Two Words: Stop It

I feel the need to rant a little tonight. The inspiration behind the coming rant is a recent article posted to LDS Living, a magazine I once interned for and to which I subscribe. I like LDS Living, but I just don't know about this one.

The article is called "5 Ways to Find Your Eternal Companion According to the Family Proclamation." It's adapted from a book that has the same idea: study the Proclamation hard enough and live its principles, and you too can be righteous enough to get married, like the author.

Truth be told, I knew I shouldn't click on the Facebook link to this article, but I did because I do self-destructive things when I think my mind can take them. I am almost always wrong about that.

To be fair, LDS Living probably had to post this article because they're owned by Deseret Book, which sells the book that inspired the article, so it's advertising. I work in online marketing; I know how it works.

But here's what bothers me about the article. Starting with the first "way," I hear that voice I hear all too often from well-intentioned but ill-advised married Church members. They look at a single Saint's status and start pointing the finger of blame--at the single person.

The first principle reads as condescending, insulting, and discouraging. To simplify what the author states, I'll summarize it the way it reads in my head: "Hey, have you considered faith? I know it's the first principle of the gospel, but maybe you've never heard of it before. President Monson says you shouldn't be postponing marriage, so what are you waiting for? You're already at least in your mid 20s. Remember, you can't be exalted unless you have a spouse (as I do)."

Yes, I know that's not what the author is actually saying. But does he think I've somehow missed out on faith, the plan of salvation, words of living prophets, and the central importance of marriage as fundamental doctrines of the gospel? Believe me, you can't be attending YSA wards as long as I have without hearing about those principles. True, you don't have to adopt them just because you attend church, but you'd have to spend the entire three-hour block checking your fantasy football scores every week to not be aware of them.

And that brings me to a root problem of articles like this. They misunderstand the target audience. The people who will click on a "How to Find Your Eternal Companion in 5 Easy Steps" article are not the people who need to be reminded to have faith. Trust me--if we're still going to Church and holding out for eternal marriage, faith is a big part of who we are and who we strive to become.

People who most need to take the quoted counsel from President Monson to heart are not those who come to this article seeking comfort and guidance, so stop lumping all singles together and assuming we're ALL postponing marriage or forgetting how important it is. We wouldn't spend so many hours wondering about crushes or worrying about dates or crying over our delayed but promised righteous desires if we didn't have faith in the eternal, infinite, and personal plan of salvation.

That brings me to the other problem with this article, the reason I knew I shouldn't click on it. It's a listicle, a gross term for the numbered articles that have overtaken the Internet in the Buzzfeed era. I know because I write them every day in my job as a small business blogger. All listicles are filled with tips and tricks, shortcuts to achieving a desired goal.

Don't get me wrong; many listicles contain useful information. But, I don't think a listicle is an appropriate venue to offer dating advice to LDS single adults. That's because by clicking on a listicle, a reader feels like he or she will receive the piece of insider information necessary to achieve a certain end. Instead, readers in the faith-filled but still single category finish reading the article and find themselves thinking, "What am I doing wrong? What magical piece of the formula am I missing?"

Unfortunately, it just doesn't work that way with eternal marriage. I wish it did--I'm good at following lists. But the more we encourage this checklist-goal mentality of marriage, the more disappointment potential we create in conscientious, faith-filled singles.

Recently, at a friend's wedding luncheon, I felt keenly the untruth of the notion that we can achieve eternal marriage by completing tasks on a list. Her husband's father stood up and said how proud he was of his son, who had always been able to set goals and achieve them. The father was using the hours-old marriage as an example of an achieved goal.

As I heard this stranger say those words, I sat there and let myself feel hurt. I'd set the goal for marriage, I'd worked to achieve it, but it had eluded me. I felt the Spirit try to comfort me and say that my mind was mistaking a proud father's words for doctrine, but my heart had a hard time accepting that comfort. Because I'd heard that before from well-meaning Institute teachers and local priesthood leaders.

The Spirit finally got through to me after several months of further mental anguish by reminding me of a scene from my own life with my own father. I don't live at home anymore, but I live close enough to my parents that I can visit several times a year. My entire immediate family lives in the same city, except for me.

