A love letter to my future partner

To my future life partner,

I don’t know what to call you.  I don’t know that we’ll get married- the idea scares me.  No, the idea of divorce scares me.  The idea of being unhappily, legally bound to someone scares me the most.  Maybe we’ll have a huge wedding, with all the fabulous trappings.  You’ll look amazing in your tux and we’ll wear matching ear-to-ear grins.  Maybe we’ll just be commonlaw, our lives tangled together forever.  Regarldess, I’ll promise myself to you and you to me. 

We’ll have wonderful adventures; sometimes together, sometimes separate.  I like to have time and space to explore.  I hope you want the same.  I’ll miss you horribly, and I’ll be a little jealous of your adventures, but I won’t begrudge your urges to fly solo.   Besides, we’ll have reuniting to look forward to, and everyone knows that’s the best part. As long as we miss each other, everything will be ok.  It doesn’t matter if I’m scaling a mountain or laying by the beach, I’ll describe it to you in painstaking detail and promise you would’ve loved it.

I hope we have things in common.  There are a few non-negotiable social justice things we’d have to agree on.  I hope we have similar outlooks on life.  But I hope we’re different enough that we can teach each other all kinds of things.   I hope every day is a new adventure.

I have quirks.  I get lost in books, sometimes until the wee hours of the morning.  I may wake up in tears, mourning the loss of a fictional childhood, a fictional mother, sister, brother, child...my companions.  I am anal about where things belong in the kitchen.  I am a literal cookie monster.  I like to drink and mosh and crowdsurf and  I’ve traveled the world to see live music.  There are metal shirts stacked to my ceiling and I still buy more.  At the end of the day, I’m a work-aholic too.  I have weird priorities I guess.  I can’t sit still and I rarely watch movies.  I once told a boy I’m more moody than outright crazy, but if you can keep up, I promise to be your best friend.  I’ve got ears for listening, hands for baking cookies and shoulders to cry on.

A lot of people will come into our lives.  I consider myself lucky enough to have a wonderful circle of friends- men and women- that extends around the globe.   I love them all fiercely, but I will always love you the most.   I want to make everyone happy and save the world.  Sometimes you will suffer because of this.  I hope you can understand- sometimes you’ll suffer because I know you can bear it.  You’re the kind of person who knows that other people have bigger needs and need the extra love. 

There are lots of nights we’ll sit around and snuggle on the couch.  I can be a real homebody.  I hope we spend many nights, legs intertwined, reading on the couch.  Or in bed.  I’ll lean over and kiss you from time to time.  I hope you’ll do the same.  I hope we cook together and talk about our days.  I want to surprise you with special little things that remind me of you.

There’s nothing more beautiful to me than sharing a bed with someone every night.  I’ll hold your hands, hold your body close to me and tell you I love you.  Every night.  I’ll kiss your earlobes and eyelids and your fingertips…all of those places that no one notices but that compose you. 

I promise to love you always, faithfully, deeply and passionately.

I hope you return the expression.

xxoo
Lindsey

Conflicting Feelings

My life has changed radically.  I'm living just outside DC now, in a tiny mini-city.  I live in a high-ride building, which is like living in a fancy hotel.

Everything is different.  It feels so temporary.  It's strange no longer being with my boyfriend.  We're still talking and I'm sure we'll talk quite a bit until he goes on tour in Europe.  The temporary feeling of the high-rise only compounds the strangeness.  I forget for moments that I actually live here now.  That I am looking for jobs here.  That I have bought tickets to concerts here in the future.  In those moments, I wait for him to come through the door before I remember that he decided not to come.  It's a type of sadness I've never known.

I thought I'd be a crying mess, but I'm not.  Maybe it's because the whole move seems surreal.  My sadness is more deep-seated and permanent.  Crying resolves things.  This cannot be resolved.

Simultaneously, I couldn't be more thrilled to be here.  I applied to a handful of jobs and volunteer positions that were all directly related to my field.  (Except one, where I inquired at a doggy daycare.  I love pups.)  These opportunities were completely lacking in Florida, there is no doubt about that.  Even the unpaid positions were amazing- exhibits tour guide at the Smithsonian?  Tour guide for a hostel?  There were NO opportunities like that in Florida, and if one came up they were highly competitive with no room for advancement and little networking within the industry.   So for all of this, I am excited.  I am excited to start my new business here, to explore this bustling and huge metropolis, to see the incredible surrounding areas.

The first week was rough.  My mom helped me move and get settled in.  She discovered she had a gnarly triple or quadruple infection.  She lovingly gave me some of her germs and we both found ourselves in a walk-in clinic, being prescribed a course of antibiotics (yuck).  I spent today, the most beautiful day so far, laying on my air mattress (because my furniture is lost in the Rooms to Go abyss) watching junk TV and barely moving a muscle.  I went to the grocery store during rush hour and some crazy lady almost ran me over with her scooter.  If I could have picked any first week, this certainly was not it.

I don't doubt for a second that I made the right choice.  I did.  But the weight of the sadness can be too much in some quiet moments.