I've been staring at this computer screen for a long time. It was bright when I started choosing my photos for this post, but the sunlight faded from the walls a few minutes ago, and I had to get up and turn my ceiling light on. Long time. The problem has been that I didn't know what to write. Or, rather, the problem has been that my mind has been preoccupied with something I initially didn't want to write about. Maybe I should write about how I match the scenery? Maybe I should write about the fact that my legs aren't shaven in these photos (spoiler alert)? Maybe I should write about records or lakes or the weather? That's been my dilemma. But my head isn't wrapped around those things right now (though it's rapidly growing concerned about the not-shaving tidbit I just shared). Instead, it's in this satellitic orbit around a glowy ball of change and future and wondering. To be Captain Obvious for a moment, I'm not one to shy away from over-sharing, but for some reason, I felt kind of reluctant to dive down into the muck of it, but lucky (unlucky) for you, that brief moment of normalcy seems to have passed.
Last night, I caught about a three minute segment of Glee (ugh, I know, I KNOW). I don't know if it was a current episode or older, but what I gathered from the three minutes was that Coach Beiste had decided to leave her abusive husband. They got into this argument as she threw her wedding ring onto the table. He said something like, "No one's going to love you like me. Who's gonna love you now?" and she said, "Me." Familiar. I cried a little bit, which isn't saying much for a sappy sap like me who has wept over Ghost Adventures, and possibly, Sir Walter Scott's gothic novel Waverly. As much as Glee isn't my thing, something about that scene made me simultaneously really uncomfortable and really comforted.
I have talked about my past enough on this blog, and don't need to go there again tonight. A question I've been asking myself a lot lately, and have been getting asked, is "Are you ready to start dating?" I was talking with a friend yesterday about someone, and she asked me, "If he was single, if he asked you out right now, would you say yes?" Hmm. Humm. Well. "No." What a strange thing for me to say. I don't even know how that word got there, into my mouth, out into the open air. I was a girl who needed to be in a relationship, who, after breaking up with her first boyfriend, started dating another a few weeks later. For for years. Now, I don't seem to be a girl who needs to be in a relationship. Right now, that is. And it's weird. It's a weird feeling to like being alone sometimes. It's a weird feeling to be able to say that I'm afraid to date someone right now. Maybe the word isn't "afraid," maybe it's reluctant, tentative, hippopotamus (it's probably not hippopotamus). As I explained to her, I know what I want, but I don't know if I'm ready to have it, strong enough to stick to my convictions and longings, confident enough to have expectations, recognize that they haven't been met, and act accordingly. She assures me that I am. I laugh and look at my hands.
The truth is, I've been comparing myself to other people again, which is a terrible and pointless thing to do. Thoughts like, "Well, she broke up with her boyfriend four months ago and has started dating again!" had been chilling out, maxing, and relaxing all cool in my brain. "Why not me, too?" This is why not me. There are a million reasons, and all of them have to do with me being myself, me being in the exact situation that only I have been in, and me needing to access myself. I still think part of me is afraid to admit it, that I'm okay on my own. That it's possible for me to exist and thrive as an individual. How weird is that!
If you want a segue that leads into a discussion about my outfit, I guess I could say that green is the color of growth. Or maybe I could say that making my own decisions extends into every aspect of my life, even something as simple as what do I want to wear today. Or maybe I could just talk about how my legs are unshaven in these photos.