The One in Which I Worry About How Things Are Supposed To Go

If there’s one thing that can be universally agreed upon it’s that moving is THE. WORST. Literally, I cannot think of one person that enjoys doing it. Even if you have all the money in the world and can buy a bevy of movers, it’s still a miserable chore. But, it’s one of life’s necessities. Moving can get you to new places. Bigger and better places. My next move is exactly that, to bigger and better. A full house (no more upstairs neighbors, FINALLY) with all the porches and pantry space I have dreamed of. And while the act of moving itself does sound miserable, there is something more that is giving me the slightest of anxieties about this upcoming change.

For the very first time I will be living with a significant other.

It feels weird to say, because, in truth, Mr. T and I have been essentially been shacked up at my place for the last six months. But it was still “my place” and he still had his place as well. Now it’s Our Place. The bills are ours, the upkeep is ours, the porches and the pantries… all of it is Ours. Since signing the lease almost three weeks ago I’ve been trying to peg down what about this has been scaring me. It’s not the physical act of living together. If we can share 750 sq feet peacefully and happily, we can certainly live well in double that. It’s not the finances, that part was easily agreed upon even before we found our new home. And it’s not the seriousness of “taking the next step” in our relationship either. We’ve both known for months, about six to be exact, that this is what we wanted. The sharing of space and everyday life. No, the reason behind my jitters is much, much sillier than all of these legitimate concerns.

The reason I’ve never lived with a boyfriend is because in the past, all I’ve had is “boyfriends.” I’ve never been engaged or married and, to me, when putting together a list of how I’d like my life to go when I was younger, I didn’t want to live with someone until there was that commitment, or promise of commitment, of more. Rationally, I know this is really, really dumb. You truly cannot plan for how things will happen in life. I let go of the ‘I’ll be married by 25, kids by 28, etc, etc’ thoughts long ago, because those things happen when they are meant to happen. (And, if I would have gotten married at 25, which, now thinking back, actually was an option to me then, I wouldn’t have been living in Kansas City and at some random dive bar two months after turning 32 to meet Mr. T. So hallelujah, praise yeezus I didn’t follow my “life’s plan.”) So why haven’t I been able to let go of this feeling of ‘this is how a relationship is supposed to go’ mindset?

Largely, it’s fear. It’s fear of officially living with someone, no more ‘well, if we get sick of each other he can just stay at his place for a few nights’ escape plans available to either of us. Not that we ever used that option, but it was always there. Now if he gets sick of me, he’s stuck with me. And if he’s stuck with me when he’s sick of me, he may start to regret living together. See where this anxiety spiral is going? Yep. If we do this, maybe he’ll get sick of us and want out.

But Thalia, if this is truly going to happen, wouldn’t you rather find this out before more of a commitment is made?

No.

Yes, I know, it does sound rational. Test the waters out by living together to see if you really are ready for a more long term commitment of marriage. But my completely irrational brain just doesn’t see it that way. My thinking for when I set up my ‘this is how a relationship is supposed to go’ mindset was that commitment of marriage, or promise of one through engagement, is necessary to living together. That means that you both are already on the same page about spending your lives together. That there is no more ‘wanting out.’ You’re already fully invested in this person and ready to go.

But Thalia, you can still ‘want out’ of an engagement or marriage.

I KNOW, GUYS! As stated more than once previously, my mind IS NOT RATIONAL. It’s just one of those things. Something I’ve spent years envisioning. How do you change a past thought so deeply engrained in yourself when you know it doesn’t serve you well in the present though? I know Mr. T is in it to win it, so to speak. I know he and I are on the same page about our future. At least… most of the time I know that. And that’s where I can’t let go of my ‘this is how a relationship is supposed to go’ thinking. What if he’s not? What if we’re on different pages? What if he never gets to my page? What if just living together is enough of a commitment for him? The what if’s keep me from moving beyond those past believes of how things are supposed to go. They are keeping me from fully being immersed in the excitement of finding a great home to share with a great, great man, and I know I desperately need to let these what if’s and fears go to be able to appreciate this time.

