…well, how did I get here?
That’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot in the past several days: How on Earth did this happen?
How did I go from the (self-appointed) champion of single women everywhere to a BRIDE in less than a year?
How did I go from spending the grocery money on shoes to pinching pennies in order to pay for a WEDDING?
How did I go from Bachelor Girl to WIFE?
Well, how DID I get here?
Until just a couple days ago, I didn’t really have a good answer.
Like Katie said, I felt a definite yearning last year. I loved being single; loved it. I even loved the parts most single people hate – living alone, sleeping alone, figuring it out alone. Heck, I even loved dating! (Well, most of the time.) But I won’t lie; there was something missing, though at the time, I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
In the couple of months before I met The Guy, I had come to accept the distinct possibility that I might be single for the rest of my life. This conclusion didn’t exactly trigger a pity party, but there was some grief over it. I mean, I knew I would probably have relationships – maybe even some really good ones – but I came to terms with the fact that I might not end up married.
The hardest part of that was the idea that I might never get to share my life with someone. And that was a bittersweet moment, because I realized that I didn’t long for a partner so much when times were hard as when times were really good. My family and friends are so supportive. Seriously, if I told them I decided to go to the moon so I could write a travel piece on it and try to sell it to Texas Monthly, they’d help me pack, throw me a bon voyage party and start arguing amongst themselves about where in my apartment I should display my forthcoming Pulitzer. And if I started writing now and didn’t quit until the day I die, I could never fully explain to you how much that kind of love means to me. But let’s face it – it’s just not the same as sharing those ambitions and successes with a life partner.
So once I accepted that I might never be Mrs. Bachelor Girl, I had to decide just what, exactly, I planned to do about that. Finally, I said to myself, “Well, then you have to make sure your life is as fulfilling as possible in every other way.” And I set out to do just that.
And that, my friends, is when it hit me:
I know now EXACTLY how I got here.
One day, my friend Ryan called me and told me about a job opportunity. I thought about it and decided it was something I really, really wanted to do. However, I was completely and utterly underqualified for this particular position. No matter. Ryan said he would teach me everything I needed to know, and he did. I became more familiar with The New York Times and the Internet Broadway Database than any human being should ever be for any reason.
And long story short, I met The Guy, like, a month later.
Luck? Of course. Blessing from God? Sure. But I think there’s a less metaphysical explanation, too:
I got busy pursuing something I loved, and I met someone who shared that passion. I wasn’t focused on “meeting someone,” so ironically, when I met someone, I was much more myself than I probably ordinarily would have been. I wasn’t fretting about whether or not he would like me or think I was good enough (because I had already decided I am likeable and “good enough”), so I could evaluate very clearly whether or not he was the right person for me. Interestingly, because I wasn’t caught up in analyzing his every action, I felt freer to simply do nice things for him and make him happy, because I liked him.
I still do like him. Very much, actually.
Are we perfect?
What? Oh. Ahem. Sorry. Uh, NO. No, we are not.
(For one thing, he loves British comedy, and I have tried, SWEET JESUS YOU KNOW I HAVE TRIED, but dude, I just don’t get it. I guess. Because he’ll be about to wet the sofa laughing and I’ll be sitting there going, “What? What’d they say? Rewind it. Was that supposed to be funny? Did they say something about Tories again? Huh?” And he wants to stab me in the face. Because if it’s not Ricky Gervais or Eddie Izzard, then it’s going right the eff over my little American head.)
But we ARE perfect for each other.
(Either of us just has to utter the words “book,” “report,” “Peter” or “rabbit” in any order for the other to burst into song.)
And in two days, I’m going to MARRY him!
And I’ll know exactly how I got there.