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Sunday, May 22, 2011

The value of being optional...

I sometimes overthink my life. I say sometimes, but really it's quite often. This results in me taking something that I logically know and twisting it through my own warped mind into a new creation that often bears little resemblence to it's true form. This is sometimes the case with a single sentence. I read the inflection wrong and spend the next several hours trying to figure out what it actually means and coming up with the variation that is most detrimental to me.

I thought this little quirk was odd until I discovered that a lot of other people do this as well. Mostly women. I don't know why, but men don't seem to be wired this way as much. Those that love me try and curb this annoying tendency to overthink things because it leaves me confuzzled and bewildered. Squashing this trait rarely works... but every once in a while something someone will say gets through to me and sticks in my head and I actually have a revelation while overthinking something.

I remember crying on a friend's shoulder one night about how I felt optional in my relationship, that he didn't need me, that I was extra and that I didn't know what to do about it. She quietly responded with a simple sentence. "You ARE optional. You just need to decide if you are ok with that."

*blink* Wait, what? That wasn't what I was expecting her to say. I was expecting her to give me platitudes and make me feel better in the moment, but life isn't easy, relationships aren't simple and my guy has a lot going on in his life. She knows this, I've always known this, but I constantly forget. I somehow get lost in that. It was enough to pop me out of my pity party while I pondered and we had some giggles about other things and talked about how Eric from True Blood is probably just waiting for me to call him to ask him to go skydiving or something, you know, important stuff, and I felt better.

A little later that night I began to feel sorry for myself again. THIS is something I really do try to avoid. It's kinda sucky to feel sorry for yourelf and it's really not all that productive. Besides, you never know when to be done. And I was sitting here watching a movie and wishing I was watching it with him, wrapped up in his arms, feeling loved when it hit me.

I AM loved. In fact the very fact that I am optional should highlight that for me.

op·tion·al   /ˈɒpʃənl/ [op-shuh-nl]
1. left to one's choice; not required or mandatory
2. leaving something to choice.

He doesn't have to spend time with me, he makes the choice to spend time with me because he loves me. Oh. Wow. He wants to. He does have a LOT going on, and he takes time to be with me more than almost any other couple I know. He spends quality time with me, listening to me, sharing, laughing, talking.

And I think of my earlier words...I am optional.
I am.
So yes, I guess I'm ok with that..There is value in being optional.
I don't think I'd want to be mandatory.

Saturday, May 14, 2011


At some point and time someone will ask you, If you had 24 hours left, what would you do with it? How would you chose to spend those last moments, and why?

My answers used to be fun-filled or packed with adventure, I would fly to Paris for breakfast, and I would sky-dive or bungee jump, do things that were exciting and filled every moment I had with daring and adrenaline.

And yet my real answer is nothing like that. When there was a whisper in my ear, letting me know that maybe I wanted to think about such things, my choices were simple.
I ate pancakes for breakfast with a boy with sparkling eyes and dimples, who still calls me Mommy, even though at 10 it's not that cool. I drank orange juice with a beautiful young woman who is wise beyond her years, who's intelligence and humor can't be hidden by the adorable smile and freckles on her nose.
I fought a duel on the Wii, and was victorious against 2 laughing minions who look a little like me, a little like their father and are entirely the greatests works of art I ever created.
I made snow angels and laughed as the flakes caught in my eyelashes and the wind numbed our cheeks.
I ate grilled cheese for lunch at my mom's kitchen table, with my minions, my parents and my siblings, and remembered all the faces of those who had sat there with me throughout the years.
I hugged everyone instead of keeping them at arms length.
I whispered what we knew were goodbyes though we still hoped they weren't.
I painted.
Music filled my evening as I danced in my kitchen.
I took a bubble bath and stayed up too late.
I wrote letters to those I love and set them in a drawer, with the words I hadn't been able to bring myself to say.
I reminded myself that I am not alone, that I am loved.
When I closed my eyes that night, I knew that I'd made good choices in my moments and was at peace with them, but I wasn't done.

The next few weeks were dark and cold and I'm glad I don't remember most of them. Now although I still am missing many, many answers and am not sure what the future holds, or how long I get to hold it, the sun shines again.

Every day I have another 24 hours.
It's never enough.