I decided to take a look at what the June 15th prompt was, which is as follows:

List things that you like about your town.

My immediate thought was, “There’s nothing I like about my town.” And truly when you look at it on the surface, there isn’t a whole lot to like about it. It’s suburban neighborhood after suburban neighborhood. There are grocery stores and gas stations and lawyer offices. And surprisingly, we have a hospital, though it’s a little country hospital that’s been on its way out for several years now.

There’s just nothing here.

We don’t have anything trendy. No movie theatre. No fancy pub.

Just…nothing.

But there are little things that I like that only a person who has lived here for many years can appreciate.

For example, there is a little patch of woods near my house that I like going to sometimes. It abuts a golf course, but once you get into the trees and meadow there, you forget that you’re in the middle of suburbia. I feel like I can get lost in there and let out my emotions, let them ebb out of them. But because of that, I’m a little bit superstitious. Every time I’ve brought a guy there, it hasn’t worked out. Strange.

I like seeing an old house on my way home from being around town, it’s been there since the Civil War, and has been featured in a ghost book of the state. I like the bike paths that I can take my walks on. I like that the town isn’t full of highways continually crowded. I like having a quiet life (usually.)

I won’t discuss what I don’t like here because that’s too much information that I’m not willing to talk about. But sometimes we focus on the negative so much that we forget that even the worst places have happy spots.