The List; No.15

The List

No.15

Spontaneity; is it a right or a challenge, a way of life or a fleeting moment’s companion? I wonder if its opportunities would be speckled all around me if I were to only open my awareness. Could every second hold a chance for its glorious risk?

In my life spontaneity has ruled in the bigger things, the long-term commitment sort of things. I am not one to jump at every opportunity, nor am I ready at any given moment to do something unplanned or unorganized. My doings come about after much careful thought. “My doings” as in: when I get out of bed, on what days I do my laundry, and the calculated times that I depart from my apartment. In regards to moving across country, getting married, or changing the color of my hair, these things are done with only a mere consideration. And rightly so; had any of these things been excruciatingly pondered I would not have ever ventured, and here I would sit unwed, un-divorced, and with nothing to write about.

As a single person, at the indifferent age of 26, spontaneity is practically living at my doorstep. But as previously briefed upon, I am not one to do much of anything without a sticky note, a day planner, and a trusted scrap piece of former junk mail envelope torn in half with grocery lists, to-do lists, and life goals scribbled about. And that’s the way I roll…mostly. When spontaneity lies so near and there is an unavoidable absence of someone else with a say to when grocery shopping should get done its hard not to at least give spontaneity a try.

And so, for the better part of the past two and half weeks I have thrown caution to the wind…slightly. A more defining moment may include the trip to Sacramento that I decided on a mere day or two in advance. Or how about making tacos at 9am because it felt right? If you count all the random blog postings about boys that I seem to unashamedly, but in all actuality nervously and spontaneously, post then I could be on a roll.

But for me it’s not really about all of that. I am a girl with lists upon lists who anxiously sits on the edge of her seat knowing that either way, I am ready. For sometimes the excitement is not so much found in taking the risk as it is about knowing that you have the chance to do so.

The List; No.14

The List

No.14

Once upon a time there lived a young princess who had everything she needed. A warm and bright family filled her heart with love and she had the most beautiful friends that any princess could want. This princess got to sleep all day long, and at night she got to take care of six amazing people that made her smile. The princess had a small place to live in; one of her favorite things to do was decorate with pictures, and colors, and special little things that made her think of all the great people in her life.

While the princess had lovely day after lovely day, there were moments in those days when she felt like something was missing. Sometimes the princess felt like her little home was just too quiet. There were times when the princess was enjoying the sunrise or listening to the rain on her roof when she found herself longing for a prince.

The princess never wished for a big castle or a field of horses. However, sometimes when she sat outside her tiny home she thought about all the fun she would have if she had a small field, a couple of goats, and trees that gave her fruit. The princess loved little children and wished that she had some to take care of. She also loved to cook and bake but never seemed to have enough time.

One day a big, awful dragon came and tried to knock down the princess’ door. But this princess was very brave and knew that she could make this dragon leave her alone. When the princess fearlessly, but politely, asked the dragon to go away he told her she was ugly and that no prince in all the land would ever want to marry her. The dragon said that the princess was going to have to spend the rest of her life scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets and that she would never get to play outside. He also told her that she was a terrible cook and that she would probably end up a bad mother too!

Yet, this princess was tough and she knew that the big, ugly dragon was a liar! She knew that he was only there to make her mad; he wasn’t strong enough to hurt her! The princess was angry that the dragon could say such hurtful things, even though she knew they were not true. The princess got so irritated that she kicked the dragon as hard as she could and told him to leave her alone and never come back! He would see that all her dreams would come true and nothing he could say would stop them from happening.

The dragon, realizing that he was defeated because his words could not bring her down, took off limping with his tail between his legs. The princess shut her door, made some tea, and had a good cry (fighting dragons, even when you are a very brave princess, is still a difficult thing to do!). That night, as the princess lay in her bed, she thought of all the lovely things that she would someday get to see. She knew that very soon she would have a prince to take care of her. She also knew that they would live in the greatest little castle ever, and she would keep it clean and warm and filled with fresh flowers. And outside the greatest little castle ever would be a tiny field full of furry goats and fruit trees and laughing children. As the princess drifted off to sleep she had no doubt that all of her dreams would someday become her happily ever after.

The End

The List; No.7

The List

No.7

“Save every other paycheck for the next 6 months.”  Saving money is more fun when you have more money. But saving is a privilege nonetheless, and after being married to a “spender” I am saving to my heart’s delight. However, as I have noticed in the last couple of weeks, my spending has increased quite a bit as a singleton. Gone are the days when I spent my spare change on home decorating magazines and wall décor and in are the days of eating out and reviving my wardrobe. The need to save money is of more importance than ever as my lack of automobile has me homebound on days when I would much rather be out and about. Yet, every time I swipe my debit card I am celebrating the little joys that come about with the monogamist relationship between me and my bank account.