When I go home, I love being around my family, but I have to admit that I struggle with feelings of jealousy and inadequacy when I'm there. I'm the oldest, but my younger sister is married. I love her; I love her husband. But seeing what they have leads me to focus on what I lack, my own eternal companion. Consequently, I often end up crying during my prayers on the last nights I have at home. Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of the night, convinced that marriage will always elude me and that my loneliness will never cease.

As you can imagine, those thoughts are crushing. But on several occasions, my dad has been in the next room and heard my cries. And he comes in, gently places his hand on my shoulder, and speaks words of comfort. My dad can give long talks about spiritual matters, but I find his spiritual knowledge most meaningful in those conversations, which tend to last no more than three minutes.

What am I driving at here? I think many LDS single adults find more happiness when they come to understand that eternal marriage is not 100% dependent on exerting the correct amount of righteousness and faith--and when they stop clicking on articles that suggest otherwise (hint to future self). The way to receive that knowledge is through the Spirit, not through a listicle.

I have to acknowledge that the author finishes by saying the article doesn't actually offer a new idea or formula for finding an eternal companion. But I think that's part of why this article makes me feel empty. The title sets up one expectation, the content serves an entirely different purpose, and I am left confused and disappointed.

Ultimately, I think we need to accept as a body of Saints--myself included--that practicing principles in numbered lists won't automatically lead to marriage or other spiritual ends. "The gospel is not a checklist."

How can we fix this? Take President Uchtdorf's counsel and "Stop it." Stop writing articles that promise singles the secret to getting married. There is no secret, and Deseret Book CEO Sheri Dew would be the first one to tell you that.

Blast from the Past: On Re-Readings

Note: This is another old blog post I found in the middle of the night. Why did I never post this? It has some good stuff in it. Enjoy.

I have this half-formed thought I've been carrying around for a while now which I will now attempt to fully form and share with y'all at the same time. Probably this thought arises from the inordinate amount of time I spend consuming media in my college graduate, part-time bookseller, full-time unsure of my next major life step life status. In fact, I know it comes from at least the bookseller portion of my life right now, and here's why.

Very early on in my now four plus months as a Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail bookshop girl, I found myself standing at table full of great nonfiction titles. The biography of Neil Armstrong, several titles by David McCullough, Angela's Ashes, Team of Rivals--I had read none of the books on that table, but I wanted to read basically all of them. And I thought to myself, "If I read absolutely nothing else this year, I still wouldn't have time to read all of the books on even one side of this table." To a bibliophile like me, that was a depressing thought.

I only let myself get further overwhelmed as I looked around at the dozens of bookshelves surrounding me in the decent-sized bookstore where I work, and it dawned on me that even if no more books were ever published, I wouldn't even have time to read all the books in our store in my lifetime. (Granted, there are entire shelves of books that I would have no problem skipping...the romance section for instance...due to their lack of literary merit. But still.)

This thought took up residence in the back of my mind, not quite nagging away at me but making its presence known nonetheless. Quickly, the thought had grown, telling my mind that not only would I never be able to read everything I wanted to, but I would also never see all the great movies or even catch up to my Netflix queue. 

Eventually, this dooming thought made friends with another thought: the thought that there are certain books, movies, and TV shows that I have already read or seen that I will no doubt read or view again, in spite of the fact that I am already wasting my time by not checking off items in the huge imaginary To-Do List of Lifetime Media Consumption I have created for myself--with the assistance of Goodreads, IMDB, and Flixster. I was wasting my time re-reading To Kill a Mockingbird every summer instead of making friends with Leo Tolstoy. All my repeated viewings of 13 Going on 30 would mean nothing if I somehow missed out on some other unknown rom-com gem. And I didn't even want to think about all the times I have re-watched movies just to remember why I don't like them. (Blog post on this subject to follow.)

I had reached a postmodern paradox: I wanted to experience everything, but I knew I could not. All of this deep thinking exhausted my already emotionally strained mind, until I realized that the desire to re-experience was the solution to the whole problem. How? Here's how.

Remember that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Sean Connery as Dr. Henry Jones Sr. opens his umbrella on the beach and runs at all the seagulls, causing a plane to crash and saving himself and his son, Indy, from the evil Nazis? (As opposed to all those nice Nazis...) What does he say to Indy to explain this erratic behavior? "I just remembered my Charlemagne." Unfortunately, I'm not well-read enough to know what Dr. Jones is actually quoting, but the principle of the scene applies. Because the answer to my problem is "I remembered my Shakespeare."

