Everything changes in your twenties and your twenties change everything.

On my first date with Matt, I was a 24 year old with a new master's degree, one week of teaching under my belt, a new apartment and new roommates. I had been living the single girl's life in the city and really enjoying the freedom in that. I stayed out at bars until they closed, I walked home alone texting and ordered pizzas to share at 3am. I drank Bud Light or Miller High Life exclusively because they were cheap. I wore lots of brown and chandelier earrings. I had super long, blonde hair and could run 3 blocks wearing high heels. I worked out only occasionally and that meant 25 minutes on an elliptical trainer texting a cute boy about where he was going that night.

This was only 3 years ago. When Matt picked me up for our first date I wasn't ready. My roommate had woken me up from a nap (boy, did that first week of teaching really wear me out!) and I was in the shower when he knocked on the door. I answered the door with wet hair, a towel around me, and gave him a beer to drink while he talked to my roommate. I had only lived there a few days so I rummaged through trash bags to find shoes to wear. My cheeks were pink from liberally applied blush and the heat of the blow dryer. I wore hot pink high heels so high and so tight on my chubby feet that they left red marks and blisters from just putting them on. I hoped he wouldn't notice that I wasn't graceful enough for them.

At dinner we talked about his trip to Spain in high school, favorite spots in Brighton, our families and friends and all the standard first date chats. He talked with his hands and didn't seem bored with me. He asked me so much about myself, it was strange not to have to carry the conversation. The restaurant was really hot and his brow got a little sweaty. I smiled and gave him permission to wipe it with his napkin; he seemed aware and self-conscious about it. His teeth were perfectly straight and we talked about how he'd never had braces. His hair was so dark and his knees touched mine under the table because his legs were long. He asked me so politely if I'd like a second glass of sangria and he was not wearing sneakers. I had never been on a date with someone not wearing sneakers. I had never been on a date with someone who owned dress shoes. When he excused himself to go to the restroom, I called my sister and whispered into the phone, "I feel like I'm on the first date with my husband." I hung up quickly so he wouldn't come back and see I'd made a call.

When dinner was over we met my roommates at a nearby bar for drinks. This was standard dating procedure, whenever any of us went on a date the others waited at a nearby bar. If the date was awful, it was a quick "thanks for dinner" and straight to the bar to tell the horror story to the girls. If it was decent,  well then my friends just happened to be out nearby, did he want to stop for a drink with them? With this plan, we could all judge him together. As he ordered me a beer at the bar, I confessed to my friends that he seemed really great but I wasn't sure if he was too serious for me. The front man of the ac/dc cover band sprang his tiny body up onto the bar (yes, there was a cover band at the bar). The guy grabbed a bottle of whiskey and started pouring it into open mouths below. Embarrassed that this was where I'd taken the man wearing dress shoes, I looked up at Matt. He was stood next to me, occasionally putting his hand on the small of my back and making conversation with my friends. I watched as he opened his mouth, let in a big swig of whiskey and grinned.

It's funny how little things tell you a lot about a person. I wasn't looking to learn that Matt had a drinking problem (which he does not, by the way) but more that he could relax with me. It's been 2 and half years now and being with Matt has taught me that it really isn't what a person says, its what he does. I was always looking for red flags in my life, signs that showed me to back away, move forward, make a change. I had never let myself see the other kind of sign, the "white flags" of surrender to the good stuff.

Now my Saturday nights are slow dancing in the kitchen and wine by the fireplace. Watching rented movies on the couch or heading to happy hour. Its crock pot meals and cups of tea. Scented candles and loads of laundry. I've planted my big white flag in our front lawn and I've surrendered. He is my home.

Letters in my head.

Recently I've been writing letters in my head. I'm wondering if this is normal, if this is something that others do. It's becoming so frequent that I can't stop drafting letters. Then I thought---that would be a neat way to tell a story. Maybe since I'm pretending to be a writer in my head all of the time, I can take my imaginary correspondence to more permanent product. Here is a list of persons/organizations to whom I've drafted letters in my head:

1. Superintendent of my school district--regarding the unjust parking situation at my school and my lack of a computer and printer--3rd year in a row.

2. Translator Man--I hold you personally responsible for much of the events that transpired in my professional life this fall. You are a meddler. My letters to you are never nice, but they are always so eloquent that the powers-at-be have no choice but to terminate your employment. Forever.

