He told me that he fell in love with me on the top of the Empire State Building.

I told him that I fell in love with him on the way down, when it was he that pointed out to me the couple beside us that he could tell had just gotten engaged by the look on her face and the love in their eyes.

I don’t know how this is going to come off, but I feel like I need to write this. And that’s why people write, right?

I don’t get marriage. I never have. 

That’s not to say that I don’t want to get married at some point, but the whole thing seems kind of weird to me. Everyone I’ve ever met says that marriage is hard. Marriage takes work. Marriage isn’t something you take lightly. So why do people do it? Why do people, perfectly normal, functioning people, give up (sacrifice?) a part of themselves and their future for someone else? 

I like to think it’s out of love. I like to think that everyone who is married found the one person they couldn’t live without; they found one person that makes them have a happy glow a big majority of the time. 

But I know that’s not usually the case. A lot, I won’t say most, but I feel like a lot of marriages are based in need, dependence, fear of being alone, being lost, apathy. I feel like the percentage of people that are married only because they truly love the other person is small. Maybe that’s okay, because no one would ever get married if they needed to be 100 percent positive about getting married to the person they’re marrying.

I guess I’ve never been sure enough in a relationship to want to get married, so the way it happens kind of mystifies me. What makes someone want to take this imperfect person (everyone is imperfect) and spend the rest of their life investing in them? I assume it’s just a perfect mix of being at the right place at the right time to meet a person you will love, and being at the right place and the right time in your life to want to settle down. People seem to just know when they want to get married, but…the divorce rate is pretty high, isn’t it?

I also wonder, how much of that fairytale romance depicted on TV and in movies is what people actually experience in real life, and how much is just made up for entertainment. I know you can’t be on cloud 9 doing it on kitchen counters all times and calling out sick to work to cuddle in bed every day because there are bills to pay and things to get done, but there should be a fair amount, I feel like, of that breathless feeling you get when someone truly love and admire someone with every fiber of your being. Is that too romantic? I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being too realistic.

I’d like to get married some day, but I think about the girl that first moved to the city of Boston on her own, ready for awesome adventures, ready to go wherever life took her, and I don’t know if I can ever let her go entirely for someone else. Maybe the sign of a good marriage is one where you don’t have to let go of the person you want to be. Is that fair?

I’d love to get your thoughts.

It is Halloween night, at about 11:30, and I drive down the dark streets of my hometown as a light rain mist around me. It’s unseasonably warm, probably mid 60’s, although I have a sweatshirt on because it’s October 31^st and my mind won’t let me get away with anything less. 

I drive past my old street, the street I grew up on until I was about 6. A strange nostalgic feeling passes over me, even though I have no real vivid memories from living in that house. I know that on this day, for the first 6 years of my life, I dressed up and engaged in a tradition that was new to me, but all the neighborhood kids seemed to love. I learned to love it too. My brothers and I would get dressed up by my mom, and she would take us to the seemingly endless stream of houses in the development that were ready, willing and just waiting to give us tasty treats. We ended up with a large bucket full of candy for just a few hours work. And of course, the trading. Anything with peanut butter was a free pass. 

As I turn on to the street, Everybody Wang Chung Tonight is playing on the radio, keeping me stuck in the era that this few acres of land will always bring me back to: the 80’s. I will always be reminded of George Bush SR., my grandfather’s old blue canvas Cadillac, tiffany lamps, bulky wood sided recording equipment, and being so young I couldn’t see that these things were not permanent in life, just the product of innovation up to that point in time; an expression of who my parents (and their parents) generation were.

I pull myself out of the memories, long enough to think that I haven’t been back down this street on this day since I moved out of this town. It is bittersweet to think about the fact that we grow up; that a night of getting candy will never be as fun, simple and sometimes overwhelming in the same way ever again. But surprisingly, for maybe the first time, I don’t yearn to go back to that time. I know that all things end. That things change, move, and grow. And it is nice to have something warm to look back on.

I drive up the street, and drive slow enough to be able to see into some of the windows of some of the houses. I am half expecting to see bright orange 80’s walls, dark wood, and oversized grey and fake wood TV’s.  But that’s not the case. Lights shine brightly on pale walls. Large flat TVs hang from the walls. I look at the house I grew up in, and compare notes in my head of how small everything looks now, compared to how I remember it.  I think back to how 22 years ago I was roaming these streets, with my brothers and neighbors, following along what they all were doing, looking for candy. And I can almost see all of us, running around, calling out, looking down at our big sacks of candy, surprised, pleased and a little overwhelmed by our large bounty. I smile, turn my blinker on to head toward the highway and leave all of us kids on my old street on Halloween where we belong.

I started this back around the holidays and just found it. Enjoy :).

Tuesday night was a holiday party at work. I work at a nursing home, so the wasn’t for co-workers, the party was for residents of the facility and their family members. 

I was lazily drifting from room to room, trying to look useful (even though everyone was happily occupied) when an older woman caught my eye. 

“Hi.” She said, with a pleasant smile. “Do you work here?” I’m used to this question, since I am 27, maybe look 17, and definitely don’t look like I belong in a nursing home (working or otherwise). I nodded. We talked for a few minutes. 

“I’m a friend of Claire’s.” she said, pointing to a contracted-looking woman I knew, who was sitting hunched over in a wheelchair. “We we went to teaching school together.” she added with a smile. “She never married.”