The single most famous Shakespearean soliloquy comes from Hamlet. You know it as "The 'To Be Or Not To Be' Speech." But it contains a well-stated concept that acted like a soothing balm on my situation. "...makes us rather bear those ills we have, / Than fly to others that we know not of." Just like Henry Jones quoting Charlemagne, it might seem like gibberish out of context like this, but I couldn't quote the whole sentence because there's a lot of flowery language about Death personified that doesn't really apply. In fact, strictly speaking, the quote I gave is Hamlet explaining why a lot of people choose not to commit suicide, which has nothing to do with my situation. But at its core, this quote says that if we know the qualities of something, we're apt to keep those somethings around instead of replacing them with others that we don't know.

Translating this into the dilemma of never finishing the World Library, I realized that I'm just "bearing the ills" I know and love by re-reading and re-watching books and shows that I already know have wisdom that suits my style. And I'm okay with not flying to all the "others that I know not of" all the time. I'm okay with not being consumed with the consumption of new media.

But then the thought went even deeper. Because I've been thinking about all the great friends I've had at different periods of my life and thinking about when the Ultimate Friend will show up--the one that I will love so much that I will marry him. And suddenly that Ultimate Friend became like a really good book, or a great TV show, or a fabulous movie. With him, just once won't be enough. I'll have to keep re-reading and re-watching to discover all the nuances and details I didn't notice before, little tidbits that make him even better on a 322nd viewing, or a 456th read through. Sure, I'll have my favorite parts that I've highlighted or that I skip to on the DVD when I need a quick pick me up. But the whole goal of having him in my life will be to know and appreciate the whole package. And that will take repeated screenings. And readings. And it won't matter that I don't know every single person on earth, because I'll know him. The quality of us will mean so much more than the quantity of them.

Acceptance First, Anger Last

Note: I wrote part of this blog post in May 2014, but I never finished it. I couldn't sleep tonight, so I revisited it in an attempt to bring on the ZZZs. It starts where I originally started it, and I'll note when the original post ends.

I've heard that people can experience the stages of grief in any order and often go through some stages multiples times before they reach acceptance. I can now be a witness to this fact. I just didn't realize it was possible to reach acceptance first and still need to go through the other stages.

To anyone who's still out there reading, you should know that on November 16, 2013, I got my long-awaited, much-anticipated first kiss. The story is quite nice, but I'm not in the mood to share it here just yet, mostly because that relationship has since ended and I'm presently stuck in the beginning of a romantic comedy. My life right now is very status quo: my career exists but it doesn't suit my skill-set or feel long-term; I had what felt like a great dating relationship but have a hard time now remembering what I saw in him and why I trusted him with my heart. If that ever changes, you might get to hear the good parts version, readers. But not today.

One day shy of a month after our first date, The Boy Who First Kissed Me broke up with me. That's not even a 100% accurate description of what happened, but it's the best term I've got, and I've since learned that he used it. So, although he refused to officially and openly date me, at least he recognizes that he broke up with me. What a man.

He gave a few reasons for breaking up with me, the most prominent being a lack of time to give me what I deserve out of a dating relationship. Translation: I'm just not that into you. I knew that's what it meant at the time and tried to get some clarification out of him.

In fact, as an aspiring screenwriter, I feel I should give you a better sense of the action and let you see the pitiful scene for yourself.

Sunday afternoon. Sacrament meeting has just concluded. BOY and GIRL, who have been sitting together, stand up. GIRL is annoyed but trying to hide it because BOY was checking his Fantasy Football scores throughout the meeting. BOY is distracted by the fan club of girls, aged 18-22, who run up to him (age 27), eager to get his opinion on everything from wheat bread versus white bread to the Affordable Care Act. BOY shifts his attention from GIRL to this harem.

GIRL waits nearby. Flashback shots of her waking up in a cold, angry sweat the past several nights are shown. Another flashback depicts the same harem arriving at her apartment Christmas party the night before. HAREM also ran over to BOY with enthusiasm then, chief among them a young 20-something redhead, and BOY turned his attention away from GIRL despite the fact that he arrived an hour late to the party. GIRL said nothing then, but remembering the restless sleep and confusion, she knows she has to say something now.

BOY finishes talking with HAREM, and GIRL recaptures his attention.

GIRL: Hey, I know you're busy, but can I schedule some (BOY'S NAME) time for later today?