Meeting someone I love deeply, and loves me equally in return, and building a life with them is something my romantic little heart dreamed of for nearly as long as I can remember and I need to remind myself that if the reward of having all of this weren’t so great, there probably would be no what if’s and fears. But this reward is great. It is worth shifting my believes of how I wanted things to happen in the past to have the future I’ve always wanted.

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A Few of My Favorite Things 2015

Another year, another list of favorites. Here are my favorite things of 2015:

Favorite Movie: Mad Max: Fury Road. Come on, this had to seem obvious, right? Yes, yes, because Tom Hardy is in it. But really what made it my favorite of the year wasn’t just getting that warm fuzzy feeling from Tom on the big screen. It was the strong, ass kicking, feminist character, Imperator Furiosa. The movie is truly about Furiosa, and then about Max who, for all intents and purpose, is her sidekick. I could go deeper into this, about how the film itself is a study in how women are treated now, how would women be treated in the apocalypse, but, to put it simply, Mad Max is my favorite movie of the year because damn do I love to watch a woman take the lead in an action movie and not have to use her sexuality, to truly just kick ass using nothing more than physical and mental strength, wit, and resourcefulness.

Some runners up are Trainwreck, Jurassic World, The Martian, and Fifty Shades of Grey (because sometimes train wrecks are just REALLY hard to look away from). It should also be noted, I slacked in the movie department in 2015. There are many that still need to be seen, and will likely be better than any I’ve listed here.

Favorite Album: You know me, I can never have just one! Last year I was lucky enough to see my top two artists live (and will get to see them again this year) and their performances only solidified my love for both of their new albums. At Bonnaroo during both Florence and Mumford’s sets I was brought to tears because both albums brought out so many emotions in me throughout a turbulent Spring. But, despite having both How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful and Wilder Mind on repeat, I once again had 20 albums I just couldn’t get enough of…

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Favorite Book: Why Not Me by Mindy Kaling was by far my favorite new release. Partly because I didn’t read a lot of recent releases in 2015 (I found myself reading a lot of murder mystery series… don’t ask me why. I just can’t seem to get enough of serial killers as of late.) and, mostly, because Kaling has this voice I cannot get enough of. She is easy to relate to, open, and whenever I read her I’m always fairly certain we should probably be best friends.

My non-2015 runners up were Yes Please by Amy Poehler (also on my list of imaginary best friends) and the Archie Sheridan and Gretchen Lowell series by Chelsea Cain (like I said, allll the serial killers, please!).

Favorite TV Show: Laugh if you must, but my favorite TV show last year was the amazing (and awful) The Only Way is Essex. This is a British reality show (slightly akin to Jersey Shore- think lots of plastic surgery, make up, and tanning, but less partying and physical fights) I discovered by chance three years ago. The reason it became my favorite this year is because as I was catching up with the 15th season, yes FIFTEEN SEASONS, Mr. T caught me watching it and instead of being embarrassed by my terrible taste I told him he had to watch it with me from the beginning. It began as a joke, but now it’s something we love to laugh at together, something that, early on in our relationship, truly showed me that he was the type of man who could laugh at the absurd with me. Also? I just truly am an anglophile. Give me more Brits, dammit!

Runner up: Jessica Jones. Yes to all female ass kickers. YES.

Favorite Concert: If I thought the 150 shows in 2014 were hard to choose between, the nearly 250 shows I saw in 2015 are even more impossible. This was the year of amazing music for me. This was a year unlike any other, and a year I will probably never get to repeat again. Tiny ten people shows, arena classic rock tours, Coachella, Bonnaroo, local music fests… all of it made for a year that was, quite literally, music to my ears. But the best shows have to be the nights I got to see women who have influenced my life. From childhood to adulthood there have been a handful of strong, vulnerable, beautiful, romantic women who have shaped me through their music. Heart, Blondie, Florence and the Machine, and Fleetwood Mac have been the soundtrack to my life throughout the years. I have cried and loved and danced my way through happiness and heartbreak to the Wilson sisters, Debbie Harry, Florence Welch, and, more than anyone, Stevie Nicks and each of their shows surpassed everything I hoped they’d be.

