August, 11, 2015

On Rejection (and Growing Up)

“I think I’m in love with someone else.”

“Wait…” I said as I pulled away from our kiss. “What?”

He was crying. Big, fat crocodile tears streaming down his face.

“I’m in love with someone else. I shouldn’t be. She’s all wrong for me. But I am,” he croaked.

We’d been sitting shoulder to shoulder on his couch. At those words, I immediately scooted away from him.

“Oh!” was my eloquent response. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he kept repeating.

“Nope, nope. No need to apologize. Thanks for telling me,” I stuttered, shell-shocked. And I kept scooting away, inch by inch. The distance between us continued to broaden.

Shit damn, it hurts to get turned down.

He wanted to tell me about her, how wonderful she is.

“Nope, nope, I don’t need to know,” I remarked, all the while moving away from him.

But he kept talking.

“I shouldn’t love her. She doesn’t know I love her.”

By this time, we were on opposite sides of the couch.

It’s kind of a gift, though, being slapped in the face with rejection. It incenses you and wakes you up.

“Well then you should fucking tell her,” was the first full statement I could muster. (I have a way with words.)

At least with rejection, there isn’t the back and forth wondering and waiting that comes with hope.

“…what?” was his dumbfounded response.

“Tell her you love her,” I said. “Pick up the phone. Call her. Tell her how you feel. You won’t get anywhere just thinking it and telling me while you cry.”

Most of the conversation we had that night was sheer adrenaline on my part. I sound so strong and self-assured when I relay the events of that evening. But trust me, I wasn’t.

I got into my car and lost my shit.

It was my turn to cry big, fat crocodile tears.

I didn’t know him long enough or let him in enough to be completely distraught over this rejection. I’m pretty great at keeping dudes at a distance. I’ve learned my lesson over the past four years.

This guy, though, this was a rare one I was willing to open up to. I remember texting a friend during our first date saying, “Oh shit, I actually like him.”

We met at a beer bar and talked for six hours straight. His voice was like honey. (I have a thing for voices.) He was smart as hell and so mature. He knew what he wanted in life. He was interested in my goals. We just really clicked, you know?

He called me Paiger. And I let him.

At one point, he told me, “Thank you for being you.” I melted.

We went to a music festival together and had such a kickass time. We’d look at some absurdity happening around us and lock eyes and immediately crumple into laughter because we had the exact same thought. At one point he grabbed my hand and I liked it. I actually enjoyed holding hands with him. (I believe there are few gestures more intimate than handholding.)

There was some unnecessary back-and-forth text messaging later that night. Him trying to clean up the mess he made, so things could be comfortable between us again.

“I don’t want to be the placeholder for someone else,” was the last text I sent him and damn. That felt so good and grown up.

But then I got into the shower and sobbed. I sobbed not for the loss of him, but for what that loss meant.

Being grown up is great and all. But it’s also unspeakably painful, in an entirely different way than being young and naïve is.

Being grown up can be so lonely.

I’m finally adult enough to know what I want and how to express it.

I know when to say no, no thank you, this isn’t OK.

Knowing more about yourself means turning down so many situations. It means being alone a lot.

I’ll take being alone, though, over faking it with someone.

I never, ever want to be a placeholder.

I want the real thing. And I want to be the real thing for someone else.

I’m willing to wait. I’m good at waiting.

I wait.


July, 29, 2015

On Loss (and Moving Forward)

“You have to lose things to really move forward.”

Someone said this to me in passing last weekend. My stomach clenched in surprise when I heard it because it’s a wholly electric statement to say offhand. I’m not sure she realized the gravity of her words.

Of our 30-or-so minute conversation, this one sentence was my takeaway.

It holds weight.

“You have to lose things to really move forward.”

I am so very thankful that I have not had to face losing everything.

I have lost bits and pieces in the past 15 years. Granted, they were some really big bits and some really important pieces. Some of the loss was immediate and some was gradual. (I’m not speaking of the physical loss of a loved one…that is an entirely different level of pain.)

But no matter the time frame, losing what makes you feel safe is terrifying.

It is 98% gut-wrenching and awful. Trying to verbalize the pain of loss is futile because it is so all-encompassing.

If nothing else, though, there’s that 2%.

There is a piece of being without that is freeing.

There is a tiny part that is relieving.

There is a tiny part that is empowering.

There is a tiny part that is full of possibility.

Upon reflection of my experiences, I’m going to slightly amend her statement: You have to lose things and accept that loss to move forward.