So once again (how many times does it take?) I am realizing that this life of being single is not so black and white. Being single seems to be more about going with the flow. Or maybe that is also how marriage is supposed to be and all this time I merely had it wrong. Regardless, paychecks are deposited into my savings account; then money is transferred back into my checking so as to pay for a new shirt or a pretty necklace. And that’s just life; going with the flow, saving pennies, and looking cute all the while.

The List; No.13

The List

No.13

My head throbbed, my throat hurt, and the clock was ticking away. Regardless, I was on a mission. Legs shaved, mission accomplished. The morning was a busy way to end my week; all made the more complicated as my body tried to defend itself from an attack of the wintery kind. I was too preoccupied with my day to periodically stop and realize that my legs were shaved for the first time in a long time.

Maybe I am a little too shy to admit just how long I made it without shaving my legs. No.13 on the list was specifically worded for such shyness, “temporarily stop shaving my legs.” “Temporarily” beckons one to use their imagination, and with the help of their inner hippy, decide on an appropriate time frame. But for those of you who do not know me well enough, l will let you in on a little bit of information to help ease you into this – I used to have dreads and bathe in patchouli.

That being said, I lay here on the couch and for the first time today, take a prideful realization in my smooth legs. And like everything else on the list, this too was done how I wanted, when I wanted. Is that the grandest enjoyment of singlehood? Could this be the reason people now wait until later in life to wed or why they do not wed at all?

I have, and this I will unashamedly admit, contemplated and considered (more than once) a lifestyle of perpetual singlehood. Not in a selfish way do I think about this, but more so in respect to the peace my life would dwell in. However, I am not naive and I realize that this peace would mostly be distorted and originating from control; not the kind of peace my inner hippy longs to abound in.

It is Friday night, my nose is runny and my voice hoarse, the apartment’s mess telling of a busy week, and I am couch ridden. My legs are the smoothest they have been in __ days yet the delight this should bring is sorely hindered by the thick sweatpants I wear and the pain swelling within my sinuses. On a more positive note, I have this life to myself, if only just for the night.

The List; No.10

The List

No.10

The list goes on and on, and I find myself in the middle of 3 weeks and 20 things. This is the point where I admit I have failed, not at living a successful single life but at No.10 “go on a cleaning strike for two weeks.” For anyone that knows me well, my failure may not come as a surprise. Yet I must admit that I was sadly shocked to know that cleaner’s restraint is nearly nonexistent within me.

Five days was five days too many without vacuum or rag in hand. Initially, my defense lied in the fact that I had company to entertain and a dirty house was simply unacceptable. Friends came and went; I however kept on cleaning. That is, except for one room – my bedroom.

My more laid back relatives will be proud to know that this year’s Christmas tree stand and wreath still patiently sit in front of my full length mirror. Next to them, and nearly touching, stands my clothes drying rack adorned with wool socks (dry for several days now). On the other side of the small path to my bed lie clothing, a cardboard box of computer supplies, and pretty much any other odd, currently homeless belonging of mine.

In a small bedroom where socks sit organized by type and color in the dresser, this array of grounded belongings is quite peculiar, and maybe even revolutionary. Yet this is possibly the complete opposite of how I should be dwelling in this current state of unwed liberation. To fully take advantage of singlehood I should be letting my obsessive side loose; I should be cleaning to my heart’s content. As a married gal it was quickly realized that lifestyles must compromise between newlyweds. And while this harmonious (and usually tumultuous at first) way of living is grand beyond comparison (when all other factors are considered), having the privilege to exercise my unrestrained obsession is beautiful in its own way.

In the same respect, as I survey the sea of mess surrounding my little island bed, there is no better time in my life then now to learn to relax. Someday I will be married again and I refuse to make the same mistakes twice. While there may be a time and place for everything (yes, for obsessive cleaning as well) having all your coffee cups in a neat little row usually only deters intimacy. So with this season of singlehood I will not only revel in keeping my shirts neatly hung in order of style, but I will also learn to make peace with the mess.

The List; No.18

The List

No.18

It happens every other Monday. No.18 “have coffee with a male friend” is not a hard one to accomplish and something I definitely appreciate. On Mondays we meet at the usual coffee shop where he gets an employee discount. We sit in the leather chairs by the door. My childhood friend and I discuss the past two weeks, sometimes over a cup of tea but mostly over coffee. We talk about each other’s families while the rain comes pouring down.

I like my coffee black. Coffee is just coffee. Going for coffee is not an introduction into marital preparation, it does not call for definition of the relationship, and rarely is it ever a date. Grabbing a cup-of-joe with the opposite sex is a safe, anxiety free, and public option for spending time with one another. I drink too much coffee.