Favorite Purchase: Pearl! My 2012 Hyundai Accent. It was a sad day when I finally had to give in and put ol’ Ruby, the first car I had every truly owned, out to pasture. But driving home in a new (to me) car that I knew wouldn’t break down every month (literally. Every. Single. Month. I’m looking at you, Ruby…) gave me such a feeling of comfort and relief. In the 367 days that I’ve owned Pearl I’ve put 10,800 miles on her. Two trips to Denver, one to Mobile, Alabama, and soon, a quick trip to Omaha. Yep, it’s great to find a gal that loves to travel as much as I do.

Favorite Meal: Having a meal made for you is always a treat. Having the best steak you’ve ever eaten (literally. This is not a joke, people. Buttery, medium rare, mouthwatering steak.) made for you is even better. In our relationship, I am more often than not the one cooking for Mr. T, and I very much enjoy it. But one night, for no special reason, he grilled up a steak on his salt block (look it up. Buy it. You’ll thank me.), sauteed me some veggies, and baked me a potato. It was not only a sweet gesture, it was absolutely delicious.

Great. And now I want steak…

Favorite Date: This is by far the hardest for me to determine. For possibly the first time in my life I had SO MANY good dates, I’m having a hard time just choosing one. Mr. T has surprised me with concert tickets (to shows he definitely would not have wanted to go to, but I definitely did), taken me to the drive in, out for my favorite comfort foods when I’m needing it, out to breweries, on road trips, taken me home to meet his friends and family, and even out for sunset walks on the beach in the Gulf Shores, so trust me, it’s really hard to choose just one date. But, if forced, I guess there is one day that always sticks out in my mind.

Our first mini-road trip together was to Omaha, where we will soon celebrating our six month anniversary (yes, because I’m cheesy). The week prior to the trip over Labor Day we both had been battling summer cold/tummy sickness and overall, just not feeling the best. This was still lingering on our second day there and I was worried this would put a damper on our brunch and brewery tour plans. By the time we were halfway through brunch though, I knew we had nothing to worry about. Our food was amazing and we both ended up feeling better than we had in days. We found some of our new favorite beers, we talked and laughed all day, and even when the rain started to roll in and we both had a few too many to really want to hit anymore breweries, the date continued back in the hotel room with pizza and HGTV. (Seriously, if you haven’t made fun of the people on House Hunters, you really haven’t lived. Go, do it now.) In a way, the actual date was nothing special, just a day exploring the city. But in another way, it was and always will be one of the most special to me. At this point I was already crazy about Mr. T, happy and in love, but being in a different city where it really is just the two of us I fully felt the certainty that if it was always just the two of us, no matter where we were or what we were doing, we would always find a way to have fun.

Favorite Guy: I think this one may possibly, just maaaay be a given…

Almost six months ago (5 months, 26 days, and about 8 and a half hours ago if you want to get specific) Mr. T met me at the shitty dive bar I mentioned I’d be at and my life has been infinitely happier ever since. He is this caring, giving, cute, loving, goofy, sincere, loyal, committed, sexy, appreciative, happy, serious, music loving, crazy about me guy I have spent years dreaming of. At times I still find myself questioning us, like after all the years of struggling with bad relationships things can’t go this smoothly and feel this right, can they? But every time that inkling of doubt even creeps it’s way in my mind something comes along to remind me yes, sometimes things can be this easy. That’s not to say it’s always easy and it’s perfect, but that does mean that there is finally a person there fighting for me as much as I am fighting for them when things aren’t easy. There is finally someone who makes believe that maybe all these years I haven’t just been a hopeless romantic believing that someone was out there who would compliment and also challenge me in ways I’ve always wanted and ways I didn’t even know I needed until I felt. It wasn’t me just being a hopeless romantic, it was just me waiting patiently, and more often that not, impatiently, on the two of us being at the right place and the right times in our lives to finally have this love. There is finally someone who makes me fully believe in the phrase ‘when you know, you know.’ And I very much know. He is my favorite guy of 2015, and will be for many more years to come.