BOY: Sure, we can make that happen.

BOY and GIRL part ways.

[End of original blog post.]

The story picks up later that night, around 8:20, following Ward Prayer. GIRL nervously approaches BOY in a crowded room.

GIRL: Can we have our talk now?

BOY: (grimaces) Sure.

GIRL and BOY walk back to GIRL's apartment. BOY does not try to hold GIRL's hand. BOY and GIRL reach the apartment and sit on the love seat. The name of that piece of furniture does not match what is about to happen.

Fade out.

I could give you the Reader's Digest version of that conversation. Heaven knows I've played it over in my head plenty of times since it took place. But I really only remember what he said. And how stunned I felt. And how embarrassed I am now that I almost cried then.

But the details aren't important. Because as heartbroken as I should have been, the next day--a Monday, naturally--I found myself at work, not pining for him and wondering what I did wrong. Instead, a rush of calm flooded over me around lunch time. I just knew it was right that we weren't dating anymore, or using each other or whatever the accurate description is for what we were doing with each other. I found acceptance less than 24 hours after our split.

And that was great. I felt calm and happy and at peace all through the holiday season and the Olympic speed skating trials and even New Year's Eve, a holiday I've wanted to spend with a significant other since I was allowed to date.

I wish that feeling had lasted. I wish I had held onto it more, fought for it to stay. But that's not what happened. Instead, he announced on Facebook the day after Valentine's that he was in a relationship. Apparently he had time for her. Apparently he wasn't ashamed to openly admit that he liked her.

Enter anger and all the stages of grief I hadn't gone through yet. Welcome back to all the questions I had about my worth and my attractiveness as a woman. The year just went downhill from there. I thought a different guy liked me. You heard half of that story in a different post. Yeah, he didn't. But he eventually found the skinnier, nicer version of me, which triggered a whole new set of jealousies and self-loathings when I saw it first-hand.

By August, I'd given up the idea of dating that year. And I'm not sure I want it right now either. I mean, I want it because my biological clock is ticking and the longer I stay single, the more ice cream I consume and the more unrealistic Hallmark Channel movies I watch and the more I fear I am too SOMETHING to be the object of someone's true affections. The less marry-able I become.

The point of this post is not to say that I believe something is wrong with me that makes me undateable. It's just to put some feelings that weigh on my heart and doubts that resound in my mind out into the universe. Because there isn't enough room for them to just stay inside of me anymore.

I want my acceptance back. I want the courage to move forward and think that I could find someone and he could like me and mean it. I want to not think I failed at 2014 because three of my best friends got married but I didn't even hold a boy's hand.

Because I accomplished a lot in 2014:

• I got a new job.
• I bought a car by myself.
• I went to Disneyland twice.
• I got to the other side.

2015 is already better. Not necessarily in the dating arena, though I have felt myself gaining a more balanced perspective on the matter. There have been two boys recently who I've thought "maybe" about. It didn't become anything, but that's not the point. 

The bigger and more important development is that I feel myself wanting to be okay with where I am now. I feel my heart saying, "You is good. You is kind. You is important." And not because of your dating status or whether you've published anything, but because you have faith in the future but appreciate the present. I'm not perfect at it, but I'm doing better.

• I go to the gym more regularly.
• I've taken care of some big-girl things, like 401(k) and HSA and dental insurance.
• I sometimes watch the nightly news instead of reruns of crime procedurals or HGTV.
• I've already finished 5 books this year.
• I'm blogging outside of work now, a first step in writing more and feeling the joy of the creative spirit again.

If you made it this far, congrats. I apologize for starting so many sentences with conjunctions. I know it's allowed, but I think I went overboard. I have hopes that this year will be better than the last. After two long Decembers, I deserve it. So I'm going to give it to myself.

Sitcom of My Life: Out on a Limb

It's been far too long since I've blogged. And I never gave the full story behind the vague but dizzily happy last post. Believe me, I've attempted to write them, but I can't find the words that are honest without being spiteful yet. Let's just say that was the mid-season finale in Season 1 of my personal sitcom/reality show, "Right as Rain." (The title has no particular relevance, except that I love that Adele song and would choose it as my show's theme song if a) I ever got a show and b) Adele would give permission.)

