Things I used to believe.

I was at a Christmas party with some family friends tonight. I met a couple of elderly gentlemen, and for awhile I sat quietly (which, by the way, happens rarely, if ever) listening to them talk. The conversation drifted in an out of the present, and it struck me, hard, just how much these people know. Not because they have gone to school and earned degrees. They didn't know things because they read them or heard them, they knew things because they LIVED them. The respect I felt for them was immense. The past year of my life has been epic, truly. I have loved, lost, but more than anything, I have EXPERIENCED. And to think of all that fit into this year, and to think of all the years they have on me...the knowledge stacks up.

But it made me think about all of the things I've learned that books couldn't have taught me, and the things I used to believe, that by choice or circumstance, I don't believe anymore. Here is a selection, some favorites highlighted in bold.

-I used to believe that I was going to be the most popular girl in high school.
-I used to believe that being the most popular girl in high school mattered.
-I used to believe whales could live in Lake Washington.
-I used to believe sex wasn't a big deal.
-I used to believe Sun-in was an appropriate method with which to color my hair.
-I used to believe God wasn't paying attention to me.
-I used to believe I'd meet my husband in college, and we'd get married the summer after graduation.
-I used to believe a lower back tattoo was a good idea.
-I used to believe removing said tattoo would be easy, inexpensive, and relatively painless.
-I used to believe he was the one.
-I used to believe dancing provocatively with my girlfriends and drunkenly making out with them was sexy.
-I used to believe my mom hated my dad after their divorce.
-I used to believe my stepdad wasn't a "real" father.
-I used to believe business was spelled, "Buisness"
-I used to believe Church was boring and unneccessary.
-I used to believe I didn't deserve to be loved.
-I used to believe that parmesan cheese was called, "Farmer John" cheese.
-I used to believe my family was embarassing.
-I used to believe grown-ups knew everything.
-I used to believe my best friends in elementary, middle, and high school would be my bridesmaids.
-I used to believe time wouldn't heal me.
-I used to believe turning 18 made you an adult.
-I used to believe the people I love would never die or go away.
-I used to believe nobody understood me.
-I used to believe dry shaving my legs would be quicker and more effective.
-I used to believe the center part was the right hairstyle for me.
-I used to believe a slice of pizza, in college, was a suitable afternoon snack.
-I used to believe that the things I believed would never, ever change.

This is just to name a few, of course. But thank God for "used to"...thank God for BELIEVING. What did you used to believe?

I hope you think my favorite song...

For the second time in this blog's history, I just titled a post with Taylor Swift lyrics. But I thought it appropriate. As I was attempting sleep just now, my eyes flew open remembering a dream from LAST night. About him. And it got me thinking.

This isn't the first time my adolescent summer love has visited me in my grown up dreams. Despite all the pain and heartache he once caused my 18 and 19-year-old self, I find that every time, I am always happy to find him there.

We were just kids. Wild, crazy, reckless, often stupid, very often drunk. But we were always having fun. There was no baggage to carry, no dealbreakers, no painful questions we would have to answer. Every day was new, every night was new, and three months might as well have lasted forever. In many ways for me, I guess it kind of has. It's funny how my opinion of him and how he fits into my story has changed over the past five or six (?!?!) years. Yes, he broke my heart once. He took away what I perceived to be a huge piece of my innocence at the time. There was a point where he was the one who hurt me the most because I'd loved him the most. So far. My most recent love and I talked about him once, and in the great drama of THAT relationship, my summer romance seemed to fade into nothing. It lost so much significance in the wake of a much more adult relationship, and subsequently "adult" breakup. I was certain that because of the intensity of that grown-up relationship and the lessons learned at its end, nothing prior was of any consequence. And then I had this dream.

I was somehow back at his best friend's house on the lake. He threw the front door open and saw me and smiled. Oh, that smile. It was a perfect day, and he took my hand and walked me down the dock and onto the boat. He drove us into the middle of the lake, stopped the boat, threw me into the water and dove in after me. I screamed and laughed, splashed and cursed at him. He just laughed and kissed me, with his wet hair and wet lips. And I was 18 again...crazy, happy, innocent, FREE.

I woke up at 4am, still 23, to the sound of the rain. In November. But for a minute there, it was like the last 9 months, or, hell, the last 5 years--had never happened. They did happen, of course, but somehow a piece of that girl has been restored. And I am, once again, thanking God for unanswered prayers. My summer love was nothing less than love, I get that now. Young, fumbling, impossible love, but love just the same. He wasn't the man for me, and still isn't. But he was the BOY for me. I have no idea where he is or what he's doing now. I hope he's happy. I hope he's still that kid, with no agenda or inhibitions, somewhere deep inside.

And if I could, I'd thank him for dropping in to let me know that real love doesn't always have to be jaded, scarred, dramatic, and sad. You know, all those mature things with which I've become so familiar. Real love makes you happy. Makes you feel alive, and free. And for the reminder that it's okay to want that. It's okay to seek that, and to find that now, just as I had then.

There was a time when I was convinced he was the one for me. I prayed that God would let me marry him, and we could live in the country in a big beautiful house with cute kids running around in the yard and country music playing in the background. God didn't go for that idea. Thankfully. Instead, I have the (admittledly creepy) dreams and memories to shine a little light into this particular November. And the really well-timed reminder that there is still a piece of me that remains innocent, free, and able to love without hesitation or fear. And that, I have to say, is incredibly good to know.

Piecing life together, step one: Organization

So, my parents are trying to sell this place. This requires the house to remain "staged" at all times when no one is home--meaning that I, naturally, am expected to keep my bedroom/bathroom looking like no one lives here.

I know, I'm stifling the laughter too.

Here's what the outside observer sees when looking at my closet:



This is what they would see if they opened the door:



Here's an up-close view. See those poor little weights? Anyone care to guess the last time those were lifted? And when I say lifted, I don't mean lifted as in used in actual exercise, I mean lifted as in MOVED OUT OF THE DAMN WAY AND PUT BACK WHERE THEY BELONG.



It has occurred to me that someone viewing the house may want to see the inside of the closet and open the door. To that end, I took all of the lacy thong underwear and moved it to the back of the pile. I should point out that these are all clean clothes. I guess in my crazed/depressed blur over the past 6 weeks-ish, I've been taking my clean clothes out of the dryer long enough for them to sit on my bed, waiting to be put away. This never gets done, because the room always has to be "presentable" and I haven't found the five minutes it takes to open and close drawers. So, apparently, if you're me, the closet is the new dresser.

I'm sure little changes like cleaning up my mess will make a big difference as I attempt recovery (and, ahem, day 2 of no texting has come and gone). I'm sure you're all wondering, "Well, if it's going to make you feel so much better, why don't you clean the mother-effing closet instead of taking photos of it and posting them on the internet?"


Good question.