 

Challenges

2014 was going to be a resolution-free year. I decided after making a boatload of changes in 2013, I deserved a free pass this year. But then, one of my lovely lady friends suggested our resolution for the year should be to do a new fitness challenge every month. My lovely lady friend must really know how to get me on board with things because if you say ‘challenge’ I say ‘fuck yes, I can do it!’

January’s challenge was squats. And I KILLED IT. Today I completed day 30 of the challenge (250 squats, nbd.) and I feel awesome. I’m pretty damn proud of myself for not missing one day, not even one little squat. And the awesome feeling is great since, unfortunately for me, aside from killing this challenge, the rest of January hasn’t gone so swimmingly. It was just one of those months where I found myself thinking ‘when it rains, it really fucking pours’ at least once a week. But, fear not dear readers. I am nothing if not resilient. I am not the least bit uncertain that, eventually, I will see my way through the downpour. The only crap thing about having a month like this is when I’m going through the bad times, I tend to beat myself up a little more than usual. It’s not a conscious thing, sometimes it is just fleeting ew, what’s going on with my hair today, but every little jab at myself counts. I am fully aware that these thoughts do nothing to help me through the bad and get me to the good, but in the past have done nothing to change my way of thinking. So, now I’m deciding to throw another challenge into the mix…

Since February is the month of love (I’m assuming someone out there calls it that, anyway) I’m giving myself a non-physical challenge in hopes of inspiring some self-love. It’s a two part challenge, really. First, I’m challenging myself to squash these negative thoughts as soon as I acknowledge them. And second, and most importantly, for every negative thought that creeps into my brain, I have to say three things I love about myself. Okay, maybe a three part challenge, because I also have to not roll my eyes and call myself ridiculous as I list off all these great things about myself. I have to acknowledge and accept them as fully as I’ve accepted all those negative feelings of the past. And, since I am such a go-getter, I got a bit of a head start on this.

This morning, while doing the wiggle and jump and pull the tight pants up dance, I caught myself in mid-ugh I’m such a fatty fa… thought. I didn’t let myself finish. Instead, I finished getting dressed, looked in the mirror, and forced myself to accept that 1. I love my eyes, 2. I love that I’ve worked really hard to get good at my job, and 3. I love that I finished the squats challenge because my booty is actually looking pretty damn good in these tight pants. Between a new physical challenge (arms and abs!) and the thinkin’ good thoughts challenge, I think February is shaping up to be a pretty great month.

The One in Which Some Asshat Fat Shames Me

It’s well established that body image is a struggle for me, as it is for many people. There’s a multitude of factors as to why a huge majority of people find one, and usually many, reasons to dislike their bodies, and basically, it sucks. It sucks not feeling happy with the way you look. End of story, it just sucks.  So when you find some way to find a little peace with yourself, it truly is an amazing feeling. Until something like this happens…

The scene: A hoity toity health club where nearly NO ONE is overweight. All people working out seemed to already have achieved ideal gym toned bodies.

Enter a 30 year old woman about 18-22 pounds away from an ideal gym toned body (11 of those pounds just recently regained after a hard-fought battle to lose them before turning 30). Though she is one of the very few in this club not already possessing an ideal gym toned body, she is happy and looking forward to meeting with a trainer because she truly does enjoy putting in a good workout. She is in very good health and rather than focusing on getting that ideal gym toned body is there to find new workouts to push herself a little harder again after spending seven weeks away from a daily gym routine.