I’ve openly embraced the “ignorance is bliss” sentiment before; this mindset helps you blindly march forward, initially. But eventually, you gotta face your shit.

Not knowing is a way of putting life on pause.

You have to know to be able to grow.

Holding on to what was with a vise-grip won’t work.

Facing losses head-on is ultimately the only way to move past them.

Going forward in a constructive way demands vulnerability and allowing (or forcing) yourself to hurt and grieve.

I can’t say I’m standing here, arms wide, and gung-ho to accept everything that is no longer.

But I’m trying.

I’ve found that moving forward requires internalizing what has happened before. And it takes understanding how that loss has allowed (or forced) you to be where you are today. Moving forward means work.

And it takes believing.

It’s that teeny-tiny 2% part of loss that keeps me going. The empowering, relieving, full-of-possibilities part. I have to constantly remind myself of the 2%…that it will build with every passing day I focus on it. And in turn, the 98% sick feeling will gradually subside.

As my momma says, this too shall pass.



February, 04, 2015

On Leaping

I’m pretty good at taking leaps, if I do say so myself. Not physical ones (goodness no, I am so uncoordinated), but life leaps.

I guess I’m missing a sieve that filters all the uncalculated and unfounded ideas I have.

Really big things, yeah, I’ll sit back and think long and hard about…for example, I’m not going to up and quit my job at the bat of an eye. I’ll spend months in my head going over the pluses and minuses of those kinds of leaps.

But, in the moment, I live and die by the notion: “Well, I have nothing to lose…”

At this point, I still really don’t have much to lose. I know I’ll get to the place in my life where that’ll change. So, my thought is that I ought to take advantage of where I am now.

If I get something into my head, I will generally go all-in. And there is not one single person who can stop me.

Most of the time, things work out. Or if I fall, I don’t fall terribly hard. Usually, it’s a stumble and I can quickly right myself. But occasionally, it’s a knock-the-breath-out-of-you impact.

Those missteps are harder to reconcile.

Wallow and cringe for a while, but eventually you have to change the narrative.

You have to change your thoughts from “Shit, what did I do?” to “Ok, that happened…and this is what I learned from it. And this is why it’s pretty hilarious…” Or you think: “Ok, that happened…and this is what I learned from it. And it sucked and it was awful, but this is how I grew from it…”

At the very least, you end up with a good story.

Figuring out how to change your tragedies into humor and/or lessons is one of the key things I’ve learned in the past few years.

Going through shit for nothing isn’t productive.

Make your shit mean something.

Every damn thing I have in my life right now came from a leap. Every. Single. Thing.

They may not all have been intentional leaps; at times I was pushed into situations. I had to figure out how to fall as I fell. But looking back, I appreciate being pushed, as hard as it was at the time.

Leaping means challenging yourself.

Leaping means possibilities.

Leaping means building who you are.

Without taking leaps, there’s no adventure, no great stories, no learning.

There’s no finding what’s right.


December, 21, 2014


I’ve never been one for New Year’s Resolutions.

I’m not generally moved by the ticking of the clock from one year to the next.

But this year is different.

This the first time in recent memory that I’m getting on board with New Year’s Resolutions.

I’m approaching 2015 in a completely different way.

Yeah, I’m moving to a new apartment (when don’t I move), but this year moving doesn’t take the stage.

For the first time in a while, I feel like I can dig into this year. 2015 won’t be preoccupied with getting settled, finding friends, finding a job. I’m walking into this year in a pretty damn great place.

2015 is the first year, in as long as I can remember, that going into it, I’m really pretty established.

I kinda have it together. (relatively) (more or less)

So now, instead of finding new or figuring shit out, I’m going to use 2015 to unearth things. I want to discover the meat of this year. I’m tired of skidding across the surface. Yeah, I’ve skidded across some amazing surfaces, oh have I ever.

But now. Now, I want more.

There is something to be said for exploring new horizons. There is also something to be said for focusing on what is right in front of you and committing, whole heartedly to that.

The latter has always been tough for me.

I still really don’t know what out of life. I’ve never been one of those (admirable) people who has a general idea of their life plan from youth. For me, it’s pretty much been hit or miss. Try this, try that. What fits? What feels good? It’s only as I get older that “what fits” is finally starting to make sense.

Now, as that takes shape, I think I need to grab it.

I’m still mostly terrified of committing. Committing means staying. Committing means being all in.

