Broken Hearts or Broken Legs

I sprained my calf this week while running. It’s painful. I have to walk down stairs sideways and I won’t be able to run for several weeks. I hate getting injured. It’s frustrating and prevents me from doing some of the things that I love most. But as interesting as running injuries are, that’s not what this post is about. This post is about heartbreak.

I was talking to one of my colleagues today about my injury and she looked at me and said, “Wow, you’ve had a hard year!” I was kind of stunned by this comment. Had I? I told her it was just an injury and she said, “Well, yeah, but you were sick all that time and you had that car accident and now this.” Oooooh…she was totally right. I was having a hard year. My car, that I loved so very very much, had been totaled. Shortly after I came down with a death-cold that had me sick for about two months, followed immediately by further months of unexplained fatigue and now my calf is sprained and I can’t run. That’s kind of a shitty year. But, it hadn’t even occurred to me because this year has been so much easier than last year.

Let’s rewind to September, 2017. I was in a long distance relationship with a man that I thought was going to be my husband. We had been engaged since 2016 and, due to the distance, I was ready to just get on with it so we could live in the same country. My fiancé, Gaylord (names have been changed to protect the guilty), had been dragging his feet. Perhaps he is also a reluctant adult. I thought things were fine. We had just spent two weeks together in France and Germany enjoying wine tasting, music festivals and the company of friends and family. Life seemed good.

September 3rd, I received a text from Gaylord “I have to tell you something, can we talk?” “Sure,” I said. I was worried by his tone. I thought something had happened to one of his grandparents. He had most of them left and they were all very very old. I answer the phone and he starts to tell me this story of how he went out, had drinks, doesn’t know how it happened but somehow went home with a girl and spent the night with her – but they didn’t have sex, of course. HA! My first reaction was relief. I was so grateful that he had been the one to cheat first. My second reaction was anger, because he had always made me feel like I wasn’t quite good enough for him and his family. My third reaction was sadness, hurt and a sense of betrayal. I didn’t know what to do, so I went and bought some shoes.

When I returned from my shopping excursion, I called him back and I did what any woman in my position would do – I asked him the same questions over and over and over and over and over and over again, trying to make some sense of what had happened and why. He swore he still loved me. He said he was drunk and lonely. He said he realized now that he had taken me granted. He said that he now understood that the distance was too hard and he was ready to get married. He wanted to get married and he wanted it soon. Not wanting to accept failure, I agreed. We planned to get married in October. Ladies, gentlemen, readers…this was a stupid choice. Let me explain.

October arrived. Planning had been slow to barely existent. It was obvious we were not getting married, but he said that we were, so I bought a dress just in case he was telling the truth. I didn’t want to be that girl. You know, the one who has nothing to wear on her wedding day because she thinks her fiancé is full of shit. One week before our wedding, Gaylord called me to tell me he wasn’t coming. It’s funny how even when you know something is going to happen, it can still be surprising, it can still knock you on your ass and can still hurt just as much as if you had been totally naive. I froze, I cried, I accepted it for 12 hours and then I called him back. Surprisingly, he ended up coming to California, but it was unclear why. Was it to get married? To break up in person? Or, was it just to drag me through a few more weeks of hell? Well, it was Gaylord, so let’s go with option number three.

The week of his visit went by, we talked, we laughed, we talked some more, we had sex. I cried, he was cold. His mom called and the two of them joked about whether or not he would end up married before coming home. The humor was lost on me. I was hurting, I was bitter, I was angry, I was sad, and these two people who I loved and had been through some very deep life moments with were laughing together about the uncertainty of the rest of my life. And still, I was stupid enough to want to be a part of that family. Fortunately, the choice wasn’t mine and Gaylord and I didn’t get married. Definitely a blessing, but I was pissed at the time. When I dropped Gaylord off for his flight home, I didn’t fully realize I was saying goodbye. Not just to him, but to the part of myself that wanted that life with him. I hadn’t let go. It wasn’t until he told me not to come visit for Christmas that I realized it was over. And when that happened, I went and kissed a bunch of hot dudes, as you do when your heart is broken and you just don’t have any fucks left to give. One of those hot dudes turned into my next big mistake.

Brutus, oh Brutus (again, names changed)…. He was beautiful. Tall, strong, a god in the bedroom and he knew it. He knew just what to tell a girl to get her hooked. I’m not sure if it was intentional or if he’s just as screwed up as the rest of us, but he rode the coattails of my ex- fiancé’s empty promises and filled my heart and soul with hope that somehow every hurt, every heartbreak and every tear had been purposefully guiding me to the person I would actually spend my life with. Within a matter of months he told me he wanted to have children with me, he bought a gym-proof wedding band just to see how it felt, he went to meet my family and took me to meet his, and he even told his mom that he was seriously considering marrying me. My heart had not had time since my last relationship to harden and close, so there I was, gooshy and full of hope. I opened myself to total destruction of the heart.

It didn’t take long for us to break up, and to be honest, I didn’t take it all that well. When things fell apart, I did too. One year, two epic failures and the painful death of my vision of the future. It sounds a little dramatic – and it is. I no longer felt as if I would ever be able to see another person as a permanent part of my life. I felt that everything I had dreamed of and hoped for only caused me pain and I didn’t want to try anymore. I didn’t want to open myself to the opportunity of being at the mercy of another. Again, that sounds a little dramatic – and it is. So what does a girl do when life takes a royal shit on her face? Well, she signs up for yoga, learns to swim and books a solo vacation to Iceland. Because, I may be a little dramatic, but I’m also one determined little bitch.