Early Saturday mornings when I sit alone with a freshly brewed pot my mind wanders to previous coffee moments. Coffee back then meant a whole lot more. Despite my incompetent memory, my brain pulls out a photo album of sweet days; specific moments where coffee was shared over our lunch breaks, early Saturday mornings in the bakery or on our back porch, and Sunday mornings with our bibles open before us and a piping hot French press on the table. I let myself think on those days for a few minutes, smile, and then get back to the cup of coffee and bible at hand.

So for now I will relish in No.18. I will enjoy my Monday coffee talks, I will enjoy random afternoons with boys and coffee; I will savor each sip of this life.

The List; No.6

The List

No.6

“Work on writing a book.”

 

Take it out and hack it up,

While the song goes on and on.

Sweet, sweet, my memory’s song.

You provoke a thought to a day in time,

We sat side by side in a shade of confusion.

And here again we meet once more,

As my fingers type at that old, haunting tale.

I write to explain, to process the pain,

But at the end of the year the stories still mine.

Again, take it out, hack it up, and give more,

Edit my feelings to refine the moments.

For someone, dear someone,

They’ll read it and see.

So type, type, type,

To know a brighter day, to give a brighter hour.

There’s a will, there’s a way;

Restoration exists and the answer is near.

And until my finger is adorned once again,

I’ll continue to write for the answer is near.

 

The List; No.3

The List

No.3

Writing about not cooking is, well, not interesting. As the week comes to an end, I have little dishes to do but a lot of tuna stuffing my belly. No.3, “cease from cooking dinner for a whole week,” is less than exciting. My diet containing mostly of Kashi cereal, tuna, and fruit was not nearly as healthy as it sounds (mainly for the reason that I have disregarded mentioning that I ate a whole entire Hot-N-Ready pizza last Sunday as well as consuming an entire batch of cookies in but a couple of days). It was fun, for a week. I have more than embraced that fact that I can eat whatever, whenever, without worrying about feeding other mouths.

So with nothing to write about concerning food I will instead point out the fact that with only a week into tackling the list, I have officially been set free of all crushes as well as the longing for a boyfriend. As many know, this is reason to celebrate. My dramatics make for good stories, but at the end of the day it is all just silly. Some people may be skeptical at my ability to all of a sudden not like a boy. And they should be. My desire to be married still sits at the top of my hopes and dreams, but (despite my literary venting) I am not at all as desperate as one may think!

Okay, so I admit that my mouth can run on and on about boys and such, but underneath that superficial layer lies something more. First and foremost, the majority of my thoughts are not on the male species but rather on the Creator of said species (see No.12). Second of all, I am very close to my family, have a job that I am passionate about, and besides a slew of old and new hobbies, one of my favorite pastimes is hanging out with my beautiful friends.

Recently however, I have found myself getting annoyed…with myself. The constant “he loves me, he loves me not’s,” the longing for the way my life used to be (as a Mrs.), and the regular congregational scanning that takes place every Sunday at 8:30am as I search out a potential suitor has become a bit much. I am tired; tired of the desperation aspect that can so easily be found within singlehood’s domain. So tonight, after spending a divine night with God, receiving some sound advice from a male source, and then brushing my teeth, it occurred to me – I am done; done crushing, done thinking, done worrying, and maybe even (gasp!) done ranting about men and my lack thereof.

I can say with all certainty that there has been a change of my heart. Whether it is “The List,” or this past week with God, or possibly just my fluctuating blood sugar levels from too much Kashi, I am a bit more liberated. It has been exactly a year and a half since my husband departed and for the first time, I can say that this is finally singlehood. I have fought through the temptations of desperation; I have learned lessons about crushing on friends. And while I have yet to take any major risks in the world of dating, I feel that all Level One bases are covered and I am free to move on.

Forgoing meal planning, cookbooks, and grocery lists for a box of cereal and some soymilk is but a mere perk of being single. Forgoing crushes, flirting, and weary desperation for a life totally set apart for the absolute freedom to pursue God is the foundation for my future.

The List; No.16

The List

No.16

For the latter part of my teenage years I slept in my parents’ living room. Whether it was the couch or recliner my usual insomnia became somehow more subdued outside my small, yellow bedroom. Drifting off to the hum of the television and waking to the “swoosh” of milk frothing on the espresso machine was comfort.

Obviously, my years as a Mrs. had me sleeping in a real bed again. Despite the ever-present insomnia, the shared bed was the absolute place of comfort. The mattress was supreme; sleeping in the arms of the one I loved was even better. Towards the end of our marriage I was back to sleeping on the couch. Too hurt by the absence of his love and confused by his ignoring my nightly disappearance into the living room, I no longer felt comfortable in our bedroom. Sleepless nights on the couch continued after he went to stay with his cousins. Our bedroom became a dungeon that my mind could barely enter.