Saying all this, committing to commit; it’s a huge weight on my shoulders. It will force me to do more and grow in different ways.

I welcome that, though.

I need that.

I always expect a lot of myself. It’s time to expect different things of me.

It’s scary, but it’s time.

I’m not gonna list “10 Things I’ll Do in 2015!!!” What I hope to achieve isn’t so defined. It’s more general ideas.

Focus. Be present. Stay. Don’t be lazy. Work. Dig deeper. Remember what means most. Focus. Remember who mean most. Stay. Be dedicated. Work.

I won’t get anywhere…anywhere I want to go, at least…without those ideals.

I expect a lot myself, even if I’m not entirely sure what that means right now.

I just know I need to do more and create more.

So cheers to 2015, which will be incredibly terrifying for incredibly different reasons.

Experiencing new and finding new is easy for me.

Staying and being present is something I’m not used to; it’s something that scares me.

But I’m ready to face it, head on. Because I know without facing it, I can’t grow.

And without growth, you get nowhere.


December, 05, 2014


I hate ending things. The finality of goodbyes are too much for me.

If I could, I’d prefer to quietly slink out of a situation over having a big to-do about it.

There’s a part of me that thinks, “Well, if we don’t officially say goodbye, then it’s not really for real, so I don’t have to mourn the loss of ‘xyz.’”

I’d choose to remember memories as they were at their best, not how they ended.

This gets me in trouble.

I’m not good at being upfront because disappointing people kills me.

At my heart, I aim to please. I want everyone to be content. I ache when people hurt.

Because of this need to make people happy, I’ve made some dramatically unwise choices.

Continuing to date people when I knew it wasn’t right, keeping cool when I ought to have expressed my true feelings…these are things I knew, at the time, I should’ve voiced. But I didn’t.

I’ve since learned that being truthful to a person is more important (generally) than being kind to a person.

Confronting goodbyes is a necessary evil of embracing new hellos.

Forever goodbyes, though, those are paralyzing. Those are what I struggle to fathom, those are what I still don’t know how to withstand.

After my beloved Nama passed, going back to her home was torturous. I was fourteen and it was gut wrenching to face their tiny ranch-style house without her large, wonderful presence there.

After my Dampa, her husband, passed a few years later, I definitely couldn’t go back because I wanted my last memory to be of them, so vibrant, filling that space.

I didn’t want to remember that house absent of them.

I couldn’t endure it.

I’m chickenshit.

Yeah, overall, I’ve had this incredible luxury of avoiding reality.

I’ve faced few substantial losses in my life.

Yeah, I know this luxury won’t last for long.

I am endlessly terrified that the people who mean the most to me will disappear. Goodness, life is fragile.

But I know being a grown-up means facing losses head-on.

This is the part of adulthood I most fear, over failed relationships, disastrous finances, and unsatisfying jobs.

Beginnings are easy and fun and light. Middles are unequivocally satisfying

Shit gets real when things end.

The most respect you can give a relationship is acknowledging and being present for its ending.

Whether its conclusion is in good faith or not, you owe it to the person to be present.

I certainly have learned this the hard way.

Saying goodbye isn’t easy, no matter how necessary it may be.

But facing goodbye is the most brave.


November, 13, 2014

On Belonging

Over the past few years, I’ve realized that for me, a key to happiness is feeling like I belong.

I need to have a community of like-minded people surrounding me to be at peace.

In the absence of family, I need to have friends who are like family, who will have my back no matter the circumstance.

There’s this hard-to-verbalize thing that comes with belonging, when everything just fits and is good and right. Belonging comes when you have people who will hold you up when you fall. Belonging comes when you accept that things aren’t perfect, but it’s OK because you have your people at your side. You’re in a place where you feel the most you and make wiser and bolder decisions, accordingly.

I’ll never take belonging for granted. I’ve spent a lot of time in amazing places, among amazing people, yet feeling alone.

This is partially a symptom of running away.

I know that I’m incredibly lucky to have been able to go off and try different things and live in many cities and make a reality of my dreams. Were it not for all these experiences, I wouldn’t be content here, now.

Because of my tendency to run away, I’ve learned that a place can be everything you ever imagined, but once you’re there, it doesn’t quite fit.

You could be in the most perfect, picturesque, wonderful town in the entirety of the world, but you can still be unhappy.

Not being content in a place you expected to adore is tough to come to terms with. That the place you romanticized isn’t everything you anticipated really digs at you.

