How to Translate Being “Just Me”
The time is 2:55 am and it is now that I am realizing that my self-proclaimed “caffeine immunity” is, in fact, fictional. Espresso at 9 pm was Not a Good Idea. Two Americanos in one day was also probably not wise. (But I finally tried Madcap’s coffee…and mmmmm, was it yummy.)
So here I am, after my second attempt to fall asleep.
Caffeine: 1, Me: 0
I’m even typing in the dark, with the hopes that the lack of real light will lull me to sleep. In fact, it is just giving me a headache and is probably lethal for my vision.
So outside of that, I had other intentions/ideas running through my head as I reopened my laptop to write this.
I went to one of the loveliest weddings I have ever been to today. It wasn’t because it was a close friend (a girl I work with, who I don’t know very well) or because it was the fanciest (“short ‘n’ sweet” is a good way to describe it). Its beauty came from the fact that I have never seen two people more excited to marry each other than the couple I witnessed today. Joy, the purest, most unblemished and absolute joy, poured from them as they looked at each other — the entire time, I felt like I was intruding on some kind of private moment.
I have thought a lot over the years about what my wedding would be like if I get married — the dress, the food, the people. (Heck, I will go out on a limb to be extremely embarrassed here but after the romance of the day, coupled with my enormous, silly crush on the guy I bought my lettuce from at the Farmer’s Market today, I spent two hours tonight reading a blog on weddings when I have no immediate or impending plans of marriage.) However, the past few days, I have realized something.
I don’t know how to be in an “us.” I have absolutely no clue what it means to stop being “just me.”
I know how to be alone. I know how much to spend on two weeks’ worth of groceries for one. I know how to plan out next steps for one, and how to arrange vacations for one. I know what kind of furniture I like and what I will name my future cat when I finally find a studio that I like. I know how to wake up in the morning, and know I can do whatever I want. I know how to go run errands in a tshirt and glasses without caring, because no one will know that I slept in that tshirt.
I have absolutely no clue how to be in a relationship, and frankly, as much as it awes and excites me, it terrifies me even more. My few short relationship encounters never moved far past the “you’re pretty, no, YOU’RE pretty” stage and then imploded, and then ended. I don’t know what comes after that. It’s been two years since I’ve even been on a date (minus one last fall that I was completely unaware WAS a date and then had to awkwardly explain that to the guy who thought it was that it wasn’t). As I sat there today, watching this couple tenderly and humbly wash each other’s feet (literally, it was amazing), I realized that I don’t know how to do that. I know how to wash my own feet, but past that, it’s akin to landing on the moon with only a packet of freeze-dried ice cream and absolutely no NASA training or equipment.
I suppose all that relationship and “us” stuff is what you learn along the way (which is probably why relationships are so hard). I just know that in the precious gift that my single life has been, it has also spoiled me and I think made me a little selfish. Giving up that independence will be hard someday, even for someone that I love.
So those are my thoughts, hyped up on too much espresso and probably too honest through the veil of restless sleep deprivation.
I will end my post with these two gems:
1. I have managed to keep this basil plant alive and actually growing for a solid week. I think this deserve a parade and possibly a national holiday.
2. I bought the most stunning peonies at the market this morning, and felt like a French woman as I carried them in my canvas bag back home. Aren’t they just scrumptious?