Bursting My Bubble

When you don't have much history in the way of relationships, what happens is that your image or idea of what your love life will look like becomes inflated. Like a giant bubble. The more time that passes without experiences to bring you back to reality, the bubble just fills with more and more air.

Lately, as I spend more time with the Boy in the absence of my previous dictators, I'm coming to grips with the reality of the limitations of my relationship with him. In the way movies teach us, I want him to be my all, everything and the only thing I will ever need. But as the book tells us, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. We are so different in the ways we think, and that means that there are so many things that he can't possibly understand or empathize with.

Last night, I thought I was joining in his ongoing conversation about work frustrations, but it was heard as complaining. While silently handling the logistics of so many small and odd details, delegating the honeymoon planning to him was felt as unsupportive. In the grand scheme of things, I can understand that these translate to I don't want you to be so stressed and affected by work, so let me help you and I want to plan the BEST honeymoon for you and I'd like to do wedding stuff together, even the honeymoon planning.

But it seems to me that as women, the capacity of our empathy tanks are ten-fold that of men, and it's times like these where I become painfully aware of this fact. Throw my battles with anxiety in there, and you've got a night of restless sleep, tears, and hour after hour of anxiously wondering and worrying about what's happening next, tonight, and tomorrow.

It seems a little silly to me now, but that's the story of my journey through love. Time after time, every time a bubble is burst, I mourn the slow death of my fairytale. Of course, once you realize you've been living in a snow globe of a reality and that what's real is life, much more worth it than the sterile imagination you've rendered, you know you've traded in your Prince Charming for your soul mate. You turn in your two-dimensional fairy tale for the depth of reality.

A Baby's Desperation

Now that the Czar and Queen are out of state, I've been spending a lot more time with the Boy (yep, somehow there's more time to be spent together). During the first 2 years of our relationship, the Boy held on so stubbornly and anxiously to his time, his space, that we fought often about our individual readiness for a serious relationship. Was he ready to commit? Was I ready to let go of my imaginations of love?

There's always a part of me that remembers those times with a twinge of...regret fear unease. I wonder if maybe he'll get sick of me. I wonder if a few days in a row of seeing me will weary him. There are times when a small annoyance on my part will grow into worry that he's silently scheming on how to get more alone time (projecting, maybe?).

Last night, as we spent yet another hour chatting and watching Anthony Bourdain, he looked at me in a way that reassured me he's far from sick of me. Even as I try to keep my distance at times and leave him to his work, studies, or whatever it is he's doing, he'll approach me in a way that shows his longing for me. It surprised me that this morning that I was excited to see him again. It doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but as if we haven't seen each other in weeks, I can't wait to be near him again.

This past weekend, I babysat for friends, new parents of a 6-month old little girl. Normally, with her and other babies, I've got some magic touch (or extreme body heat, whatever). I'm a baby-monger, and this little one generally falls asleep or is exhausted with laughter when she sees me. No problem, right?

Wrong. She's experiencing some stranger anxiety, and I could not console her for the life of me. She was so genuinely distressed that I was not her mom. As I held her while she cried, slept, cried, slept, and cried some more for about 6 hours, it made me think of friends who are going through the adoption process... how they endure this for weeks at time as their children grieve the loss of their foster parents.

I thought about the weight of being a mother. Not that I have the slightest idea of what that really means yet, but I kept thinking of the deep and utter sadness this little girl felt that she could not see her mother. She looked everywhere for her, pushing my face away. I fed her, held her, sang to her, talked to her, but none of that mattered because I was not her mother.

And it hit me...as my arms burned and my lower back ached from carrying and bouncing little M...the weight of being a mother...the ability responsibility of having such an effect on another human being. This little baby was so desperate and lost without her mother, regardless of what I had to offer. Am I ready to be that mother?