Enter a 20 something male trainer. In good shape, not a total meathead, but a person that clearly is fit.

The two talk for about 45 minutes on workout styles she’s enjoyed in the past, what made her lose 13 pounds recently, and what led to gaining most of that back. The conversation seems to be going well and the woman thinks to herself, ‘this could be a great person to help me get back into a good routine and help motivate me when I need it.’ The trainer asks what her ultimate goal is when working out. She thinks for a while and, much to her surprise, finds herself at this conclusion:

“Honestly, I know I will never be a small girl. I never have been, and that was really hard for me in the past, but recently, after doing about three months of really intense workouts, and not necessarily losing as much weight as I thought I would from that, instead of being disappointed I came to appreciate my body for what it is capable of doing and not what it looks like. I’d like to just keep working out as hard as I can and maybe have someone there to motivate me with that when I need it so I can keep that feeling going, because it’s taken me a really long time to feel this way about myself.”

The trainer nods and takes a few notes. The girl thinks to herself how proud and excited her old trainer, who worked with her for three months, and really emphasized body acceptance, would be to hear this. She feels proud and even though as she looks at her legs in the mirror in front of her and still sees thighs that are larger and calf muscles that a bigger than most of the girls working out behind her, she likes what those legs are capable of. Five years ago, hell, even five months ago, she never would have had this thought. She still had days where trying on clothes was a nightmare and sometimes her upper arms made her feel as if she should never be allowed to wear tank tops, but on the whole, she felt happier than she could ever remember, even after gaining most of the weight she had just lost back- still happy.

So the consultation between the trainer and the woman ends. They discuss another time to meet, and as they part ways the trainer makes one last comment, “I think I could definitely help you with some more intense workouts, but it disappoints me to hear you say something like ‘I’ll never be a small girl’ because I used to be overweight myself and if you just put more effort into it and make certain lifestyle choices, you could be smaller and you could be happier with yourself.” Interesting, the woman thinks to herself. They hadn’t really gotten in depth on her “lifestyle choices”, what one could only assume means eating habits, so it seemed an odd thing to comment on, but the woman decided to think on it some instead of rushing to judge the comment.

End scene.

So this was me at my gym with a trainer about six weeks ago. I really did try not to rush to judgment after the trainer said that to me, but the more I thought about it, the more irate/sad/embarrassed I became. WTF. I could be smaller and be happier with myself? Well, fuck you very much for telling me finally making a huge step in gaining self-acceptance has been all for naught because I’m still not as thin as you think I should be! And fuck you very much for fat shaming me and fuck you very much for assuming I must be making terrible lifestyle choices because I’m not a size 4 (or under) like most of the women at the gym and fuck you very much for assuming that I haven’t been putting in effort to be where I’m at now physically. Now, I’ve had people say rude things about my body, usually behind my back, sometimes even to my face, but that was in like high school when people were asshats like that and wanted to try and make people feel bad in order to make themselves feel good. But this felt different. Getting to a place where I felt this way about myself literally felt like climbing up a steep mountain and while busting out my sweet victory dance at the top having this trainer be like ‘just kidding, keep on climbing, fattie!’ It was definitely a setback. And maybe if it had just been some random guy, it wouldn’t have knocked my newly found self-confidence so badly, but as a trainer, a person who deals with bodies on a regular basis, this comment felt ultra-harsh. Since then I can attribute more than one bad mood due to shitty, negative, ‘you’re legs/arms/stomach are/is too untoned/flabby/gross’ type thoughts roaming around in my head. I also couldn’t stop myself from flat out rolling my eyes when a guy I was on a date with told me I looked good in the dress I had on. And I definitely spent a few nights in tears after trying on outfits only to feel like every single thing made me look like a giant Sasquatch.

