My father is a man of few words, but I’ve always said that those few words are almost always gems, and certainly worth paying attention to. One of his favorite sayings is that “everything is relative” … to be sure, he didn’t come up with the idea on his own, but I find myself smiling as I mull over the events of the last, oh, week or so, and understanding how one of his aphorisms applies so well to my life.
Yesterday, I had a few hours free to let my mind wander. I’d brought along a book, as well as the notebook I scribble my thoughts in when I’m feeling the impulse to write (you may know, I refuse to call this a “journal,” because doing so — in my mind — implies some regularity to what I write, when in fact I often go months without writing a thing). I ended up spending the bulk of my time yesterday reading over the last six months of this blog, as well as the stuff I’ve written in my purple notebook since last Thanksgiving (when this particular notebook was begun).
I have always been the kind of person who obsessively saves everything she writes. Ask people who know me well, and there’s a decent chance they’ll have a story of a time when I thought I’d lost a notebook or a set of sent e-mails, the very thought of which sends my emotions plunging downward. The reason? As I routinely admit here, I’m the kind of person who’s very introspective and reflective in nature, and I find it to be very comforting and illuminating to look back at what I was thinking or feeling at different parts of my life.
It’s great, really, to do something like that and come away feeling as though I’ve done some significant growing over that timespan. It’s great to know that things that were worrying me a few months ago have worked themselves out. It’s great to know that I’ve become so much more willing to put myself out there, particularly when you observe how much more frequently I’ve been willing to talk about my own internal struggles these last several months.
Many of you Liz groupies know — if not specifically because we’ve talked about it, then indirectly through my cryptic comments — that I’ve been dangling my toes in the dating pool again, with my usual mix of bizarre, unfortunate, and interesting experiences. Some were great, others not so much. Throughout this time, I’ve felt inner turmoil in giving too much detail about those experiences… and not just here in my blog, whose readership includes people for whom such details aren’t exactly welcomed. (And despite the fact that I really wish I could not care about how my musings affect other people, I do, and probably always will.) My internal debate has been so much more than just that, though, and largely a result of my worry that I might be trying to move on too quickly. I’m trying very hard to stop sending myself negative messages, ala “you shouldn’t be doing this; it’s wrong,” but I’m a perfectionist and never really satisfied that I’m doing the right thing on the best of days. 😉
But what struck me yesterday was how differently I now see a few things than I did even just a few weeks ago. You know how, as you go through your life, you’re kind of constructing a narrative about what’s happening? Maybe you share this narrative with others, or maybe you keep it to yourself, but either way, it structures how you view new things or people who come into your life.
Something I wrote in February as a way of trying to overthink what seemed, at the time, to be out-of-control emotions … well, it just struck me so differently yesterday than when I wrote it. Reading it now, in the context of all that has happened since, helped me to understand why things have evolved as they have, and why I should be grateful that life, as always, has worked itself out in the best way possible. At the time, I was making excuses, trying to resolve the cognitive dissonance inherent in wanting something that just wasn’t right… that was good, but not the right choice.
For a couple of months now, as I’ve been talking to friends about my adventures in dating and speculating on what I’d like to find, I’ve been telling people that I wanted to find something stable and exclusive, but not leading to anything serious for a while. And I really did believe that to be the case… that I wanted to keep my head about me and proceed with caution.
But c’mon. Seriously?! This is Liz Norell we’re talking about, and when it comes to matters of the heart, I’ve never been one to take the cautious, slow, careful path. I needn’t pepper you with examples to make my point. Just a few weeks ago, I was blogging about how I lead a passionate life, putting so much of myself out there without abandon… and have tremendous hope that some day, that passion and love will come back to me. I’ve always wanted to find it, but because I was never before completely convinced I deserved to have it, I wasn’t always great at holding out for the dream. (Which is not to say I’ve had bad experiences, just that I’ve come to believe that there’s something more, something greater, to be found.)
It’s not right to say, at this early juncture, whether or not I’ve found it. But the really amazing thing, the thing that has me giddy and swooning and staring off into space … is that I’m ready for it. I’m ready, I’m hopeful, and I’m finally in the right place with myself to let it happen. I believe. And as a friend once told me, the power of just believing should never, ever be underestimated.