I've always wanted to be a mother. I have dreams of pregnancy and motherhood. I imagined I would get married at 24 (I'm 29 now), and I would have children at 26. Obviously, I'm not pregnant or even married yet. But I'm more sure now that I'm not ready to give up this feeling of excitement for my evening, free to be with my soon-to-be husband, carefree and aimless. I still can't wait for motherhood, but being a wife is excitement enough for now.

Different Friends, Different Hats

Maybe some would disagree with me, and I suspect that many would, but I think that the notion of a "best friend" at my age doesn't really make any sense. Of course, if you're thinking in terms of the one person who is closest, nearest, and dearest in your life as far as proximity, time spent, and knowledge of one another, the Boy definitely fits the bill. He knows (and will come to know) more about me than even my family or closest girlfriends do, I probably spend the most time with him, and when my day winds down to an end, he's really the one I want to talk to about the happenings of that day.

But when I think of my girlfriends, I realize that they fulfill different roles in my life. I don't think that means that I use specific friends for these reasons or even that they are limited. I guess all I mean is that the closeness of a girlfriend isn't measured the way it used to be. In some ways, it can't even be measured anymore.

I have girlfriends whom I have known for more than a decade, maybe more than 2 decades, who may not necessarily be the first person I call when I have great news. I have girlfriends whom I've known for only a few years who I find myself desperately needing to talk to throughout my week. I have different girlfriends I call for advice, to vent, to get excited with me, to calm me down, to be angry with me, to understand me, to correct me, to cry with me, to laugh with me, to lighten my mood, or to make me feel grounded.

When my cell phone rings and Paramore's sound fills the room, the Boy often says, "You're soooo popular!" As someone who grew up painfully shy and intensely introverted, sometimes it can bother me. I'm not some shallow person who has a million friends and the depth of a cereal bowl!

But the truth is, I've learned not to rely on one single person to define my life anymore, and I don't think that's cynicism, I think that's reality. Maybe even maturity. I know not to get offended when one friend doesn't get me or says something to offend me, because they are the one who challenges and questions me. I don't get disappointed when an old friend doesn't quite understand my point of view, because she is the one who shares a long and deep history with me even if we don't look at the world the same way.

Sometimes I look at girls who have the same 2 girlfriends in all their photos and I wonder if I'm missing out on something big. Have I let conflict rob me of true friendship? Do I not know how to be a friend? (I'm sure I have a long way to go in that department anyway.) I do admire those relationships, but I'm not jealous. My "best friend" knows me intimately and deeply, even if that friend might have a different face from time to time.

So Long, Farewell

Ok, I don't want to seem bitter and heartless, but as I send off the P's to their new home, I can't help but let out  a big sigh of relief. It's really a new chapter, one that I hope will endure as one of the happiest in my lifetime. What's left to worry about now but flower arrangements, packing up to move in with my soon-to-be husband, and picking out destinations for our honeymoon. Really, what is there to be worried about (meant to be rhetorical, to be honest).

I appreciate the concept of moving. I knew a lot of friends who moved around quite a bit in their childhood and they never really felt they had a true "home." But in my case, each move I've made has come with some significant shift in my life.

When my family move in high school, it was really beginning of my own reinvention. It marked the start of my transformation, out of the timid and shy little girl who was too afraid to ask grocery clerks where things were.

When I moved away for college, it helped me to see who I could be on my own. It helped me to find out what I wanted to do with my life, apart from anyone else's expectations of me, and gave me the time to build the courage to go get that life.

When I moved out of the P's house after graduate school, it really emphasized and deepened the rift in our relationship. Maybe one of the hardest times in my life, but like ripping off a band-aid, though it was painful at the time, the wounds really needed to breathe in order to heal. The only way I would gain any true independence was to be the one to deliver such a sharp blow.

As I get ready to move again, into my husband's home, I first send off the P's. I really hope that it's a new beginning for them too. The beginning of their discovering who they are again, as individuals. Rather than dutifully denying themselves their own identities, I hope they can rediscover what it means to live in this world, to enjoy what's out there.