3. A woman at work--sometimes I feel glad to know that she exists. It sounds a bit stalker-esque, I know, but she is light to me. Always positive, always literally glowing with joy or reason in madness. I don't even speak with her often. But I write her letters appreciating her positivity.

4. G--we are coming to the end of our journey together. I write a lot of letters to you. You are my inspiration, you hold a big piece of my heart, it breaks a bit with each day that brings us closer to our separation. I would teach you forever if you'd have me.

5. Mom--I write letters to the mom that I knew as a child. The one whistling as she did housework, the one "resting her eyes" on the steps of deck she waited for our school bus, the one who surprised us with cinnamon rolls on cold winter mornings. Mom--to you now. To the part of you I feel is lost, the part of you I'm becoming an adult friend to, and the part of you that I feel determined to bring peace.

6. Brother. What happened to us? And this letter goes on and on...

7. Matt. To whom I dedicate all my love letters.

8. T and J at work--I write you cards, specifically. Thank you cards, in my head, every night before I go to sleep. Maybe its my way of thanking the universe for you both and all you've brought to my life recently.

9. Z. I know you're sad. I know your life is hard. I want to help you. I love you.

10. To all the little souls I'm surrounded by each day: I love you. Thank you for giving me more love than I ever thought possible. Thank you for making this so much more than a job. You break my heart, you build me up, you make me laugh, and you show me how resilient is the human spirit.

Perhaps this is why I never sleep through the night.

I don't live there anymore.

As horrible as this is--I shall now quote myself from my own facebook status:

"Having my first 'listen to girl music, drink wine, and fiddle on the computer while thinking about my feelings night' except this time there's a man watching baseball 5 feet away and I'm wearing headphones. Yikes!"



That's right, I am someone's live-in girlfriend. Adutlhood as arrived. Yesterday the big highlight was a couples run and reorganizing the kitchen. I kept repeating the phrase, "Function is the key. We want it to be functional." Who am I??? I'm surprising myself so much these past few days. I'm organizing, packing, unpacking, and bossing--with fervor. I feel so...settled. I've spent the past few hours looking through my itunes, drinking sauvignon blanc, and looking at my old writings. Is it strange to feel like your old self can have a chat with the you of right now? I just want to tell/ask myself the following things:



1. You made it! You're finally in a relationship with a mutual love, respect, and commitment.

2. Wow, aren't we glad all that wondering is over?

3. Do you miss the wondering a little bit?

4. See, you can still have your secret single behavior (SSB) with him around. You just have to wear headphones.

5. Stop being "old you" and over-thinking everything. It's just organizing a kitchen. Remember, you wanted all this so enjoy it for what it is and stop trying to explain away your behavior as if its wrong because its new.



True to form, I'm listening to Dashboard Confessional and texting my friends. Every once in a while he looks over at me when I giggle out loud, sing a quick lyric softly, or just to see what the hell is she doing over there for so long. I enjoy that I can still have this private girl time even with him in the same room. I don't know why its so important to me to keep separate in all this togetherness. I think I just needed to feel what this is like without him, since he'll be traveling for work so much and I'll be alone a lot this month coming up. See how it feels to have not just these moments of "aloneness" but also how it feels to by myself here. I am someone who needs to sing her singer/songwriter music out loud when I feel in a funky mood, I am someone who likes a glass of wine at night, I am someone who likes to reflect on all the passages of my life, I am someone who likes to overanalyze and feel and be emotional. I am someone who likes to hear acoustic guitars whilst I engage in all of these sullen behaviors. I am someone who knows that these are great natural mood elevators for me. To write, to be alone with what I'm thinking, to feel like its just me in the world, contemplating what will happen next for me. I'm someone who likes to celebrate the love I've found privately, while writing about it in a public venue.


The best part of living with him so far---I can do all this, typing away fanatically, not speaking to him for two hours, and bobbing my head around while singing under my breath. The best part is, he doesn't seem to mind, he just watched the TV and sips his vodka-tonic.

Wait. I just pulled my headphones off because I heard, "STEPH! STEPH" What are you doing? I've been trying to get your attention for 5 minutes..."

I guess this is living together.

Progress so far!

On Monday, it will be one month since I started weight watchers. I've lost 7 lbs. in 3 weeks and I'll weigh in tomorrow morning. It was Matt's birthday on Friday so we went out to celebrate. I had some delicious cheese! I haven't really been eating cheese so this was a very big deal. I'm not expecting a great loss this week, but I would like to have not gained.

I also ran 4 miles last week. For me, this is huge! I'm so proud of myself for making out there twice and going for a real run. I enjoyed it too, another first for me. The pond where I live is so beautiful and the neighborhood is full of interesting houses and yards, lots of people to watch. I downloaded some new songs for my ipod as a treat to myself. It was so peaceful and I think I felt my first "runner's high." I wasn't thinking how much I hated it, or how it was hard to breathe, I just listened to my music and jogged along. I think moving my body at a pace that's comfortable really made all the difference. I wasn't trying to keep up with anyone or thinking about how many calories I wanted to burn, I just ran. My one goal was not to stop until I made the loop twice. If I felt myself getting tired, I jogged slower. When a new song came on, it made me speed up. I loved it! I bought some new running clothes last week and I'm hoping to make this a regular event.

I'm most proud of my attitude with these changes. I'm not trying to meet lofty goals or be perfect all the time. If I'm jogging, at least I'm out there doing it, if I'm eating cheese, at least I know its a treat for eating healthy all week. I feel a clarity within myself that I'm not sure I've ever experienced. I'm letting go of the need for perfection, or looking at this as a competition. I'm not comparing myself to other people or to how I used to look. I'm getting healthy and it feels great. For the first time, I'm excited about being successful in making a change for me. It's amazing how good it feels to be kind to myself.

Revisiting Girlhood

In high school I would sit on my bedroom floor, cross-legged, and listen to music for hours. I would sit on that teal colored rug, staring at the tan stain in the corner from nail polish remover I had spilled. I'd listen to all the voices telling me how to feel about everything in my world. My mother would open the door, never preceded by a knock, and ask me what how my homework was coming. In all my recollections of my mother at home she is always holding a laundry basket. As I look toward my own future motherhood, future matrimony, I do not see a laundry basket in my hands. I'm not sure why my mother did all of the housework, why she didn't have us do more to help, make us responsible for our own things.

I didn't do laundry until halfway through my first semester of college. An overweight, teddy-bear shaped boy named Gordy taught me. For the first few loads he supervised me, explaining how you can mix whites and darks if you wanted by using cold water. This horrified me. My mother would never do such a thing. I chose to laboriously separate my whites and darks, checking in with Gordy to see where grey was supposed to go. The first time I did laundry alone, I forgot the soap and simply rinsed my clothes. I did not realize this until they were finished drying and it occurred to me that I had forgotten this step. I think I washed them again. My roommate made fun of me. She loved the color black and had teenbeat posters of boy bands on her side of the room. She got upset because no one would come in and ask for her. When I came home late from the Tampa clubs, she made me easy-mac. I was always appreciative.

On the floor in my childhood bedroom, I created a world inside my mind with the music. I was a woman scorned, an outcast misunderstood, a lover trying to make things right with her man. Sometimes I walk by the middle school girls in the cafeteria and wonder if there is one of them who was like me. Purposefully isolated and always entertained. I don't believe there is one person who really understood my head during those times, myself included. Now as I listen to that same music, songs I haven't heard since the teal rug, I miss that girl.

I miss having mini dramas that consumed every breath, every moment. I miss writing in my journal by flashlight, hidden under the covers in my bottom bunk bed, moving the blue ink slowly so my sister would not wake. It would get so hot I would pull the blanket down from my head, lift my face up and take a few replenishing breaths. I wrote until my hand ached and my eyes began to close. So many of the pages end this way, incoherent thoughts and shaky letters, as if suddenly an old woman borrowed my pen. I miss the word "someday," how writing that word held so much agonizing possibility. I have always hated not knowing the future. Would he still like me? Would she ever be nice to me? Would I ever get invited to those parties? Would I ever feel like I belonged somewhere? Someday...

I think I'm still waiting. Although sometimes the not belonging feelings, the unsteadiness, is only followed by being able to look back and see how I got through something scary. I felt things so intensely on those journal pages. I really lived each day attuned with how I felt about what happened around me and to me. I miss that girl, the one who knew with certainty how uncertain it all was, and made it all ok for herself. I think the adult me loses that ability, struggles with trying to make it all ok for everyone around me, rather than taking care of myself.

Maybe that explains why my mom was always holding a laundry basket.