And when I say unhappy, I don’t necessarily mean depressed. You just have this pervasive nagging that things don’t fit. You feel kinda empty, despite the fullness around you.

So much of belonging comes from timing. A lot of my unhappiness was because I wasn’t in the right place at the right time. If I started at Bowdoin now, with the knowledge I have now, I think I’d be happy there. If I lived in DC now, with the friends I know there now, I’d be happy there. It would take a lot more for me to be happy in New York…but I could make it work there now, too.

So much of belonging comes from acceptance. Accepting who you are, accepting the place for what it is, and going all in to find what it can bring you. You have to put yourself out there to find your people. They don’t effortlessly appear in front of you.

Admittedly, when you walk into something unbiased and unfiltered, you end up with a lot of crap in the beginning. There’s confusion and discomfort. But as time passes and as you get to know the situation better, you realize who is and isn’t worth keeping around. You get stronger. You know more what you want and need in your life.

Boy, I hated Dallas growing up. But when I moved back here in 2011, my heart and mind were completely open. I had nothing to lose and no place to go back to, so I doubled down here. It wasn’t necessarily fun or pretty, but I eventually found myself surrounded by a veritable army of friends in this town.

Really, most of belonging comes from knowing who you are and knowing what you want in others. You have to slog through loneliness and shitty people to get there. It’s from these experiences, though, that you discover what you need to be happy. Through all of that mess, you’ll figure out what kind of support system is right for you.

Someone recently asked me if I could live anywhere, where would I choose? I answered: “Where my people are” and they told me that was a very loyal answer. Well, no. That’s a very selfish response.

I’ve lived in some incredible places, alone. Ain’t worth it.

The people make the place.

Good people aren’t easy to come by.

It takes growth and work and hurt to find them.

Once you do, hold on to them, tight.



October, 08, 2014

The Places You Ruined

I penned this almost 2 years ago. Though I’ve moved on from these specific feelings, the sentiment remains.


You ruined that bar where we met for the first time. You goaded me into joining you there, even though it was 10pm on a weekday. We had a couple beers, we laughed; it was fun and easy and lighthearted. My first impression was that you were too short, but you were clever and smart, so I decided not to write you off. (Why didn’t I write you off?) You walked me back to my car, but didn’t kiss me. I texted and made fun of you for that when we both got home.

You ruined that martini bar where we met the next time. You joined the group of us, after we’d been there a while. I was drinking (of course) a martini…one of the many I’d had that night. When I excused myself to the bathroom, you followed. You met me in the hallway after I exited and pushed me against the wall and kissed me, hard. You more than made up for that missing kiss the time before.

You ruined that hole-in-the-wall bar, after you texted out of the blue, so many weeks later, asking me to meet you there. You were drunk; I knew that going in. We first sat out on the patio where I nursed my beer. It was July, deep in the midst of a hot Texas summer. That dumb song “Party Rock” came on and I mentioned I thought it was so catchy. We went inside and played shuffleboard. I lost, because I’m awful at recreational games. You walked me to my car and kissed me. But that was it, for a while.

You ruined that taco place…after months. The one inside the gas station. We ate our cheap tacos and elotes in your car. It was nearly winter then. I drank a warm beer you grabbed from the backseat. You called me out for texting a dude, who happened to be one of my good friends, that’s it. I didn’t know you were texting someone else the whole time we were together, someone who I wouldn’t consider just a friend.

You ruined that couch – my couch. I finally built up the courage to ask what we were doingyou and me. You exhaled a tortured exhale when I asked, like you were thinking: “Oh shit. She finally wants to know.” And then you kept saying: “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t,” over and over. We sat there for a long time in that miserable stillness. But I didn’t cry. Somehow I didn’t.

Even though I told myself it needed to be done, that I needed to say “no more,” I didn’t learn. This limbo went on and on. So…

You managed to ruin another taco place, too, one in that kinda iffy part of town, where we ordered $2 tacos and sat on the curb shoulder to shoulder and laughed and ate. That night was so good and effortless and at the time I kept thinking: “Yes. Yes, this is how it should be, always. Please?”

You ruined that dive bar – my favorite bar – where we drank beer after beer outside one Sunday afternoon. It was the only time you could fit me into your “busy” weekend schedule. I wore a dress that was more than a little bit too short and you told me how great I looked. You made fun of my knockoff Ray Bans. We sat across from each other and at one point you grabbed my hand and then leaned across the table and kissed me. I usually hate PDA, but then, on that long afternoon, I didn’t give one shit.

