Hi, friends. Aloha, bonjour, and warm greetings from my computer desk in my nearly-official new residence, Michael’s home. February is when my lease officially finishes, but we’ve been weighing the pros, the cons, and the- “oh, what the hell. You’re already living with me, so let’s move you in and pay off the broken lease agreement.”
So it’s settled. The past two weeks has been a flurry of cardboard boxes (my VS luggage bags, filled to the brim with clothes), back-and-forth trips, “heavy” lifting, and now most of my furniture and belongings are here with me. We’ve been sharing a bed for over 6 months, have His and Hers bathrooms, towels, the works. We frequent IKEA, looking for new additions to our home. I’m gazing around my new “office” with the different shades of paint on the walls, and friends… this is now home. This is beautiful to me. Everything about this scenario screams “right.”
We teetered over having my tabby-calico mix, London, move in with us, too, but I decided against it. I am now in the works, finding her a brand new, wonderful family. I’m gunning for someone I know well so that I might get her back someday. (Sounds like a loaner deal, doesn’t it? Blockbuster: the Feline Rendition?)
Michael and I will have been together 10 months halfway through December. It goes without saying how very different this feels to me. By month 10 of dating and even KNOWING each other, my ex-husband and I were wed. I recall coming home from my honeymoon, and having a silent panic attack. We’d just returned home from Maui, brand new apartment, new city, new furniture and nothing about me was calm. In my mind, I was thinking, “oh, okay. Well, fun vacation… now, will you take me back home?” Only thing was, I was home. I felt guilty for having doubts, for wanting to run away when I was “supposed” to be ecstatic to be a Newlywed. I was at unease for 3 1/2 years after that. These days, I’m hearing from others that his parents are pretty much “throwing him” at any female who crosses their line of vision. I think back and… I became that first “target.” Being so young, I was overjoyed at the thought of something permanent, getting away from the mess at home… he presented the opportunity, and you better as hell believe that I took it. I can put the past behind me when I genuinely wish him the best for the future. I do know that whomever he ends up with, she’ll demand better attention than I received.
Now, I’m only in my mid-twenties, but there is one thing I know for certain: love doesn’t hurt. Love is a verb: it’s a conscious choice. It takes BOTH counterparts working, tirelessly, to make the relationship work… and yet, should feel effortless. You should want to wake up to him/her every single day and still root for them, support them, and love them on days when it’s hard to like them. It’s a partnership with all of the best, most magical benefits ever dreamed up.Growing up, I was expecting Prince Charming to come along, just as every other wide-eyed girl from that religion. But now, I have something even better: a charming young man, who’s perfectly imperfect and so fitting for me. I love him. We’ll decide on our own terms if or when we’ll get married, because here’s the key: it’d be our marriage and not anyone else’s. I can’t let anyone else decide this for us. We’re figuring out, together, if we can stand the (non-existent) snoring and other quirky habits that come from seeing each other outside the dating or marriage realm.
I don’t need Ty Pennington at this moment, I already feel sufficiently welcomed home.