And let's just skip ahead to right now. Right now I'm feeling very Carol Vessey from Ed when she confessed her feelings to Ed, who'd been in unrequited love with her for years, and he didn't respond. So, in typical Ed fashion, Carol went over to Ed's house one morning and sat in his tree until he came out and saw her there.

Ed to Carol: "What are you doing up there?" (I'm paraphrasing here.)

Carol: "I'm out on a limb."

Ed: "But you're not. You are really close to the trunk. You're not out on a limb."

Carol: "I know. I was, but then I got scared. It's really scary to be out on a limb."

Carol, I couldn't agree more. Up until a few weeks ago, I had NEVER straight up said to a boy that I had feelings for him, unless he had already given me physical evidence that my feelings were in some way reciprocated.

And for some reason, two and a half weeks ago, during the season finale, I thought it would be a good idea to confess my feelings to a man who was introduced in the series premiere of my life sitcom nearly 9 months ago. In an email. While he was on vacation. IN ASIA.

Smooth, Whitney. Real smooth.

Because I didn't just confess my feelings. I also scolded him for not telling me an important detail of his life that affected our friendship and potential romantic relationship. Which, I'm realizing now, was a figment of my imagination and his gentleman-like manner.

Oh well.

But now, the wait since I sent the email was been more interminable than any television hiatus. EVER.

We're talking worse than when Jess and Rory kissed on the bridge before Sookie's wedding.

We're talking worse than when Luke and Lorelai kissed at the opening of the Dragonfly Inn.

It's THAT BAD, guys. (And gals.)

But, I also know that writing works for me. It gets my thoughts out of my head and into the universe. Which is why the email seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Who wants to be right as rain? It's better when something is wrong." At least, that's what my theme song says.

This Is Just to Say...

This post is just to say that I have obviously fallen behind on my made-for-TV Christmas movie watching, and I may not catch up this year, but tune in next year for whatever posts don't make it onto the blog this year.

This post is also just to say that blogging is very cathartic for me. I get to have conversations with Past Whitty that remind Present Whitty that Future Whitty still has a pretty bright future. Past Whitty is really good with that because she's had a few epiphanies that Present Whitty sometimes forgets but that she needs to remember to keep being awesome and become Future Whitty. Past Whitty is, well, witty. And reading what Past Whitty wrote makes Present Whitty content and confident and peaceful, even when she doesn't have everything she's ever wanted--Past Whitty reminds Present Whitty that she already has the ability to become her very best version of Future Whitty.

This paragraph is just to apologize for the last paragraph and all of the referring to myself in the third person.

And this last part is just to say "Merry Christmas" to any bloggers out there who like the poems of William Carlos Williams or the British accents of actors who've portrayed Mr. Darcy or both. Because one of those actors will now read William Carlos Williams's poem, "This Is Just to Say." Enjoy.

Rude People

Maybe rude is a bit harsh, but there are worse adjectives I could use. Last night, I finally went to see Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows with my roommate. Granted, it was a sold out show at the dollar theater in town, so I knew it was going to be crowded, but in some ways that makes these people seem more rude.

My roommate and I arrived plenty early to get good seats. But we were just a tad too early, so we had to wait in the line to get into the theater. After we've waited for a few minutes, nothing to get stirred up about, the theater opens and they start letting us through. Only there are two lines, side-by-side, so the ticket attendant is having a hard time telling the people in the first line to wait. So this family of six who just arrived gets to go before us. And they know it, too. I could see it in their faces.

Strike one.

This annoyance wasn't actually a problem, since we still got great seats in the middle of the theater, where we proceeded to wait for the start of the movie. Our row has nine seats in it, and we're sitting in seats three and four from the left. A couple comes in and sits in seven and eight, and the woman puts her coat on the sixth seat right next to her. It clearly looks like she's saving it for a friend.

But she wasn't! All through that opening promo movie and the previews, the Love Couple are playing on their smart phones and not interacting. At. All. And literally dozens of people are filling into the theater, and it's getting more and more crowded, and they are not moving in or moving their coats or even being asked if they are saving seats (presumably because they look "occupied" playing on their smart phones). Eventually the movie starts, and they are still on their phones for the five minute opening sequence. And they never shared their seats that they were so NOT saving for friends.

Strike two.

My roommate and I have moved into seats four and five by this time because a tall guy was sitting in front of her. Right before the movie starts, a lone man in his sixties comes and takes the open seat on my roommate's left. And three minutes in, he starts snoring. Loudly. Rhythmically. Nonstop. He sometimes would jolt awake and blow his nose even louder, offering a three to five minute reprieve. But basically for the whole movie, the old guy is snoring next to us.

