Truth about the truth

I have been waiting to finish this story of mine that I started writing so long ago. I actually started while I was still in the relationship I was speaking about, but I thought I might go and publish it in hopes that I might one day feel this way again.

To find love is an art form of sorts. Not an art form in the sense of the details. How it happens. Where. Who. Because once you find it, the real thing, you realize that it is nothing like the movies or romance novels or even in the stories of friends. Though there are many movies that are moving, and carry off amazing plots displaying great heights of love, the art form of finding love lies in the emotion; it lies is your own experience. Basically, it is being ready for love. Recognizing it. Embracing it. Loving it. That is essentially what great love stories convey at their core, deep emotion, emotion that is not hindered or blanketed by fear.

This took me years to understand. As I was going through the healing process of my addiction and past abuses, I began to take my desire for true love off the shelf and acknowledge it. Eventually, I even came to embrace the desire for love. Even though in my quest for love, there were quite a few hit and misses, I was so overjoyed at the feeling of even seeking it out, I wouldn’t take back one heart break. Just to even feel heart broken was more than I could have ever asked for at that point in my life. It was there, in those times that I began to take control of my own destiny in a way. I figured I had kept my heart for so long from any man, when I did give it away, he might as well be worthy of it.

In the midst of my grappling, trying to figure out relationship, it happened. Yep, I fell in love for real. It kind of crept up on me. I wasn’t expecting it. I actually just showed up. God did the rest. I spent my whole life getting dolled up to parade around in front of men in hopes that one eligible, slightly-attractive man would choose me. As it turns out, that is never the way to meet Mr. Right.

I know many people have stories about how they met their amazing beau’s. One acquaintance of mine actually regaled to me, me, meaning everyone who would listen, a dream she had in which God told her to break off her pending engagement and marry the man in her dream. Try living up to that! I remember in my deepest most intense prayers, begging God to give me a powerful love story between me and the man I would fall in love with. It was when I actually fell in love that I realized I didn’t need all of that. It was too much for anyone to live up to. Plus, many of my terrible past relationships had started out like the movies. Boys meets girl. Boy finds girl in the rain or some ridiculousness like that. Blah. Blah. Blah. The worst setup for a real relationship that I ever did hear.

 So this girl walks into a bar….joke right? Nope, that was me. It was the night before I was to leave for a vacation with my boyfriend to Key West. I had a lot of packing and last minute things to do before I left, but it was Justyna’s birthday. To her, it was already the end of the world that I would be missing her birthday celebration. I would officially be voted off the island if I did not go to a random hole-in-the-wall bar to get drunk and sing karaoke in honor of another year to her life. And THAT, ladies and gentlemen is where I met him! I didn’t immediately walk over to him and make sweet love or anything. I actually barely spoke with him. That, I remember. The only thing I actually remember is seeing a one-night stand from 2 years before in the bar. Oh, I forgot to mention the total drunkenness and buffoon-like behavior, which consisted of writing, notes to cute guys on bar napkins, singing large amounts of karaoke, and posing in Charlie’s Angels pictures. I’m still not sure how I managed to send the message that I didn’t have a boyfriend.

Little did I know that night would be the beginning of a year-long love affair with love. I could also tell you all of the things I learned about relationships, all of the fears, trials, arguments, hurts, but looking back, I just choose to remember the feeling of waking up happy.

Most of the time in my life, I just wake up. I don’t feel any emotion, at least until I’ve had a cup of coffee. But that year of my life I remember waking up feeling like I would change absolutely nothing about my life. I was happy. I loved and was loved. Who else can say the same?