I think about the type of man that I’d like to meet and have in my life. I’m not talking about that long laundry list of wants and requirements like having a job, aspirations, dreams, being kind-hearted, and having a heart that considers the soul and mind above body. No, I’m talking about the whole package, the man in all his complexities. But, before I meet him I think about the partner I’d want him to have.
When you love someone, you don’t just think about what would be good for you, what would make you happy, what the relationship could and would benefit you. Love is about thinking and considering your partner’s wants and needs, too. As amazing as the man I want in my life, I also want be able to offer him an equally amazing woman.
I was talking to a friend this morning, and he’s had one disastrous relationship after another. He made a statement that he’s so tired of garbage. I told him if he doesn’t like garbage, he needs to stop digging through the dumpsters hoping to find a masterpiece, and to stop blaming all women for the bad decisions he’s made. I also told him to start being the man he thinks a ‘good’ woman deserves, get his shit together, so that when he does meet a good woman he would have something good to offer her… a good man.
He, of course, went off into a rant about how preposterous it was for women to expect men to take care of them, provide for them, and how women’s rights are the cause of our fucked up society. It was a lost lesson by that point, but my comments struck a chord in myself.
That’s the funny thing about me. Most often my blogs, my musings, my thoughts, my articles, etc… they’re for me more than anyone. It’s a way I communicate with my soul. It’s a way to step outside me and see me in an abstract.
I also had a conversation with another friend last night. We talked for hours as he drove back to the Army base in North Carolina. I was just being my excited, rambunctious, over-talkative self. It felt good. I haven’t really talked to anyone in a long while, not since I lost my best friend and soul mate. I just bottled up all those millions of thoughts and ideas inside, really afraid to share them with anyone. You see… all those crazy little thoughts and ideas, so matter wacky they are, are what I consider the BEST part of me. It’s the essence of who I truly am. It’s more intimate than my body. It’s more personal than my intellect. It’s all those quirky weird ideas that makes up who I truly am… and that person I don’t share with just anyone. THAT person is who is precious to me. Let me tell you a little about her… I’ll call her the nickname my best friend gave me… Jinx. Maybe you and I both will get to see some of the things I love most about her. This is, after all, my love letter to her.
Jinx has this amazing wild imagination. She thinks some of the oddest thoughts. She questions EVERYTHING. I remember this one time she stayed up all night contemplating the idea of black holes and super novas, stars, universes, galaxies, time and space. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind just kept exploring existence deeper and deeper and deeper. Just when the universe couldn’t get any bigger, she zeroed in on herself and saw how small she was in the midst of it all; so insignificant. A huge knot formed in her throat and she couldn’t breathe. Who was she? Why was she here? Does she even matter? In 20, 30, 50 years… will anyone even remember she existed? Suddenly, so many things she was so worried about didn’t matter anymore. Bills, expectations, career, life stuff, none of it mattered. ALL that mattered was this small, brief, minute moment in space and time, and what she had to offer in that small spec. Nothing she’s accomplished or failed, nothing she’s gained or lost, nothing she had or wanted meant anything without love. Love is all that mattered. Love she had for herself. Love she had for her children. Love she had for God. Love she had for humanity.
Forty-five years… I’ve been in this universe for forty-five years, and what do I have to show for it? I have many achievements, many awards, many successes, yet the only things that really matter is my heart and my ability to love. This world has been so cruel to me. I have been knocked down so many times, rejected by so many people, and the one thing that’s eluded me… is being loved. Yet, in spite of it… I choose to love. I’m still that little girl crying in the corner being told she’s not good enough, she’s a mistake, and she’s not wanted. *sigh* I am also that little girl that stood to her feet, balled her little fists so tight, dried the wet tears streaming down her face with her arm, and declared, “NO! I am not a mistake. I am a good girl and I love me!”
Till next time,