I'll be okay.
Well, even though my jaw is still sore, I am emerging from invalidom today to go to work. (Yeah, that's totally how I wanted to emerge back into the world, right?) I thought I'd include here, though, a letter I wrote last night. I'm just gonna cut out some names of people and places so that I don't embarrass myself too much, but here goes.
Dear _____,
Why am I terrified of staying here? moving to _____ is deeper than my accused girlish delusion of being near you (What else is in _____ but ______? Mom asks. She ignores the "A better school" response and I fail to say "and thousands of miles between me and your endless questions.")
______'s marriage (and child!!) startled me, I admit. Are we really growing up? Having families, making legacies? Why am I so far behind everyone else? Do I have to do this? (It beats the alternative.) How much time do I have before I'm the only single person left, and is waiting more or less mature than starting up at what seems like such a young (though certainly not inexperienced) age? Am I selfish, stupid, slow? I don't know. This is worse than being a teenager. at least as a teenager, I had my belligerence.
But why am I relentlessly afraid to move to _______? I hinted at part of it to Dad, I think. MY best friend, living in _______, so nearby) is getting married, too. And I don't know where I fit into the ______-and-_____ equation. I'm so good at long distance relationships, and I don't want to lose her.
But furthermore, I'm afraid of meeting some lively Bible School Boy and losing my head and marrying him.
My life would be over. The very thought fills me with despair: my mother's smug grin as I was wrong and gained willingly everything I insisted that I loathed. I would become HER, in essence. And being a pastor's wife, what of that? !!! What on earth IS that? A sentence to tongue biting and self effacing and churchbrat raising? No Thank You. (I'm a pastor's kid myself, you see, and have had quite enough of church-politic-hypocrisy, thanks.)
But what else is it about _______? Something else is nagging. It is a city that I love, but under what conditions? Penned up, forced to live in it through the restrictive expectations of friend, family, and the parents' alama mater administration? Someone calling at midnight calling me Sugar (can you think of a more unlikely nickname?) asking me to crash the marital party (third wheel, anyone?) Someone writing home at my every non sequitur remark in the classroom or unsavory opinion spoken amid the sheltered minds of our future ministry? Someone dropping in on the weekends unexpectedly and wanting lunch, church together, a TALK, when all this girl wants is to be away? Surely you, you who are probably nothing like I imagine and would blush at the compliment of your supposed character- surely you understand the peril I face if I do, ineed perform the unexpected role of eldest daughter and parental-footstep-following laid out for me?
And what of ________? What expansive skies and endless flat tornadoed raries draw me there? Of all places! I have already asserted that it is not you, though I will admit only to you that it was your constant painting of _____ as a lovely place that first peaked my interest so long ago. I have for some time owned this and not connected it to you or anyone, though.
Even now (a year ahead!) my mother tries to dissuade me (without sounding like it).
I don't want this to be a reactionary decision. I don't want to be the girl who went because Mom said No. I just want it to be my decision. Honestly, I want to be called somewhere. I want to be wanted, welcomed, I want to belong. I have moved approximately 16 times in the 19 years of my life thus far, more being in the past 6 than in all the rest. I am a little tired of being the new girl, and just want something of my own to belong to. I don't think I'd know belonging if it smacked me in the face.
And what of you? Who are you, really? I seem to recall that you like cigars. I used to smoke them, when I lived alone in Las Vegas last year. My mother thinks they are wretched and I ran out of money so I've had to give them up, but still have a soft spot for their scent.
You will probably never connect to me, never read this even, never acknowledge my existence, you, with the golden life and charm and every awkward movement made just for my own delight (in my personal rendition of you, of course). You'll never know me. I will be chickenshit and go to _______. Or maybe I will take a deep breath and get on a plane to _____ and pay my dues as a student once more, but our paths will never corss and so my delusion will survive and your life will be all the less bothered by the absence of me. And you will move on in life and I will greet my fate and move on to the next adventure and even forget you.
I am not a forgetful girl. I am eloquent and charming and polite, devout and fascinated by difference, curious and excited by intellectual banter, constantly submerged in books, addicted to my one love (writing, ha, ha), blond, blue-eyed, sharp as a tack, wit of similar calibre, adventuresome, appropriate, and even punctual. Sometimes I am sad, but most of the time I am placidly happy, and always I am,
Faithfully,
Meghan
PS: Please chalk this up to the post-wisdom teeth removal meds.
Dignity thus surrendered, and letter wisely unsent but still somehow significant for me, I am going to go remove my Gritty Girl exterior guise that I've donned for the time of my sick leave, shave, take a long hot shower, change out of the sweatpants uniform that I've adopted, and make myself presentable to the world once again.