Unfortunately, there is no pretty bow to wrap this story up with, no happy ending…yet. I’m working like hell to figure out how to get back to that place of loving myself for the way I am, and I’m still working like hell in the gym. Not because, like Trainer McDoucherson said, being smaller will make me happier, but because working out and seeing what my body is capable of will. I’ll be in the gym everyday riding those post-workout endorphin highs until I get that sense of peace back and love that my thighs may be big, but they can do a boatload of lunges and still make it up stairs the next day and that my upper arms may be slightly Hulk-like, but they can get me through 60 laps in the pool in the morning and still manage to carry reams upon reams of paper in the office later that day. I want to get all that back, and more, so the next time some asshat tells me I need to be smaller to be happier I can say ‘I may not have your ideal gym toned body, but I sure as shit have mine. ASSHAT.’

Secret Sunday…Five Fucking Pounds Edition

As I previously blogged, I am getting my ass in shape. And IT IS HARD. It is like a second job, only I dislike it a lot more than any job I’ve had before (okay, except maybe when I worked sales for a communications company. I’ll take working out any day over that). I try not to talk about it too much because I don’t want to turn into one of those people that’s like “oh, well today at the gym…” or “have I told you about my diet in the last hour?” Every one knows those people, and generally, those people are fun suckers. They suck the fun right on out of any conversation. But, since I’ve made it publicly known that I’m working toward a specific goal (losing some weight and gaining a better self image by 30) I figure I may as well give an update now that I’m a month in.

1. I am very strong.

My first session with my trainer I thought I was going to die. I’ve done small group training sessions before, but nothing one on one where all the attention was focused on pushing chubby ol’ me to my limits. So going into the first training session I thought I was going to die, not from physical pain, but because I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to do what was asked of me. That I’d be too weak or too out of shape, despite working out fairly consistently for the last four years. But I swallowed all that down and forced myself to go into it as fearless as possible…and it worked. Even from the first day I went harder than even my trainer expected. And it’s not just when I have someone there pushing me, I get in there and do it on my own as well. In my mind I’m Sydney Bristow (hell, even when I’m putting in my cardio time I get Alias going on the trusty Netflix app and picture myself running shit in the CIA). I know my abs and thighs don’t resemble hers, but sweating away in the gym leads me to believe I’m strong enough to take on any villain, even the ones in my head telling me I can’t do this.

2. I am very weak.

I’ve now cried at the gym three times. I’ve seen Biggest Loser (okay, well I’ve seen previews for it, which seems like enough for me) and I HATE when people cry at the gym. Boohoo, this shit is hard. Suck it up! It wouldn’t be a work out if it were easy. Well…now I’m that person. Except, I’m not crying because it’s physically too hard and I don’t want to do it. I’m crying because I’m doing it and I’m giving it every thing I’ve got, and it still doesn’t seem to be enough. At the beginning of my third week I’d lost only 1.5 pounds and every day I was going home dead tired. For what? For 1.5 pounds? I wanted to quit. Why bother, I thought. If working this hard gets very minimal results, why bother? So I cried out of frustration, and mainly out of weakness. As much as I hate that these people on TV are crying because the workouts are hard, I hate even more that I was crying because I too was expecting this to be easy. Not the actual work, but the results. I wanted to give in because I wasn’t being instantly gratified with a miracle weight loss, or even just a noticeable weight loss, and I’m still fighting this weakness every day that I step on the scale, or put on my size 8’s and don’t see and feel a difference. This mental battle is ten times harder than the physical work I’m putting in and remains the one area where I really need to become stronger.

3. Five fucking pounds.

THAT’S IT?! When I stepped on the scale yesterday that is all I could think to myself. FIVE FUCKING POUNDS?! A month full of healthy eating, no booze drinking, and more hours in the gym than in front of my TV or in bed with a good book and it’s only gotten me five fucking pounds?! Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

4. Five pounds is five pounds.

After about twelve hours of pouting, I thought about this; I have three months to go before my 30th birthday. Even if it seems slow, if I continue to lose five pounds a month, I will have lost 20 by the time I am entering into my third decade. And you know what? Twenty pounds would be the best present I could ever ask for, no matter how slow it was to come off.