Strike three.

So, when you ask me if I liked Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows, I may not know how to answer. I had a hard time following it amid all the distractions.

What are the rules of movie theater etiquette? Why, it's elementary, my dear Watson.
1. Don't cut people in line.
2. Don't save seats for imaginary people. Not even if you are Wills and Kate, the only couple I could think of that might need a public buffer.
3. Don't use your phones to avoid being asked if you are saving those seats.
4. Don't use your phones during the actual movie.
5. Don't snore.

Biblical Dating Tips: "Feed My Camels"

Today, I found this article putting forth one woman's theory about why some women have difficulty getting dates. It prompted quite a Facebook conversation between me, my mom, and several good friends. We really didn't agree with it. Really.

Immediately after that conversation, I went to lunch with a different friend, and we too were discussing the article and the short-sighted thought process behind it. While in line, we ran into a friend of hers.

And when I say friend I mean Polynesian college football player friend of hers.

So we sat at his lunch table. And without us even starting it, the conversation turned to dating. This is where it gets good.

Because Polynesian football player friend told us a story about a recent church meeting where his stake president compared seeking out your spouse to the story of Isaac's servant finding Rebekah to be Isaac's wife.

If you're not familiar with this biblical gem, see Genesis 24. The basic gist of the story is that Isaac's dad, Abraham, insists that Isaac marry within the family religion, but none of the local girls live the standards. So they send a servant out with a caravan of camels to find a more fruitful dating pool . When the servant arrives at a well, he makes a proposition to God that would go something like this in today's vernacular.

"Hey, I've got an idea. How about I stand here by this well of water with my thirsty camels, and the first girl who offers to water them for me will be the woman destined to marry Isaac. Kapeesh?"

And that's exactly what happens. Rebekah offers to water the camels and in exchange gets to marry Isaac and be the mother of many nations. (Looking at the picture, she didn't need to have God set her up with Isaac, though. Look at the feminine tilt of her head. Irresistible to men who need to feel needed.)

But back to our football player friend. He said that, according to his church leader, guys will know a girl is the one when she "feeds his camels." (Yes, he said "feed," not water. I didn't correct him. I was trying to create an atmosphere of trust. He also thought it was the story of Ruth and Boaz. I didn't correct him there, either. According to the article, men like to feel like women trust them. Even when they are wrong.)

I then straight-up asked this football player I met 15 minutes before, "So, how does a girl feed a guy's camels?" No answer. There weren't crickets in the background or anything, but he skirted around the issue with attempts like, "Oh, I don't know" or "It's different for everyone" or some such nonsense. I offered up possibilities: "Is she willing to do your homework for you? Is she cooking for you all the time? Does she give you backrubs?" Honestly, I just wanted to know what feeds a guy's camels. At the moment, he seemed like a more reliable source than the dating coach.

Finally, he escaped answering the question by turning it around on me. "Well, what about you? What feeds your camels?"

"A guy asking me on a date."

"But what about after that?"

"Him liking me and asking me on another date. And then liking me more and asking me out again."

I'm not trying to be facetious; I mean it. That's what feeds my camels (who haven't been fed or watered in several months, thank you). At this point and in this dating market, that's what I like. A guy who's willing to take the initiative and not make me feed his camels before he'll make the sacrifice of asking for my number or opening a door for me.

In case your wondering, no, this Polynesian football player friend did not decide to feed my camel and ask me out. But he did prompt what will prove to be a whole new goldmine of blogging topics. Come back soon for dating tips from Jacob and Leah, a couple who know that good things come to those who wait.

What to say...

I feel a need to blog this day into words. In terms of cosmic significance, this day is unsubstantial. But in terms of personal resolve, this day is monumental.

Two weeks ago I wrote a fictional but autobiographical play about a girl who thinks too much. It was called Ruminate. I wrote it in hopes that it would act as an impetus for me to stop thinking and take action. Based on events over the weekend, I finally did. I made a choice. I decided to say NO MORE to that potential romantic interest (read: bottom-dweller who recently belittled by existence) who stepped right out of the lyrics of The Supremes' "You Keep Me Hangin' On" and the pages of the Old Testament when it was still okay to collect harems of women.