So here's to the weekend. There's much to celebrate...my first weekend on true freedom, raises...just plain making it through another week without going entirely insane. But not too much rest for the weary. I've calculated that I need to lose 2 pounds a week to be on target with my weight loss plan. Yikes. Good thing my DVDs came in today.

Yes, another one

While I'm here...

I haven't done much shopping over the past several months. (Weddings are expensive. So was grad school.) But  in preparation for her transplant to the South, the Queen proposed a shopping trip. We visited a local outlet mall that I consider bad for the health of my savings account (or any other account). Here are a few of my purchases.

Kenneth Cole Knit Drape Cardigan ($40)--This isn't quite the one I purchased, but you get the idea. Same color and texture. I've found that this goes well with a tank and dark jeans or even slacks and a blouse for work.













Kenneth Cole Barcelona Leather Wallet ($20)--I got this in gray. I've been looking for a wallet for a long time. For 2 of the weddings I stood in, I got small Coach clutches that I've been using. It was time to stop folding all my money.

Nike Hoodie ($40)--I got this one in white with turquoise and navy stripes. SO SOFT and perfect to throw on top of a casual outfit. The boy asked me if I "want to play tennis" when he saw it. Thanks.

Inspiration 2.0

Since I'm on a roll here...

I've been a member at my gym for about a year now, and after losing 12 pounds, gaining back 10, losing 4, and gaining back 3 (yep, that's a net loss of just 3 pounds), I'm realizing I'm only wasting my own time and energy by being inconsistent. I finally get what people mean when they say they "have" to work out. It's not that they love it or that they have so much fun working out (ok, maybe some of you sickos do mean that). Instead, it's rush of accomplishment when you're good about going to the gym.

The downside of a long engagement is that you don't really feel the urgency to lose weight. But now that the wedding is creeping up on me (which means engagement photos and wedding photos), I feel some pressure to work for more results here. After working out the first 3 days of this week, I feel anxious about not being able to go the gym today. So I ordered this:

A combination of my girl-crush on Kim Kardashian and hoping for a little help in the process, I've also been testing these out.

The Extreme Burn is doing a pretty good job of giving me the boost I need to push through my workouts without making me feel crazy. I tried the Iso-Burn from the Burn & Cleanse set, but it made me throw up. (Don't take it on an empty stomach.)

As a way of keeping myself accountable and instill a healthy dose of shame into my lazy days, I'll report updates soon.

Waiting...Always Waiting

As I face some of the most promising and positive changes of my lifetime, I guess I'm worried that it won't live up to the hype. I'm waiting and dreading at the same time, as if I'll find out that, in the end, these things won't bring me peace either.


I've always admired the "cool girl." The one who refuses , even forgets, to call her boyfriend. The girl who doesn't care too much about her job yet excels in it. But instead of that girl, I was always the girl who cared and thought way too much.


This has been a tough year on that end. I've cared too much when my boyfriend was angry with me or just plain having a bad day. I've cared too much when I screwed up at work. I've cared too much when the P's said something I didn't like. Last night, I lay in bed and felt myself begin to worry. Not about anything new or anything worth losing sleep over, but nevertheless, I did. At one point, I had to just say to myself, "What's the point, anyway?"


There is none. The increased heart rate, the loss of sleep, the welling of emotions, and the constant (no, really, CONSTANT) level of fear is really pointless. If there's no crisis to worry about, I'll search my life for things to pick apart. Yes, it is a beautiful day, but I feel fat. Yes, it is exciting that I'm getting married, but some things may not go my way. Yes, it is a relief that I'll have some distance from the P's now, but I don't know the exact timeline.


The Boy is recently studying for his master's, and he said that there are several times a day when a man's brain is literally "at rest," but it doesn't appear women experience the same. This attests to the notion that women are better multitaskers, but it also points to the fact that women are worriers. I'm tasking myself with learning and practicing brain rest. To enjoy the good without a second thought. To be thankful for the good without a "but."