The One in Which I Get My Perfect Sunday… After Many Bad Days

Two years ago I wrote about my perfect Sunday. It consisted of brunch and football and naps and reading (you can read about it here, if you need a little refresher ). So why am I bringing this up now, you ask? Well, because last weekend I finally experienced my perfect Sunday. It wasn’t to the T- my guy didn’t whip up breakfast sammies (I made lox and bagels, breakfast potatoes, fruit, and pineapple mimosas. High five, me.), our team didn’t win, and I ended the day with a wicked migraine and leftovers instead of Port Fonda, but regardless, it was perfect. It was football, chilly but not too chilly weather, midday naps, cuddling on the couch perfect.

And that’s what life has been like for the last three months… pretty damn perfect.

My absence from the blog hasn’t been all sunshine and roses and too busy to write because of love. It’s been due to work and adventures and heartbreak and terrible situations, but for the last three months, yes, it’s because I’ve been too damn busy being happy.

Since the breakup with Long Distance Ex, and thus my less frequent posting, I found myself without much desire to write. I spent so much time keeping myself busy with friends and outings and I did that for a specific reason- I didn’t want time to think. I didn’t want time to feel the disappointment of heartbreak, of feeling like I’d been a fool to think I could have made that relationship work, of feeling like I was never again going to let myself be that open with someone. I wanted to think about one day at a time. At what I was going to do on the weekend, who I would hang out with, where we would go out to, what shows we would see. The only future I wanted to focus on was adventures with friends like New Orleans and Mexico and Denver (yes, it’s been a great year for adventures). And so that’s what I did. Sitting down to write anything of substance here meant sitting down with thoughts and feelings I wasn’t ready to have. So did dating, so that was something I didn’t do as well… until suddenly I did.

Of course the never opening up to anyone again thing didn’t last forever. I met someone who was going through a rough breakup as well; a separation. But turns out he realized he wasn’t ready for that separation to turn into a divorce, so once again I had struck out in the love department. Shortly after that I found myself in a situation I never thought I’d be in; the other woman. It wasn’t as cut and dry as that (not something I’m saying to defend myself, I know there were things I did that weren’t the greatest) and (yes, this part is in my defense) I didn’t know that I was the other woman. I was told that there was no relationship between the guy I was spending time with and his “friend.” But, as things go, there was. Things took a turn quickly in all three of our relationships, and have remained different to the day. It was messy and hurtful and upsetting. It ruined friendships and trust and, what hurt me the most in the end, was it ruined the way I felt about myself. I spent a lot of time feeling ashamed and thinking of how stupid I was to end up in a place I said I’d never be. Of how I’d never be able to trust another guy again, and even worse, uncertain if I’d be able to trust myself. I went back to keeping myself too busy to think about much. I went on more adventures- Coachella and camping trips and Bonnaroo- went to shows, hung out with friends, worked late, and basically did whatever I could to keep my mind quiet. Then, one night at a smelly, humid, dive bar, I met someone that has since kept me busy and quieted my mind from all the doubts and past pains.

If a rom com needed a meet cute, the writers could steal ours. Nearly a year ago Mr. T and I met online. He had just moved back to KC and I had just started to think maybe I could date again. We had a ton in common and I remember him being one of the few guys I actually messaged with more than once or twice before rolling my eyes at and feeling exasperated by. But, I quickly found myself certain that I really wasn’t ready to date at all and ditched the site and all prospects altogether. Of course I met the above mentioned fellas over the next few months and attempted romance with them, and (now I know) luckily for me, none of them stuck. Then, come Spring a friend mentioned setting up another friend of mine with a guy. He was great, she said. They had been out once, but weren’t a match, but really thought our friend may like him. So, of course, being the Nosy Parker I am, I peeped one of his social media profiles to check him out. Hey, I thought to myself, why isn’t she setting me up with this guy?! He’s pretty cute and seems rather funny… (Yes, at this point I didn’t put two and two together that it was the same guy I had been talking to about six months prior. Different photo, bad memory, common name, etc, etc.) Well, again, luckily for me, the set up never came to fruition. But, I kept following Mr. T, and he began to follow me as well. Slowly we started interacting with each other. But, this was also while I was fully separating myself from the terrible situation mentioned earlier, so I wasn’t too quick to put my amazing flirting powers to use. And as it turns out, my amazing flirting powers aren’t so amazing after all, because even when I did start dropping hints here and there that I was interested, they weren’t exactly met with reciprocation. To make matters worse, we frequently were at the same shows or events, but still never met. I was beginning to lose hope in the whole endeavor when we were at yet another concert together, but not together, when I finally just laid it out there. I told him what bar I’d be at after the show and that he should come. There. I did it. If he comes, he’s interested. If he doesn’t, well then, that’s strike three in the love game this year and I’ll just throw in the towel and forfeit!

Luckily, he showed up.

I was hot and sweaty and frizzy haired from dancing all night and nervous enough that I let my friend (the same one who was supposed to have been set up with him a few months back, naturally) do most of the talking. Great, I thought to myself, they’re sitting here talking about soccer and I have nothing to add because I have zero interest in it and now I’ve blown it and this whole experiment in being brave enough to invite him out has been all for naught! Later, the three of us walked out of the bar and to his truck, which happened to be on the way to my house, and said our goodbyes. I tried to convince myself that, if anything, I’ve got a new friend who clearly likes going to shows and that’d be good enough. But, when he messaged me half an hour later, I knew just being friends wouldn’t be good enough for either of us.

We’ve been inseparable ever since. (Seriously, Hollywood, feel free to give me a call. The sheer amount of times we were at tiny concerts over the course of eight months and never ran into each other is rom com gold.)

I fear writing about Mr. T because, as we’ve all seen in the past, as soon as I write about someone things usually end up taking a turn for the worst. I’m crazy superstitious and worry discussing a guy with anyone, much less on a blog, means we will be doomed to fail. But, the last few months have shown me that our relationship trumps superstition. It finally feels good to sit down and think again. It feels good to be in the present, but also finally feels good to start thinking about the future. I don’t find myself doing whatever I can to avoid certain thoughts and feelings. And I don’t find myself regretting and beating myself up for past mistakes. The last few months have shown me that all those doubts and negative thoughts I was having about myself after the terrible situation were unfounded. Sure, I made some mistakes and made some selfish decisions, but everyone is guilty of that at some point. That situation didn’t change who I was at the core. It didn’t make me a slut or mean or uncaring or unworthy of respect and love. Being with Mr. T and caring for him has shown me all the good in me is still there, alive and kickin’, and punishing myself wasn’t necessary. I also didn’t need to keep punishing others for past lies and heartbreaks. If the eight months of near misses with Mr. T taught me anything it’s that everything truly happens for a reason. Those past heartbreaks have made me stronger, made me certain of things I will never put up with again, but also softer and more appreciative of all the great parts of Mr. T. Looking back, I know having been in relationships with withholding men now make me love his giving heart more than I ever would have had I not known the pain of being denied love by people you care for. I’m not saying meeting Mr. T has been a cure all. My neediness and insecurities and self-doubt still creep out. Just last night I laid in bed crying, sure that he didn’t really love me because maybe there really was nothing to love about me. The difference though is he was right there next to me, holding me and letting me cry. Understanding that sometimes it’s just too hard for me to be as strong as I want to be. That those past heartbreaks and mistakes will creep their way in from time to time. But, every time he stays beside me, supporting me and caring for my slightly damaged heart, the past fades a little more and my desire to look towards the future grows.