taking care

On Sunday, I sat down in Sacrament meeting and sighed. It had been a busy weekend following a busy week and my mind was full of all the things that I still needed to do. Silly things really, I worried about the cupcakes in the back of my car, "would they get too hot?" "what if the frosting starts to melt?" "what if no one signs up for the potluck next week?" "what if I'm forgetting something?" And then I just cleared it all out of my head - I surrendered to the moment, and checked in with my body. I was beat. My insomnia and to-do lists had caught up with me and I was exhausted.

I said a little prayer right there. I asked God to help be better about taking care of myself. I asked Him to help me balance my obligations with my needs; to help me to relish the things that bring me joy and avoid the things that bring me down. Sometimes I forget that it's up to me to take care of myself. No one else is going to do it.

So when I finally got home from all my meetings, I fed myself and tucked myself into bed.

I bucked my night-owly ways and was asleep before mid-night.

all you need is love

I've never really understood Valentine's Day, but I think these sort of sum it up nicely.

This reminds me of the one time I did have a boyfriend and failed to do anything for him on Valentine's Day. I think it was the beginning of the end for us.

This is absolutely tragic, and a little funny - I'm a terrible person. I had to finish watching the second half of this weeks Downton Abbey last night because it was another 2-hour episode that I had not anticipated while watching the Grammy's Sunday night. (Maybe I'll talk about the Grammy's tomorrow if work isn't too crazy, because I've got lots to say.) But wholly shocker! I've said it before and I'll say it again, DA is the best thing to ever happen on television.

And while love may elude me, I'll always have NPR. A few weeks ago, I decided to be a grown up and start contributing to my NPR station. And I'm mighty proud of myself, I mean it's about time and if I waited for Ira Glass to call me up personally and ask for a donation, it may never happen. (Ira, if your reading this, feel free to call me anyway, I may be persuaded upgrade my sponsorship.)

thirty-something

My birthday is coming up and for first time in YEARS I'm not anxious. I'm not mourning my spinsterhood, clinging to the dregs of my youth. I'm not even that bothered by that same biological clock that rang so loudly in my years as I approached the dreaded 30.

While in my twenties I had a couple of friends, a decade older than I, that assured me that life got better after 30. They knew something that I didn't, because I couldn't. You see when you are miserable in your twenties, you think that it's all about you and your failings and flaws, but really it's just an awful decade that we're all forced to live through. A decade filled with unrealistic expectations, anxiety and naivety. They saw my pain and knew that I would overcome it, that I would evolve and learn to embrace my life. I felt my pain and saw only uncertainty and potential for unending misery.

The build up to 30 was the WORST! I dreaded that day for years. Why? Because, I'm a masochist, but really I was scared about what it meant and ashamed by the things that I hadn't accomplished. And though I bribed myself with a lovely trip to Hawaii, I couldn't shake the gloom of that day that came and went.

31 was better. Though it fraught with it's own challenges, I felt better prepared to face them. I had stopped doing what I though I should, and started following my heart. While still finding my footing in a new town and a new phase, I was finding unexpected satisfaction in the process.

And now, as I approach 32, I couldn't be happier. It's funny really. Because I have none of the things that I envisioned for myself. I have plenty of reasons to be miserable, except I'm not. As it turns out, all of those things that I thought that I needed to make me happy, may in fact lead to happiness and I may never know for sure, but I've learned that there are many ways to be happy.

why I'm still single

There are moments, when I am faced with the cold hard truth. Maybe there's a reason that I'm still single. Last Friday night I went on a date. He was a perfect gentleman, for the most part: chivalrous, attentive, doting, generous, complimentary. So why was I so annoyed?  By the end of the night I was ready to scream, to call him out on... well, that's the problem. It's kind of hard to call someone out on their attempts to be nice. Only a terrible anti-romantically person like myself to could find romantic gestures grating.

For example:

• He insisted on picking me up from work, which sounds nice but all the time I was waiting for him to arrive, and then waiting in traffic on the way to my house, I couldn't stop thinking of how the metro would have been so much faster. 
• He offers to stop and get me something to drink and I answered, "no thanks" - but I was thinking, "why the hell would we stop now, let's get going already!"
• He offers to buy me something at a kitschy souvenir shop and I this is were I stopped being sweet. I told him I was tired and that I didn't need anything from this shop. 

In my head I knew that he was trying, trying to be a gentleman, trying to be romantic. And yet I was incapable of accepting and appreciating his gestures as such. I think it irked my inner independent feminist, who can take care of herself and enjoys the control that that brings.

And this is why I'm still single.

marriage talk

Yesterday was my ward's ward conference. And the stake president took the opportunity to remind us all of the blessings of marriage, that we as singles are incomplete. He did so gently, lovingly and tactfully but it's never an easy thing to hear. Do the wicked take the truth to be hard? Most certainly. But that's only part of it.

As someone who is single long past any time that I would have thought prudent or opportune, I am well aware of the void in my life. The desire is always with me. I could get lost in it's depth and breadth - exploring it's varied qualities, searching out the bounds. I am drawn to it, like a girl in a horror film drawn to a door way, unable to hear the music that warns of the danger that awaits her. I peer across the threshold into this space where unanswerable questions and missed opportunities loom. But don't allow myself to venture far into the deep for fear that I might loose my way and find myself trapped in the void.

I try to keep that door closed. But the door is flimsy, the latch unsound - it is prone to swinging wide with any jostle, nudge or strong wind.

A bit disheveled, I close the door again and go about my life.

every now and then

I sat next to the boy, or should I say man, almost by accident - we make eye contact as I take the seat next to him. The chairs are close together and he nudges me, whispers something and my heart begins to swell. It's only small talk but In that moment his heart and mine are inexplicably connected. I can't focus on anything that is happening arround me - I am fixated on the man next to me. 

He leans forward and I am consumed by desire to run my fingers across his shoulders. I fight the urge staring at my hands folded in my lap. I don't know what's happened but in that moment I am his. He whispers something and I lean in closer, wishingwishingwishing I could just place my head upon his strong shoulder, to collapse into him and surrender the emotional will that holds me firmly together.

But I wait - propriety and fear ultimately preventing me from acting on my simple desires. After all, it's probably just in my head. I doubt that he felt anything at all. These all consuming emotions were likely only hormones - loathsome hormones - hormones that lead me to question my own sanity. 

There's nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart.