A New Chapter

For a few weeks, I have been contemplating writing about one of the major, life-changing events I have experienced. For certain, this is one of the most important things that has ever happened to me and, while I feel that now is a good time to share this story, every time I try to write about it, I can’t. The words won’t come. Regardless, I’m going to make another attempt. I can’t really move on to anything else if I circumvent this portion of my life, so it must be told and I’m hoping today is the day!

Early one December, a young man came to my work to (of course) take a test. It’s a good thing that he was the one taking the test because after I saw him, I could barely concentrate on anything else! He was good looking, dressed nice, beautiful eyes, cute smile… I was in heaven! While he was testing, I kept looking for excuses to walk the room just so I could stare at him. Sadly, he did not seem nearly as preoccupied with me as I was with him. He was perfectly focused on his exam and when he finished testing, I could do little more than sigh as he walked out of the door and out of my life. C’est la vie, right? I held onto a little hope that one day he might have need to come back and would notice me.

The next day, as I was preparing to leave my apartment to start a day of work and school, I decided it was a good day to be lazy. I dressed in my most comfortable clothes, skipped my makeup routine, pulled my hair up in a pony tail and headed out the door. I’m fairly certain there’s a Murphy’s Law that fits my situation that day because, as I sat at my desk, who should walk through the door but the cute boy from the day before?! Yesterday I was all confidence, strutting up and down the aisles, trying to catch his eye. Today, if I wasn’t worried that it would make me look even more ridiculous, I would have slid out of my chair and under my desk and stayed there until he left. Why, oh why didn’t I at least put on mascara?! To make matters worse, the only reason he came in that day was to ask me on a date! A date! As I wrote down my phone number for him, I did my best to cover my embarrassment over not being fixed up and he promised to call to finalize our plans.

(I’ve got to be honest here. I didn’t remember his name when he called. I think my memory lapse had something to do with my extreme embarrassment at being so caught off guard earlier in the day. If you aren’t already aware of this little tidbit, let me enlighten you a smidge: young girls have very random thoughts and, occasionally, some silly ones. You can’t imagine how relieved I was that he had a very normal name. All day I had been worried about what I would do if we got married and his name was “Wildthing Onalog” or something!! Yep, random and silly.)

I fairly floated through the rest of my day. Shortly after arriving home, my phone rang and it was Brandon.  Although we had originally planned to go out later in the week, he asked if I would like to attend a concert at the school that night where a friend of his would be performing. As they say, folks, the rest is history.

We went on our first date that night and were virtually inseparable after. A week later, he proposed and two weeks after that, we were married. No, really! Three weeks from our first date, we were husband and wife. Crazy, you say? Most thought so. Our parents (my mother especially) would like to have killed us. But, we were in love. As December came to a close, we sat in my apartment discussing our upcoming nuptials. We were poor college kids and neither of us came from wealthy families. I felt that the wedding I wanted was unbelievably out of reach. I found myself thinking one of those thoughts that doesn’t really make sense but somehow does: I would rather have no wedding at all than to settle for something haphazard and thrown together. And, so, I said to Brandon, “Let’s elope. Tonight. Let’s go to Vegas and get married!”

A few minutes later, we were in the car driving to Las Vegas. A couple hours later, we were standing in line at the courthouse to buy a marriage license. As the last day of the year was just beginning, we stood in a little wedding chapel on the Las Vegas Strip and vowed to love, honor and cherish one another until death do us part. Although the ceremony that night was far from being my dream wedding, I couldn’t have been happier! Everything I had ever wanted was taking shape and from that day forward, I would be building the life I had dreamt of with my husband, best friend and soul mate. I couldn’t imagine a more amazing way to end one year and a more exciting way to begin the next!

Crying in the Closet

During my first few weeks of college, I learned something interesting and unexpected: graduating from high school and moving out on your own does not make you an adult. Your thoughts and behaviours are not magically replaced by more mature inklings and actions. I’m reminded of that one time when I turned 30 years old. I expected to wake up on the anniversary of my birth and feel different, somehow. Without a doubt, I believed I would sit up in bed and exclaim, “Oh! So THIS is what 30 feels like! It’s completely different than how I felt a few minutes ago when I was still a measly 29.” That didn’t happen.

Considering my expectations going in, I was completely floored when my exciting new relationship took a fatal nosedive before it really even began. I thought it was the end of the world. I was used to dealing with heartbreak at “home”, in the privacy of my own room and comfort zone. I had no idea what to do with myself in my new apartment in an unfamiliar town. The only obvious thing I could do was retreat to my closet. I was blessed to have a wonderful walk-in closet that first year of school and it seemed the best place to hide out and cope with the harsh realizations of adulthood. As I sat there amidst my clothes and shoes and my roommate’s clothes and shoes, sobbing about the unfairness of love and life, I wondered how I would go on.

At this point, you may be shaking your head and thinking, “What’s the big deal? So, you got dumped? It happens!” Of course, in retrospect, it wasn’t a big deal at all. But, I was quickly learning another interesting tidbit about my fellow female students. I didn’t know, nor would I meet until much later, one single girl who was attending college with any real education or career goal in mind. That’s not to say that we weren’t a determined gaggle of girls. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever met a more singularly focused group of people since. The aim of our focus, you ask? Why, to get married, of course! Taking classes and working toward graduation was merely a time killer until Mr. Right walked in to sweep you off your feet.

Such was the world in which I lived: where everyone “joked” about getting their MRS degree and virtually every activity was geared toward putting guys and girls in situations where “love” could be found. Making it through your first year of college without a marriage proposal was akin to being placed on the “Spinster for Life” list. I was as deeply entrenched in this way of thinking as you could get and that is why I sat in my closet crying (and because I’d had my heart good and truly broken as only a teenage girl can). That’s where and how my roommate and best friend found me. And, as only a best friend can, she told me to get out of there, stop snuffling all over her shoes, fix my makeup and show that silly boy just what he’s losing!

Let me tell you! It worked! I dried my eyes and got all glammed up for a school-sponsored activity that I was pretty sure my newly-minted ex would be attending. I was fashionably late but knew I had caught his eye the second I walked through the door. As soon as the event was over, he came up to me and asked if we could speak in private. We reconciled that night; two weeks later, he proposed and two months later, we were married! It was like a dream come true! Ok, ok, that totally did NOT happen. But, I did dust myself off and I never cried in my closet again.

When I look back at that first romantic experience, I think the thing that was most disappointing to me is that I had sincerely hoped college would be my chance to break the cycle. I was never very good at relationships. Whether it’s inherent or learned, I’m emotionally stifled. Instead of simply voicing how I feel, I attempt to weigh out whether saying what’s on my mind will seem too gushy or not sincere enough. I balance the pros and cons of being completely honest regarding my feelings before I open my mouth. And, more often than not, I shut my mouth before I say anything at all. Over time, I’ve learned that this is largely due to fear that my feelings will not be reciprocated. I’ve repeatedly tried to convince myself that if I don’t say something out loud, I can’t be hurt by the intended’s actions. Through experience, I’ve learned that this is definitely not true but, somehow, the illogic still (even today) makes sense in my mind.

During my second year of college I would meet someone who would help me step over that wall I kept around me. He never struggled to find the words to express himself and I felt bolstered by his confidence and self-assurance. Meeting him would be the start of a turning point in my life such as I never imagined possible.

The Graduate

One spring day some years back, I graduated from high school. I lived and attended school in a very small town and it’s hard to imagine anyone else being more excited than me to get out and start living life for real in a real city. The last several months of anticipation leading up to the great exodus had me believing this move was as big as going to Europe or exploring Antarctica or living on the very mysterious east coast of the United States. Of course, all this really meant is that I would be moving 250 miles south to attend college in a city with a population of approximately 60,000. But! I was going with my best friend; we would be living in our very own apartment (with 4 other girls, 3 of whom we knew virtually nothing about prior to move-in); and, there would be boys! Oh, the boys… Finally, after four years of nothing but silly high school boys, we would get to meet real men. Men who go to college. Men who know how to treat a girl right. Men who would be serious about relationships and wouldn’t play games. Men who would be looking to get married. If there was one thing I was more excited about than leaving that small town, it was getting married.

The funny thing about life when you’re a “kid” is that you tend to believe what you’re told without much question. For instance, I grew up believing that the proper steps for me to take are as follows:

         1.       Graduate from high school (yes, everything seems to begin at that magical moment).

         2.       Go to college.

         3.       Get married.

         4.       Have babies.

         5.       Stay home and raise babies.

I’m still not really sure what comes after #5. I was fairly certain that once I had achieved #3 and #4, completing #2 was optional. If success can be gauged using that list, I would say I was 90% successful. Within two years of graduation, I was well on my way to having checked everything off as done and done. I hadn’t yet realized I was sitting on a ticking time bomb. I’ll get to that but let’s back up to the start of my freshman year.

Keep in mind I’m writing about these experiences miles and miles and years and years down the road. There’s much I’ve forgotten about that time but I still remember enough to make me giggle sometimes and, other times, cock my head to the side and shrug my shoulders - some things/people you can never quite figure out. So, I arrived at my new apartment on the appointed day, loaded down with every worldly possession I had decided could not be lived without. The complex was alive with activity. Most of my roommates had already arrived and were settling in. We unpacked and took pictures and rushed our parents out the door so that we could finally start growing up. It was a whirlwind weekend and that’s just about everything I remember about it. Except…

I met a boy. Who would’ve thought? College housing was unlike anything I could have imagined! We met people all the time simply because they knocked on our door. Sometimes they were looking for one of my roommates, sometimes for someone who had previously occupied my apartment and sometimes they were just looking. On one of those first days, a young man dropped by who had known some of my roommates from the previous year. For one reason or another, he and I began talking and seemed to hit it off and just like that, I had my first real boyfriend in college!

(Before I go on, a word or two about the heart of Sophia Dellis: Despite assumptions and accusations that instead of a warm, beating heart, a cold, hard block of ice actually fills that particular cavity in my chest, this is not so. I will grant that when it comes to expressing my feelings “in the moment”, words often fail me [or I fail them]. Too many times to count, I’ve literally choked on the sentiment as it came up my throat and scurried toward my mouth, attempting to splatter on the recipient’s chest. So, yes, I often keep my teeth firmly clamped. It’s something I’m working on. All that being said, I don’t think I’m deficient in the heart department just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve. You can pretty well expect that if you are kind to me, you’ll get a piece of my heart.)

Therapy

They say writing is therapeutic. I’m not really sure who “they” are and I can’t say for certain that “they” have actually ever said that to me specifically. However, when I tell people that’s what they say, they seem to agree. Personally, I believe reading is therapeutic. I have read several pieces throughout my life by various artists (books, poems, short stories, fiction, nonfiction, biographical works) that capture with near-perfection the experiences of my life and emotions I’ve felt as a result of those experiences.

It occurred to me not long ago that, while we may be individuals living very different lives, the events in our lives are really not that different. If you take that a step further, we are bound to have similar reactions and feelings regarding the things we experience. If this were not the case, I wouldn’t be able to identify so exactly with the writings of others that, ultimately (or basically?), have nothing to do with me.

(I suppose this line of thinking [even before I realized it was a line of thinking] is what encouraged me to begin writing from a personal perspective. I’ve tried, infrequently, to put a few thoughts down over the years and I have a handful of pieces I’ve even managed to complete [literally, a handful] which I intend to share and add to.)

I wish that I could say I had experienced a major breakthrough as a result of something I had read and thought to myself, “Wow! I bet if I wrote about my experiences, I could help someone else this same way! There have to be others going through these same things and maybe, just maybe, I can shed some light.” Unfortunately, I haven’t had a breakthrough and I don’t think that. Mostly, while reading, what I find myself thinking is, “Hah! I can totally relate to that!”

I’m a problem solver. I like to look at the facts, reason out the course of events, determine the how and why and then neatly store it all away in the “I Get It Now” file. As time goes on, I find this increasingly difficult to do. And, so, I’m attempting to change my way of thinking. Perhaps, there are situations that are just too convoluted to be so neatly dissected. In which case, maybe the best I can hope for is that I’ll come in contact with another person who understands what I’m going through, a common thread that binds us together.

That is what brings me to this exact place. Looking back at my life, I think I’ve had some interesting experiences, nothing extreme or out of the ordinary, but interesting. If you read about things that have happened to me and hope to gain insight into your own life, I can’t promise you will find that. I have little insight to offer and even fewer answers. But, hopefully, if you relate to my experiences, you’ll remember that, even if we can’t solve all the hows and whys and neatly tuck it all away, you’re not alone.

And, so, it begins…