You ruined that restaurant I’ve never even been to. We made plans to get dinner there, but you canceled at the last minute. I knew I shouldn’t have let myself get excited about it, but I did. When I got your stupid, nonchalant text saying you couldn’t make it that night, my stomach dropped. I knew I brought the disappointment on myself, though. I should’ve known better.

You ruined the pool where we took a late night swim that one time, one of the last times, much too late on a school night. You didn’t have a bathing suit, so you wore your black boxer briefs, which the chlorine stained burgundy. It was on the roof of my building downtown; we treaded water and dipped and dove amongst the brightly lit Dallas skyline. You asked if I was waiting for you. I scoffed and said “Hell no. I don’t wait for anyone.” But I know you knew better. I don’t typically call things magical, because that’s cheesy and trite, but if pressed, yeah I’ll admit…that night kinda was.

You even managed to ruin a place in this new city I moved to, a town you’ve never even visited…

You ruined that entire night. It had been months. I was sipping a vodka soda, so indifferent, so unattached, when you texted me out of the blue. Feelings. Shit I’d been waiting to hear for a year and a half. That you missed me. That you cared about me.

And, because I never learned – never learned – I held on to those words for way too long.

I stupidly let you ruin places here, too.

…that’s really on me, though. It was my fault. My own damn fault.

It didn’t change.

It never changed.

You’d think I’d learn.

Why did it take me so long to learn?

Thank god I’ve learned.

I’m still learning.


September, 23, 2014

On Life, Now (And Accepting It)

This is the first time in my adult life I’ve been content where I am and it’s pretty terrifying.

This is the first time I don’t want to move; this is the first time I’ve wanted to stay.

I’m in a completely different place than I was 3-5 years ago. Then, the future was so foggy and vast. And it is now, too, in ways. But things are slowly focusing and those gaping what-ifs are taking shape. As I grow up and things shift together, the spaces between the unknowns shrink.

This scares me.

I now have a pretty good idea of what I want…in a career, in a partner, in life. I know who I am more than I ever did.

And part of me hates it.

For someone who has lived their life jumping from one unknown to another with relish, this whole “being pretty satisfied” thing is bizarre. I’m at an awkward in-between moment when things aren’t totally vague, but they aren’t defined, either.

I’m in this weird limbo of time.

That reckless, bull-in-the-China-shop girl I was a few years ago…that has passed. I’ve found peace with myself. I’m going forward with consideration and forethought.

But it’s also so much scarier that I can pinpoint what I want in life (mostly), though not know exactly how to achieve it.

Now more than ever, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of really “getting it,” whatever that means. I feel like I’m so close my toes are gripping the precipice.

I’m not naïve enough to think that I’ll get to a point where I can concisely plan out my life to a tee and wipe my brow in contented exhaustion and declare “Ok, done! Finally figured it out, phewf!” There will always be sharp turns in the road. Thank heavens for that…I hate being bored. There will always be curveballs. And I’ll figure out how to deal with them. I always have.

This is just a strange, new place in my life.

Having an idea of what you want, but not knowing how to get it is entirely frustrating.

I have to hang in and keep moving on. I have to keep making choices that are right for me, now.

I have to believe I’ll connect with what brings the most meaning to my life. I’ll find what makes my heart sing.

I have to believe my life will coincide with someone whose game plan matches mine. Our trajectories will meet at some point.

As quiet as it is, I’ve come to realize there is grace in this time in my life.

I’m endlessly thankful for who I am now, though it may be scary and different. I can appreciate how far I’ve come and what I’ve learned. I can remember that being at this point has its advantages.

This hushed, thoughtful time is important. As boring as I sometimes find it.

I know I will look back on it someday and miss where I am now.

So, in the meantime, I’ll try to embrace this awkward period of limbo. I’ll continually march forward, with faith that things will fall together.

And I know this won’t last forever because I am determined always to grow and move on.

No, this won’t be forever.

For better or worse.


July, 31, 2014

100 Things to Do in Dallas – #21 Go to a Texas Rangers Game

Baseball games are my jam.

I will never pretend to be an actual fan of the sport, no. But give me the opportunity to drink beer, eat greasy food, and scream for the home team in the presence of tens of thousands of others? Sign me up!

Rangers Game

I recruited 3 friends to come along with me on the night in question, namely choosing this game because there were fireworks afterwards. NB: There are fireworks shows at Rangers games once a month in the summer. Though the delay of my DART train put us 30 minutes behind schedule, we arrived in high spirits, doled out $15 to park, and trooped to the stadium.


