Love is a mysterious thing.
I remember when we first met. I remember the first messages we sent when "started talking" –cities apart. Texts led to memes, memes let to gifs, and gifs led to Pinterest boards full of funny jokes, fancy houses, elaborate bathrooms, and scenic views. I remember, at every turn, being amazed at this person I had known of but was now actually getting to know. We shared every interest....not in that we were identical, but in that we were open-minded and intrigued by each other. We talked about music, movies, fashion, family, church, TV, celebrities, travel, food, politics, social issues, jobs, careers, ministry, theology, and how to build the ultimate shower non-stop. I had no real agenda. I was just enjoying the conversation. Texting led to phone calls and staying up way too late, way too often.
I remember planning our first date. We were on the phone making plans for the next weekend I would be back in town. We started talking about our favorite seasons; we both loved fall, and it turned out I was the weird one. I had never been to a haunted house. I remember hearing about all these different places we should go to test the fearlessness I claimed I had. And then, I asked if we could go to Sloss Furnace for Halloween –something that was mentioned once, that I took note of. We could make a night out of it; I'd be the driver, we'd get a light meal, survive the zombie maze, sleep through the cheesy "supernatural room", and laugh at how scared everyone else was going through Sloss Furnace's fright-night.
"Wait, so are you, like....asking me out on a date?"
Then, the daydream started. It wasn't an easy relationship, but it was rewarding. There were mistakes, adventures, fights that looked like heated debates, sleepless nights and long phone-calls, ice-cream and asian rice runs, countless movies and seasons of FRIENDS conquered. There was laughter, joy, peace, contentment, passion, and vision like I had never felt. It shouldn't have happened or been possible for two people like us, so different and yet so similar, to be together. The more real and difficult the relationship became, the more I knew I wanted it. We started considered ourselves "taken" almost immediately, but we took another month to feel it out before we decided it was "official."
I also remember my first (and so-far only) break-up. Nothing could have prepared me for it....and I had no preparation at all, in any way. The last month had been rough for a lot of reasons. There was sorrow and pain; I butted heads with my parents more than I care to admit. And, at the end of the day, we were both stressed. Our jobs, schedules, and lives were crazy, and we were learning how to cope with a new semester, a new year, and a new season together.
It never REALLY crossed my mind that I could or even might be left. For me, there was no going back. This was my future, and it would also become my past; I had chosen to love –informally– no matter what. But in one day with no warning, it was all over.
"Wait, so are you, like....breaking up with me?"
It turned out, to my surprise, that we were breaking up. It wasn't working: the stress, the schedules, the life, etc. Almost eight months later, I still struggle to decipher whether I am really living my life or just running from memories. I don't even know if I know how to cope with the pain or the change. I still can't figure out if I've moved on or if I've even made any progress letting go. I ask myself questions, and –unlike most of my life– I don't have the answers. I only have the answer I seem to need: this is what happens when she's gone.
For the first time in eight months, I have written about my long-distance first-relationship without deleting every word and regretting my decision to even try to express something.
For the first time in eight months, I feel like I'm living and not running –like I'm moving on to the future instead of staying stuck on the past.
This is what happens when you let go and let God; everyday, I choose to let these feelings, these words, be more about the journey and the person I become, than what end-goal I reach.