I vocalized that resolve today at 11:01 a.m. And by 2 p.m. I had seen Facebook evidence that he had also most likely vocalized his resolve to date someone else to that someone else. And it should have hurt, considering how long he's kept me hanging on. But it felt more like a breath of fresh air. So much of what I felt reminded me of something I'd read in a book. This was my Up a Road Slowly.

In the book, Julie gets her first boyfriend in high school but doesn't recognize that he's just using her for the homework help she provides. Their romance sours, lucky for her, and in the first-person narrative she writes these beautiful lines, a perfect description of how I felt today.

"I had gone to sleep in sorrow and longing; I awoke the next morning--and something had happened.

". . . It wasn't until seconds later that I realized how I was lying, cool and relaxed in my bed, with a sense of serenity and quiet happiness enveloping me. I made myself think of [him] as one might touch an old wound to determine whether or not it is healed, and the thought of him miraculously did not hurt. I was neither angry nor contemptuous.

". . . I wondered why so much had been written about love's pain and so little about the glorious relief of being delivered from love's pain."

So this post is about glorious reliefs and bright tomorrows and how, at least this once, ruminating saved me the pain of saying something I might regret to someone I'll concede brought out the worst in me. I am neither angry nor contemptuous.

Good night, dear void. I await the morning with serenity.

(And if you were playing along, did you catch all 4 You've Got Mail allusions?)

Implode and Explode

I love the TV show Ed. It wasn't on for very many seasons, but it had that zany hometown rom-com feel that I have loved in other shows like Gilmore Girls. There's a bowling alley with crazy employees, some funny high school students, and the drama and awesomeness of Ed Stevens chasing his former love Carol Vessey.

Carol Vessey had a best friend named Molly, who was a teacher and later became the high school principal. Molly is great: she's funny, she's there when you need her, she's the perfect best friend. She also is seldom the subject of her own romantic plotline (which may add to her ability to be the perfect best friend, because unlike the ever-popular Carol, you are never jealous of Molly's love life).

But once upon a time in Stuckeyville, Molly started dating a guy. And he really liked her. And she was starting to like him. And then she met another guy. And she really liked him. And he was starting to like her. So she decided she wanted to get more serious with guy number two and drop guy number one. But guy number two didn't want that, and then guy number one just felt bad.

And Molly told Carol, "I think my love life simultaneously imploded and exploded."

Which is what just happened to me. I was on-and-off dating one guy, went on a date with a different guy, and thought I liked one more than the other. But now one has moved across the country and the other has stopped making contact.

I think my love life simultaneously imploded and exploded.

So now I'm back to normal.

If Love Is All You Need...

I was cynical tonight with an attractive Australian man. Poor guy. He caught the brunt of my Valentine's day loneliness and my desire to tell just one man exactly what I think of this holiday. Because all it makes me feel is jealous, angry, and bitter. Not attractive emotions.

So when he asked me at pre-arranged, unromantic dinner group how my Valentine's Day was, instead of giving the answer he wanted to hear, I told the truth. He first tried the "look on the bright side attitude": "At least you have your health." I paused. Not exactly, but no comment.

Then he went for the "in the same boat" angle: "If it helps, I'm not in love today either." I admitted that there was a fair amount of satisfaction in that, if only because misery loves company. And boy was I miserable.

But then he got serious, and profound. "You could meet someone tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that." True, I admitted. Every day I'm one day closer. But, bitterness still fresh, I said there's a fair amount of irony in meeting someone the day after Valentine's. "What are you doing while you wait?" I think I've been doing some pretty good things while waiting. "Maybe the key is to not be obsessed with the waiting."

He shared something personal. Having pondered and pained over this issue himself, he'd asked not to be so obsessed with love, not to feel like finding love was the driving force and purpose of his life.

On the way home, fresh tears stung my face. I wanted to be right. I didn't want men to have the same pains I do about lacking love. If love is all you need, what do you do without it? I wanted the answer to be wait around and beat yourself up until you find it...or it finds you. Knowing he was right with every step I took closer to my door, I tried to say that it was fine for him, but I'd tried that to and it hadn't worked for me. But I haven't tried hard enough to give those pains away and let Someone Else carry them for a while.

Thanks for calling me out on my cynicism, attractive Australian man. I don't like me when I'm jealous, angry, and bitter either. So I don't know why a guy would.