Those words, “she never married” have been marinating in my head ever since they came out of her mouth. They scare the absolute living crap out of me. I always assumed I would marry. Everyone gets married. My middle school math teacher Mrs. Moore with white hair and a mustache was married. 

But here, at 27 and not even considering marriage, I can’t help but feel a little bit of anxiety over it. I’ve never been one to settle (hence why I’ve only had 5 technical boyfriends in my life) but when do I say enough is enough? When do I say “having someone there for me through all the ups and downs in life who I want to be there for beats a great first kiss from a stranger?”

I guess I was always kind of hoping to find someone that would make me (force me) to feel that way. I was hoping to meet someone so fabulous that I just wanted him by my side, through my whole life. Maybe that doesn’t happen anymore. Maybe that only really happened in the movies.

So I guess I have to take life as it comes. Maybe I’ll find someone I consider a soulmate. Maybe life will be okay even if I don’t.

Of all the awful things you can do to someone, I think taking someone for granted is probably one of the worst. 

As much as my first heartbreak at 16 sucked, I learned the invaluable lesson that you’re not OWED love. You deserve it as a person, but the world doesn’t owe you friendship or the romantic love of a significant other. Working in a nursing home and seeing countless people have no family come to visit, I know you’re not even owed the basic security of family. 

I think that’s why it bothers me so much when people take me for granted. I don’t HAVE to love you, I choose to, and it hurts if you don’t treat me the same. As corny as it sounds, I make sure to truly, truly appreciate every single person’s kindness that they give me; not because I think I should, but because I really truly do appreciate it. When someone makes me happy, even a little, I make sure to not only tell them, but to tell myself too…because they could be gone tomorrow.

And I really do think that’s made all the difference. 

johntourage:

riley-3x5

Why Georgia!

(Source: moveslikemayer)

thelovesensei:

You have a crush on a guy, but your not quite sure if he feels the same way?

Here are five things he might do if he’s into you.

1. You Hear Rumor That He’s Asking About You

One of the best ways to be sure that a guy is interested in you is to find out that he’s been asking about you. He…

(via spectacularuncertainty)

Six years ago, I went on a cross country road trip. I was 21, still in college, and pretty green. 

One night, in the New Mexico desert, we were camping. We were sleeping in a tent, and all the sudden, my friend woke me up. 

“There’s something scratching on the side of the tent.” she said, audibly horrified. 

“Maybe it will go away.” I said (a usual response to any problem I have). I spent a few minutes of calming her down, and convincing myself that a thin layer of tent would stave off any kind of wild animal attack. She went to sleep, eventually, but I stayed awake. I stared up. The top of the tent was made of mesh, so you could kind of see out the top of it. Kind of. 

Through the mesh I could see enough to see that there were maybe more stars in the sky in that square inch than I’d probably ever seen in my entire life living on the outskirts of Boston. Hundreds of thousands of glittering lights.

I wanted to go outside and look at all the stars so badly, but I was scared. I didn’t want to get attacked by whatever was out there, if she was right. I rationalized not leaving the tent by telling myself that I’d come back some day. 

I’ve always regretted the moment I decided not to leave that tent. Yeah, I can go back to New Mexico, but the chances of that happening are very small. I think that it’s always important to keep in mind that sometimes the scariest things can also be the most amazing.

So I actually wasn’t sure if I should write this post, but in the interest of keeping this honest (and cohesive) I want to tell you what happened regarding my last post. Plus, I love you dear readers so much I want to tell you everything :). 

Anyway, I have a boyfriend now. A series of really strange events happened to make it happen. The short of it is, you know the boy from countless angry and hurt posts on here? He found this blog. 

He found it. 

And he read it.

It was actually my fault that he found it. He started following my other blog, and I didn’t realize when I followed him back that I followed him from THIS blog. 

He sent me an e-mail telling me this (that he saw my blog and read most of the entries), and he apologized for the way he acted and the way he made me feel and everything he put me through, asking if we could talk sometime. Actually, he wanted to talk, and he wanted me to listen. I was conflicted, knowing that sometimes the more closure you get the more closure you need, but I wanted to see how this one would turn out. 

We met on Newbury Street after some Starbucks confusion (there are two on that street, apparently). Both of us were nervous, not exactly sure how the conversation would go. It cycled between an odd feeling of comfort of seeing an old friend/lover, and trying to remain emotionally intact, if only not to have some kind of mental implosion on the sidewalk of Boston’s fanciest of streets.

The short of it is, he apologized. He told me things I had needed and wanted to hear since April; things that a younger me may not have believed, but the me now can, because my heart is more open (or desperate ;) ). Basically, he told me that I was not alone in how I felt, and maybe it just took him 4 months and a healthy dose of me moving on with my life to realize. 

I have a favorite quote by Burt Reynolds “Your bullshit detector gets better with age.” and this honestly seemed like a lot of it. But there are a few things that made me trust it. He was willing to tell me how he felt about me (that he loved me). He understood I’d have trust issues, specifically with him, and is willing to work to show me that I can trust him. 

Something about it though, feels right. There is something inside of me that is less restless and just quiet now. There is some blanket feeling of calm in my life that I haven’t felt in a long time.

So I informed him he was taking me on a date on Monday. We ate dinner, then walked around Boston Common, and eventally ended up at the Frog Pond. We kind of sat and talked. And then, almost a year to the day he first asked me to be his girlfriend, I said yes.

Unfortunately, I don’t know if this can ever be honest here in the same way again, but I’m willing to try. 

Thank you for being here for me. :)