May 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
There’s only about an hour left of my 2:25 flight to Chicago O’Hare International Airport. The window covers have all been pulled shut; both of the feature films have played on the 12″ by 15″ television screens and proved to be excellent choices; the thankfully silent and admittedly kind Asian man next to me hasn’t uttered a ghastly and altogether horrifying cough in nearly twenty minutes; my iPhone has a little over 50% of battery life, but the only thing in this world that I care to think about is hopefully back at a tiny, concrete cell of a flat in Scotland, probably playing through a mission in Dark Souls he’s mastered a hundred times and taking deep breaths every once in a while to fight away any telltale signs of significant vulnerability. This beautiful creature of whom I speak is always smiling, even when he thinks that he just can’t anymore, and is always ready for self-deprecative humor if he thinks it’ll lighten the mood. He is impossibly tall with broad, sturdy shoulders that conjure images of warriors of old or stylish secret agents and a smile that is undeniably and irresistibly infectious. He is fond of gloomy weather and long walks with appropriate music to make the occasion beautiful and more memorable. He is an observer, interested but never ready to take a stance without all of the information. He is a soldier and a seeker, but only for the perfect atmosphere and experience. He is a poet, and what he writes is music because music is his native language. He is a creature all his own, something too divine to explain, something impossible to behold without feeling a giddy wash of disbelief. Mark McKeich is my best friend and future husband, and I am in a constant state of shock that such a person exists, let alone asked me to be with him for the rest of his life.
There’s a little under an hour left on this flight. The nice Asian man has coughed several times, along with some others in my section; the small televisions are showing crappy reality shows; I’m listening to one song on repeat despite the 49% battery life because it makes me happy every time I hear it, but really, it just reminds me of a Scottish twenty-year-old that I had to force myself away from several hours ago and promise that I’d see again soon, even though he was only concerned about my own well-being. We will see each other soon, I must remember – in only a little over a month – but it hurts desperately all the same. It figures that the greatest romance of my life would be a shockingly handsome man from another country that I met on the Internet. It’s one of my signature moves.
My three-week trip to Scotland was amazingly wonderful.
January 18, 2012 § 1 Comment
I have a million blogs thrown around different websites, some private, some exclusively for photos and art, some majorly outdated, some I’ve forgotten all about –
But my life is completely changed and changing still, more than it ever has before, and that calls for some attention. A new, fresh place to store my manic and untamed thoughts, perhaps? Maybe so.
I met a man. I don’t even really know where else to go with that sentence. It just says it all. I met a man, and that he is. A real, one-of-a-kind man, perhaps the most excellent person I’ve ever known, most definitely the most excellent person for me. We met, and now we’re engaged to be married in eight months.
To tell you the truth, I’m scared. I’m so scared about making the wrong decision and messing up my life. Divorce just can’t happen – what if I meet someone else? What if I get bored and restless and have to leave? What if the same thing happens to him? What if I forego my own hopes and dreams just to be with him like every other naive, nineteen-year-old girl that gets married right after her twentieth birthday to a man she met a little less than a year before?
But I have so much faith that this could work. This could work. That’s more than I’ve ever been able to say before about anyone: This will work, but it won’t last. This is working, but I know it’ll end. This used to work, but it doesn’t anymore. I’m sorry, but this just isn’t working anymore.
This could work.
It’s a thread, I admit. A thread of definition, something I’m not used to having in any particular area of my life, something so alien to me that I don’t actually know what to do with it now that I have a small piece of it. And because I’m so afraid of this, I find reasons to doubt it, sabotage it, run away from it – but all of those reasons can never, ever triumph over that small, tiny seed of a word: “could.”
It will take effort. I would hate to be one of those girls that gets so obsessed with the idea of a wedding that they forget about the idea of a marriage, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening with me. I know it will take effort. I know this man has flaws, just as I am very aware that I have some of my own. There are areas where we don’t fit, but they are so eclipsed by the areas where we do. And those areas will change – we both still have so much growing to do, and we know it. We’ll go through patches where we do not like each other and maybe want to leave, even.
But isn’t that true about every real relationship you’ll ever have with another human being? Particularly the ones that last forever?
It’s about making it work, and continuing to make it work even when you feel like you don’t want to – knowing that the discomfort will pass, and knowing that leaving during a period of discomfort is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, knowing that honest, bountiful communication is the key to solving problems, even if it may spur a few arguments and spoil a couple evenings.
As unsure as I may feel about my youth and about the timing, I always remind myself of my grandmother, who knew that she wanted to marry my grandfather the moment she saw him at seventeen years old. They married at barely twenty and stayed married for the rest of their lives.
I bet they were scared too.
But I bet the word “could” was the driving force in their vocabulary.
And then after the words “I do,”
I bet it morphed into “will.”