I like the little things. Like laying in a big, cozy, overly-pillow-laden bed on a cool, rainy, fall day and marathoning a feel-good show on Netflix, with a fella of my fancy by my side and his sweet angel-face-of-a-dog at the end of his bed.
I like catching myself going on and on (and on, and on, etc etc etc.,) about another to another, oblivious that I’ve been talking about him for god knows how long, dimpled-cheeks, blushed AF.
I like running into an older couple who I’ve become friends with over the years – all of us regulars at the same local cafe – after not seeing them in over a month, only for the wife to exclaim to me “You look really happy, Jen,” and for me to know the cause of that shit-eating grin.
I like walking through aisles – hand in hand with the guy I’m head over heels for – at the farmer’s market, running into – and being introduced to – friends and family, as I put out a proud, little hand to shake, with the certainty of where this hand has been: All. Over. Him. Mine.
I like uttering the words “mine” to a man who got me somehow; who I got in turn. Fate. Magic. Right place at the right time. Call it what you will, but you can’t will this shit to come to you, it just does. And did it ever.
I like that we don’t know what we have until it’s gone, then have the ability and balls and faith and positivity to catch ourselves before it’s too late. To try to lock it down and somehow make it work. Work is something we run from. Work means there’s a chance for failure. But with the possibility of failure comes the alternate possibility: Growth. Love. Happiness. Happily ever after. Him being mine. Me being his. Our version of Calm. We’ve arrived.
I like facing obstacles early on in an undefined relationship and seeing how my potential partner deals with them, and how we deal with them as a “we,” instead of just chalking up the relationship thus far to a fun fling to remember for here on in.
I was on a call today chatting with someone about “types” and what we look for in a partner. And I realized, gone are the days of my 20s where I’d be interested in having another check off a proposed and expected list in my head of the “right” attributes for me, and instead I focus on a feeling: Are things organic? Natural? Easy? Do they just flow? Can I be myself? Am I accepted and can I accept this other without conditions? And if so, then I’m game. I’m here.
We run from situations and people when they become too much. When we expect them to hurt us and fuck with our chi. But lets all just grow the fuck up and be human for a second or two. What is life if we don’t live it? What is love if we don’t embrace it when it’s right in front the fuck of us. Hurt me. Use me. Take all my love. If it doesn’t work, I’ll survive. But if it does, I’ll live.