And maybe, someday, I'll prove myself wrong. I hope to God that I do.
Dear _____,
Why am I terrified of staying here? moving to _____ is deeper than my accused girlish delusion of being near you (What else is in _____ but ______? Mom asks. She ignores the "A better school" response and I fail to say "and thousands of miles between me and your endless questions.")
______'s marriage (and child!!) startled me, I admit. Are we really growing up? Having families, making legacies? Why am I so far behind everyone else? Do I have to do this? (It beats the alternative.) How much time do I have before I'm the only single person left, and is waiting more or less mature than starting up at what seems like such a young (though certainly not inexperienced) age? Am I selfish, stupid, slow? I don't know. This is worse than being a teenager. at least as a teenager, I had my belligerence.
But why am I relentlessly afraid to move to _______? I hinted at part of it to Dad, I think. MY best friend, living in _______, so nearby) is getting married, too. And I don't know where I fit into the ______-and-_____ equation. I'm so good at long distance relationships, and I don't want to lose her.
But furthermore, I'm afraid of meeting some lively Bible School Boy and losing my head and marrying him.
My life would be over. The very thought fills me with despair: my mother's smug grin as I was wrong and gained willingly everything I insisted that I loathed. I would become HER, in essence. And being a pastor's wife, what of that? !!! What on earth IS that? A sentence to tongue biting and self effacing and churchbrat raising? No Thank You. (I'm a pastor's kid myself, you see, and have had quite enough of church-politic-hypocrisy, thanks.)
But what else is it about _______? Something else is nagging. It is a city that I love, but under what conditions? Penned up, forced to live in it through the restrictive expectations of friend, family, and the parents' alama mater administration? Someone calling at midnight calling me Sugar (can you think of a more unlikely nickname?) asking me to crash the marital party (third wheel, anyone?) Someone writing home at my every non sequitur remark in the classroom or unsavory opinion spoken amid the sheltered minds of our future ministry? Someone dropping in on the weekends unexpectedly and wanting lunch, church together, a TALK, when all this girl wants is to be away? Surely you, you who are probably nothing like I imagine and would blush at the compliment of your supposed character- surely you understand the peril I face if I do, ineed perform the unexpected role of eldest daughter and parental-footstep-following laid out for me?
And what of ________? What expansive skies and endless flat tornadoed raries draw me there? Of all places! I have already asserted that it is not you, though I will admit only to you that it was your constant painting of _____ as a lovely place that first peaked my interest so long ago. I have for some time owned this and not connected it to you or anyone, though.
Even now (a year ahead!) my mother tries to dissuade me (without sounding like it).
I don't want this to be a reactionary decision. I don't want to be the girl who went because Mom said No. I just want it to be my decision. Honestly, I want to be called somewhere. I want to be wanted, welcomed, I want to belong. I have moved approximately 16 times in the 19 years of my life thus far, more being in the past 6 than in all the rest. I am a little tired of being the new girl, and just want something of my own to belong to. I don't think I'd know belonging if it smacked me in the face.
And what of you? Who are you, really? I seem to recall that you like cigars. I used to smoke them, when I lived alone in Las Vegas last year. My mother thinks they are wretched and I ran out of money so I've had to give them up, but still have a soft spot for their scent.
You will probably never connect to me, never read this even, never acknowledge my existence, you, with the golden life and charm and every awkward movement made just for my own delight (in my personal rendition of you, of course). You'll never know me. I will be chickenshit and go to _______. Or maybe I will take a deep breath and get on a plane to _____ and pay my dues as a student once more, but our paths will never corss and so my delusion will survive and your life will be all the less bothered by the absence of me. And you will move on in life and I will greet my fate and move on to the next adventure and even forget you.
I am not a forgetful girl. I am eloquent and charming and polite, devout and fascinated by difference, curious and excited by intellectual banter, constantly submerged in books, addicted to my one love (writing, ha, ha), blond, blue-eyed, sharp as a tack, wit of similar calibre, adventuresome, appropriate, and even punctual. Sometimes I am sad, but most of the time I am placidly happy, and always I am,
Faithfully,
Meghan
PS: Please chalk this up to the post-wisdom teeth removal meds.
Dignity thus surrendered, and letter wisely unsent but still somehow significant for me, I am going to go remove my Gritty Girl exterior guise that I've donned for the time of my sick leave, shave, take a long hot shower, change out of the sweatpants uniform that I've adopted, and make myself presentable to the world once again.
And maybe, someday, I'll prove myself wrong. I hope to God that I do.