So yeah, it’s been a hard year. I don’t like running injuries, but I trust in my body’s ability to heal and know that there are many miles in my future. I don’t like being sick, but there are worse things than staying home from work with chicken noodle soup, Netflix and fuzzy blankets. It’s possible my body is just compensating for the lack emotional stress in my life. Maybe when it realizes that stress-free is the new normal, I’ll stop getting injured and stop getting sick. Maybe after a little more time, I’ll just be me. Healthy, happy and doing my thing, one day and one mile at a time.

Your author, with that good-run feeling!

Commitment Issues 101

As a single girl in her 30s, I have to constantly battle the internal and external pressures to settle down and commit to a life of misery. Oops! I mean stability. My bad….

It’s not that I don’t want to get married. I do, someday, to the right person. But here’s the thing about me. The right person for me is not the person who wants a relationship. My dude, if he exists, is not going to send me a “Good morning beautiful” text every single day. He’s not going to dote on me. He’s not going to try to impress or please me. And, he’s certainly not the person who’s looking to settle down. No, no. My guy, wherever he is, if he even exists, he’s the guy who does his thing. He’s the guy who loves me passionately but not possessively. He’s the guy that doesn’t care if I leave for a month or two. He’s the guy who doesn’t want a wedding but will marry me on a cliff in the mist because it’s not about proving anything to the world, it’s about our little secret and the passion and love that we share. My guy knows that the number one thing he can do to make me leave, is to let me know he needs me to stay.

When I was a kid, my favorite moment of the day was when my dad would come home. Yes, I realize this is two for two posts that mention my dad. I will analyze my daddy issues later on…. Anyways, the story is, in the evenings I would hear his car and go run to the door to give him a big hug. When I gave him this hug, I would always put my feet up against his stomach so I maintained my ability to push away. This is the thing about me. I will love so hard and so completely, with all of my heart, as long as I know I can push away when I need to. But commitment has a tendency to kill that freedom. There’s this expectation that once committed, the feet go down. I can’t do that. I need my feet. I need them up and I need them strong. I need to leave sometimes and do me. It doesn’t mean I don’t love the person, it just means I love myself more. And the right person, is the one where we love and trust each other enough to be apart and still together.

I feel like people don’t understand this type of commitment. People think there’s something wrong when you’re in a couple and tell them about what “I” did over the weekend rather than what “we” did. Realistically, if someone was to be in a relationship with me, they would have to have a lot of “I” moments or they would just be bored. They’re going to need something to do while I’m jogging, or at my yoga class, or meeting a friend for lunch, or making earrings, or going to Trader Joe’s alone because I actually want to go grocery shop by myself, and sometimes they’re even going to have to sit out out on an all day hike because I just want to be by myself with my own thoughts in nature. I want to listen to music in the car with out talking to another person. I want to have private Industrial Dance parties in my underwear and I don’t want share that with anyone, because nobody needs to see that! I want to get wine drunk on Tuesdays and play Tekken (stay tuned for that story). And sometimes, I just want to sit at home on a Sunday morning with a cup of coffee and a book and not be bothered. So my Mr. Right better either like to sleep late or have his own things he likes spending time with more than he likes spending time with me.

The truth is I am already in a committed relationship. I’m committed to myself. Maybe you could say I’m in an open relationship with myself as the primary partner. I’m open to having another person enter the relationship as long as they understand that I come first for me, and I hope that they have same standard for themselves. I do not want to be a we, but a me and (if you’re lucky) a you. Together but autonomous. Each purposefully pursuing our own independent passions and bringing them home to a life filled with love and lust. That is something I might let my feet down for, because when I trust that I can run, I can also relax and I just might stay awhile.

So, Netflix did a thing…

Every blog needs its first post.  Some grand welcome to the world that nobody will read because, well, it’s the first post and nobody knows about the blog yet.  So here is mine.  Here is the inspiration behind my pet project that might very well end with this post and might very well follow me well into my reluctant adulthood.  Here is my story of how “Not Adulting Right Now” came to be..

One day I was scrolling through Netflix looking for something to watch and I noticed a new category of suggested movies called “Reluctant Adults.”  Really?  Really, Netflix?  You’re going to make me a custom category commenting on my inability to grow up? Really?!  Netflix is probably on to something..  To be fair, my home DVD collection consists of The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie, Alien vs. Predator, Grease, Mean Girls and Doom, but Reluctant Adult?!  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I watched Van Wilder.  There’s a reluctant adult!  He makes me look like an amateur.

But with Netflix, came inspiration.  The inspiration for this blog.  The truth is, I am a bit reluctant.  I’m single, I consider cheese and crackers to be dinner, I sleep on the couch on a semi-regular basis, and I was once almost kicked out of a petting zoo because, well, it was actually a regular zoo.  But, come on???!! Who can adult all the time?  That’s boring!  And, exhausting.  So, here we go..#notadultingrightnow.  Let’s do this.  Let’s not adult and love it.  I’m not saying quit your job and stop paying your bills.  I’m saying don’t get bogged down in the mundane, enjoy life like you have freedom, like you are unburdened and unapologetically yourself.

Full disclosure, my dad still pays for my Netflix.  Thanks Dad!  I love you 😊