We sat pretty far up (not quite nosebleeds high up) above third base because Allie informed us the sun sets over third first. Good tip in the Texas summers! We nabbed our seats from Stubhub for about $8 off face value…no doubt due to the fact that the Rangers are pretty awful this season.

Hotdog Rangers Game

Things I did at the Rangers vs. Angels game:

1)   Eat a hotdog

2)   Drink beers

3)   Watch the crowd

4)   Rag on the stupid Dot Race in the middle of the 6th inning (I’m partial to the Presidents Race at Nats games in DC)

5)   Make fun of the girls in the row in front of us for taking approximately one million selfies

6)   Scream-sing “Deep in the Heart of Texas”

7)   Provide colorful commentary on the Kiss Cam participants

8)   Take photos on my phone because I forgot my DSLR’s memory card (curses!)

9)   Participate in group selfie-taking (shhh…pot kettle, I know)

10) Oh, and yeah. Watch the game

Rangers Game Selfie

The Rangers lost.

But! The thing I was most excited about happened after the game…FIREWORKS. About 30 minutes elapsed between the end of the game and the start of the fireworks, but in the pause was a Taekwondo exhibition showcasing local children that kept us all rapt.

Rangers Game Fireworks

As a budding fireworks aficionado, I was wholly pleased with the show. Shooting off from behind the scoreboard, they lasted 20 minutes and incorporated music (highly important) and the stadium lights. I, of course, squealed and ogled my way through them. We all commented how very impressed we were.

I do miss Nationals games, but for $17 a pop on fireworks night, a Rangers game is a worthy substitute.


Texas Rangers  1000 Ballpark Way, Arlington, TX 76011


July, 29, 2014

On Learning From What Was

I had everything I ever wanted.

But it was before I knew I wanted it.

There’s something so cruel about getting your forever after before you knew what it was.

I had everything I wanted but I didn’t know any better…though why would I have? I was 24 and had never dated anyone else.

We were both too little, too young to commit to forever.

I never regret moving forward. Never.

I wouldn’t have the perspective I do now had we not moved on. I (we) needed to learn how to be ourselves on our own.


The sting of “what if…?” doesn’t leave.

They say timing’s a bitch and I don’t disagree.

I thought what we had was the norm because I knew nothing else. I thought having a partner who is your absolute best friend and who makes you want to be a better person…I thought that’s how all relationships are.

I didn’t appreciate the things we had; I took them for granted.

Lazy Sunday mornings, the sun streaming diagonally into the kitchen, me frying up bacon and eggs. Him with coffee cup in hand, watching the news, going on about current events that I would pretend to understand only because he cared so much about them.

Him throwing his ID lanyard over his neck, grabbing his messenger bag, and rushing determinedly out the door to work – but never (never ever) before giving me a quick kiss goodbye.

Drinking Diet Coke and bourbons (probably too many) before Nats games, taking the Metro to the stadium, laughing, eating hot dogs. Him paying attention to the game, me watching the crowd. Getting caught on the Kiss Cam.

Him gently nudging me to go out for a run with him, to train for that race (even though I resented him for it at the time).

Sitting on the couch face-to-face, him grasping my hands as I cried. His face contorting in empathetic pain.

I didn’t appreciate the things we had; I took them for granted.

Give me that now…well it’d be game over. Forever and ever, amen. No question.

If nothing else, though, our relationship taught me so very much. I had the benefit (and disadvantage) of being in a committed, long-term situation when I was so little. I learned an incredible amount at a young age, most of which I, unfortunately, didn’t realize until a few years later.

Hell, we were practically married in our early 20s. It’s thanks to our relationship then that I know what to look for in people now.

Are you smart as shit? Confident as hell? Are you kind (so much kinder than me)? Are you endlessly motivated? Are you funny; do you challenge me; are you passionate?  K, then we’ll talk.

I haven’t found a single other person who that fits that bill.

The burn of what could’ve been is constant.

Most days it’s a quiet undercurrent; I can live with that.

But others, it overwhelms me and I almost can’t breathe.

To realize you had it all once and now you don’t, well it’s really shitty. Horribly terrible and shitty. Debilitating and shitty.


All I can do is keep what I learned from him close to my heart. Keep what made him him ever-present in my mind. Pray I discover those qualities in someone else.

Never settle until I find that again.

Be hopeful that I will.