Hidden From Plain View: August 2014

Either I am about to start my period, or having a nephew arriving tomorrow has completely undone me.

I ~~am not~~ didn't used to be a crier. I mean to the extent that people accused me of being heartless when watching sad movies because I didn't cry. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I cried out of anything other than frustration in college. Only three times come to mind: During an emotional counseling session, when my grandpa died, and a few days later at his funeral. Ninety percent of the time I am even-keel, go with the flow, come what may in regards to my emotions. Until recently, of course.

Earlier this week, I was watching The Sandlot. I have seen that movie I don't even know how many times before. It has got to be well into the double digits. I have never cried while watching it. And yet, there I sat, on my couch, watching The Sandlot, tears in my eyes. I cried while watching The Sandlot.

This evening on my way home from the grocery store, I was listening to the radio. I have a few stations that are my first choice, but I also have several others that I keep on my presets for the times those are playing crappy songs (Fancy, anyone?) or commercials. I guess I had turned to one of those others earlier, because that was what it was on. It's one of those 80's, 90's, and now stations. A song came on that I had never heard before. It sounded like a Christian song, which was odd considering it is not a Christian station. I listened to the words. And then I started to tear up. About ten seconds later, I just lost it. I mean, we are talking tears down face, sobbing, couldn't breathe crying.

The song is 6'2 by Marie Miller. Lyrics below.

Lord I've been prayin'
For somebody I've never seen
And I don't care what he looks like
As long as he loves me

No I'm not particular

But could he have blue eyes
Just like the sky
And blonde hair
Wavy and light
And 6 foot 2 is my favorite height
But lord I don't care what he looks like

I've been gettin' so lonesome
Waiting for him to come around
But if you're teaching me patience
I'm willing to wait this one out

I'll be patient

But could we meet by
The first of July
So he'll hold my hand
As they light up the sky
And marry me on an April night
But lord take your sweet, sweet time

Whatever you want
Is whatever I want
No, I'm not particular

So if he has green eyes
That would be fine
Or brown hair
That's quite alright
Now 6 foot 2's still my favorite height
But lord I don't care

And could we meet by
The first of July
So he'll hold my hand
As they light up the sky
And marry me oh marry me
Marry me on an April night

But lord take your sweet, sweet time
And lord I don't care what he looks like.

Yeah. Lost.it.

I don't think I have written about this here. Not extensively, at least. After somebody in my life had a miscarriage last year, I began to doubt a lot of what I have always known and believed, and I hadn't done much to try to remedy the situation. I didn't like being in that place, but I didn't know what else to do. I still don't. Not really, at least.

Last night while getting some stuff ready for today, I was looking through some documents on my computer and came across some things I had written in the past, one of which was a synopsis of my testimony from when I shared it with the 5th graders I used to work with (who just started their last year of middle school, AH!). A lot of my "testimony" is centered around the fact that I don't believe in coincidences. At one point in time, I attributed that to God. Maybe I still do. I don't know.

The fact that I came across that last night about coincidences and then this song came on the radio this evening after what I wrote last night seems too, well, coincidental. I am too undone.

One hundred twenty-nine

Sometime tomorrow,

I will no longer not be

someone's Aunt Sarah.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

I ache

Most of the time, I am fine with the fact that I am single. It may not seem like it because when I am not, it usually ends up here, but I am. Sometimes, though, things happen and it is like an absolute kick to the gut. It's not anything anybody does intentionally. Sometimes it's not anything anybody does at all. Just their very existance at that moment is too much. That sounds bad. I don't know how to explain it. It's like when you see a cute couple, obviously very much in love, walking down the street holding hands. They aren't doing anything out of the ordinary for them. That is probably just what they do when they walk down the street together. They hold hands. At that moment in time, it is part of their existence. They are just living life, and I allow that to phase me.

It's the little things, really. The way the world is designed for couples. Really and truly. The 2 for $20 meals at Chili's. The way my married friends ask my newly married friend how the married life is going. The way one of the two wedding invitations I have gotten within the last month was addressed to me and a guest. I appreciate the offer. I realize that my friend was trying to be polite. I recognize that she and I are not close enough of friends that I have talked about my frustrations of being single and that she didn't want me to be lonely. I sincerely appreciate the gesture, but I don't have anybody to invite, and that is awkward. I have one single guy who I talk to on even a somewhat regular basis. And by somewhat regular, I mean that he is an old coworker whom I still exchange birthday greetings and 1-3 other pleasantries a year. I am being generous at even calling him a friend. Not that we weren't friends when we worked together, but I live two hours away and we were never ones to talk outside of work much anyway. All of my other friends, with, literally, one exception, are in a relationship. It gets old. It's not that it just gets old. It's hard. It's not even that it's hard. I can do hard. My life for the last 24 months has been hard. Grad school is hard. Being single when next to nobody around you is isn't just hard. It's painful. Sometimes it physically hurts. I know that sounds dramatic, but I don't know how to explain it other than that. It's as if there is an actual weight on my chest.

I know that, to some extent, I am idealizing what it is like to be in a relationship. I know it isn't always easy. In fact, I know that it is often really hard. I also know and believe that the things in life that are the hardest are the ones that are most worthwhile. I know that one day when I am married and my mind is going in 32 different directions, and there are children running through my house, and the dog peed on the carpet, and the car won't start, and the air conditioner is running hot, and my husband had a long day at work, and the chicken is overcooked, I will miss the time I have right now. The simplicity. Only being responsible to and for myself. The ease with which I can come and go as I please. I know I will miss things things as sure as I know there is a polka dotted mug and a blue water bottle on my desk as I write this. I know it to the depths of my soul. I will miss being a 24-year-old, single, grad student. No doubt about it. I love my life right now, don't get me wrong, but I ache.

I ache for the man whose last name I will share.

I ache for the children we will have together.

I ache for the house that we will make our home.

I ache for someone to do nothing with.

I just ache.