Within a couple of months I was permanently on my own in a one room apartment with a new piece of furniture to sleep on. As horribly worn out as my mattress was it nonetheless became my place of comfort. Whether it was sleepless nights or days of being unable to get out of bed, the journey of divorce was rode through on my “sleigh bed” style futon.

Now singlehood finds me on a twin size mattress and box spring, the pair shoved closely into the corner of my small bedroom. Upon moving to California and into a new phase of life my bedroom has become a place I spend little time in. Nights I spend working and the glorious sunshine beckons me outdoors during the day.

Comfort is still much sought after regardless of the overwhelming excitement that abounds inside of me. There are plenty of weekday afternoons, after a long shift of work, when comfort is easily achieved by crawling into the small, overly-adorned bed. At other times this room feels nothing but cold and its lack of men’s clothing and accessories strewn about the floor and dresser make it feel more like a damp, unfinished basement than a place to have sweet dreams. Then there are those moments when exhaustion hits and I find myself falling asleep on the couch or futon (which resides in part of the living room).

And that’s what brings me to No.16 “sleep sideways on my bed…or my roommate’s bed…or sleep on the couch…or the futon…basically sleep wherever I want, however I want, whenever I want…in truly unflatteringly oversized pajamas.” I feel (despite my previously discussed past experiences with insomnia and the misfortune of being gently pushed out of bed by an ever-estranging husband) sleeping wherever I want, whenever I want, in whatever I happen to feel comfy in is a privilege of all singletons. Some of my single friends have questioned my idea on the subject, but I can guarantee that despite their interesting and sporadic sleeping ways now they too, after their first night of marriage, will agree that there might not be anything more comforting. Spending your shut eye in the warm embrace of the one you would die for brings a security like nothing else. But this thought I cannot dwell on for too long as I must see the positive in… in being able to sleep alone.

Since the start of my list I have slept on the futon twice. The first time unintentionally occurred due to the combination of a long day and a much needed moment of quiet. The second time happened today. Rest was elusive as I lay in my cold bed, the pillow beneath my head feeling flat and the cat on top of my head prohibiting my ability to roll over. As I moved into the living room and laid my tired body on the thin, barely stuffed, futon mattress, my mind quickly and almost immediately stopped for sleep. In what would seem like a trade for a more uncomfortable bedtime option, I found comfort.

There are still two weeks left to finish my list, and I can say with most certainty that the couch will before then beckon me to crawl into the dreamland it holds. With a futon, a couch, my bed, and my sister’s bed there are plenty of choices to seek out comfort. Yet no matter where I lay, there is only one place I dream of sleeping – in the comforting arms of love.

Thoughts On…

Thoughts On…

You.

When is a good time to tell you that I like you? When is a good time to open my heart up and throw its contents across vulnerability’s table? I major in dramatics; my feelings for you are minor. Yet, you are on my mind (should I put that on my lips?). And every subtle hint I try to drop makes me feel like I am walking along the edge of “creeper.” So my attempts to cover up, my attempts to zip my heart back up, leave me exhausted and confused. Subtle hints are tricky; do you get the “subtle” or the “hint” or do you not get it at all? So let me say it loud, “I LIKE YOU….a little bit….I mean, we haven’t talked much…I barely know you.” Feeble attempts at speaking loud and clear sound just as muffled as my sneaky hints. Complicated; in my head but not my heart, for it’s not really complicated at all. Just drama, it’s just the stuff of 7^th grade. A giddy perspective into someone who hasn’t dated in quite some time sounds pathetic and mad, but its honesty. This is vulnerability, or the lack thereof. This is the vulnerability that rises when the real vulnerability to tell you that I don’t want to be just friends sinks to the bottom of the ocean. I know, I know, we talked about this before. We are just friends, end of story. Or end of story? Do feelings change or did I just become slightly deceived. Deceived by your unprecedented good looks, your leadership skills…all your skills really, and the way you make me laugh. Two ways to go: 1) I say “hey, I think I like you, and I know we talked about this some time ago, but its different for me now, and I want to go on a date with you, and that is all.” 2) I put my foot down, hard, and declare this is done. I will not talk to you next weekend and I’ll turn when you come my way. Your number will be erased from my phone and I’ll probably pick up some new incoherent crush as a means of distraction. Neither idea sound swell or feasibly rational. I am coming off horribly idiotic. This is the drama that boils deep down inside. This would be the part when a more mature 7^th grader would step in and tell me to pass you a note or send a friend to relay the thoughts. Thoughts, just silly thoughts, and these words, they are just silly words. I am a risk taker, but trying to convince you that you want to hang out with me is the opposite of risk. I am a coward who is almost completely sure you want nothing to do with me outside of mere friendship, a coward who doesn’t want rejection to make that friendship awkward. Dear Anne or Heloise or anyone that can answer me this, do I say it? Do I make a confession of potential feelings if certainty points fingers at unreturned feelings?