5. I am a pretty great cook.

Well, great by my standards. It’s been well documented that I am a picky eater. For me, eating healthy is difficult not so much because I love fast food and sweets and drink a million pops a day, but because I am so dang picky about what I want to eat. It would be so easy if I just loved chicken and could eat baked chicken and steamed veggies all day long, but I can’t (okay, I could, but I would very quickly become absolutely sick of it and devour the first pizza put in front of my face). So I have to work really hard to come up with meals that A) include ingredients I can stand and B) are healthy and have an appropriate amount of calories and fat in them. This can be a tricky process, especially after working a full day and spending two hours at the gym when making any sort of meal for myself sounds absolutely dreadful and, again, devouring the first pizza placed in front of me just sounds so much easier, but I’m slowly figuring it out. I spend a few hours on the weekend cooking meals for the upcoming week, making picante fish or turkey chili or gluten free pasta with a sauteed mushroom, olive, and onion sauce, and suddenly eating better after a long day doesn’t seem so daunting when all the work is already done and the meals don’t involve baked chicken.

Some days I still think about nothing more than going home after a long day of work and clearing out my DVR in one sitting and allowing myself one delicious slice of pizza in the Liz Lemon style:tumblr_inline_mgyle22VY01rnvwt1

But so far, every day I end up in the gym, busting my ass and wanting to feel more like this (you know, with the guns, just without the actual gun):

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Something Scary

As I previously posted, one of my goals before turning 30 was to do something that scares me. Well, there’s still about eight months left before the big 3-0 and I’m excited to say I can now cross this off my list.

If you’ve talked to me in the last month or so you may have heard me mention going to California to visit a boy once or twice (okay, okay, or more like ten or twenty times). While I was very excited about this, because this is a boy I am excited about, it also really scared me. Anyone who has been through a break up knows that the experience can leave a person feeling once bitten, twice shy. Well, after a few bad break ups I was feeling more like five times bitten, fifty times shy. I know, I know… I’m not the only person who has experience in this, but, because of this, it isn’t hard to imagine why putting myself out there for a new boy had me feeling me scared and going 900 miles to see a boy was about as out there as I’ve ever put myself.

As soon as my flights were booked I started thinking how nothing good could come from this trip. If it was a bust, I’d be losing out on vacation days and frequent flyer miles. If it was good, I’d be liking a boy who is 900 MILES AWAY and we all know that the long distance thing is a pain in the ass and causes nothing but drama and how are we ever going to figure out what this is if we never get to spend time together? And what if this is just a crazy summer fling and I’m completely wrong about what I’ve been feeling? And would I be okay if it was just a fling? These were just the start of the crazy-girl-over-thinking-everything thoughts I was having, but, regardless of how crazy the thoughts may have been, I was still scared at the prospect of ending up hurt.

Well, I ended up putting on my big girl pants and working some mind magic to totally change how I was thinking about the whole situation. If the trip was a bust, all I’d be losing is a few vacation days and some frequent flyer miles. Worse things to lose when a trip to the airport is involved, right? And if it was good, then it was GOOD! There are multiple ways to get through 900 miles when properly motivated and is there any better motivation than a boy who is smart and funny and sexy and makes your knees feel like jello when you kiss? Because I certainly can’t think of any.

 

 

And in case you were wondering…

The trip wasn’t good. It was AMAZING. I have a full and proper crush. And I’m now doing something that scares me even more. I’m just going with it. Things between us remain in the new and fresh stage, which is exciting, but scary since I will be the first to say that I’m not great at not knowing where I stand with a boy I’m full on crushing on. But, just this once I’ve decided to do something that scares me… Trust a boy and just go with it.