Because Forever is a long time to promise.

"Because Forever is a long time to promise."

I get a lot of skepticism from married or never married people on my "not getting married again" stance.  Honestly, telling people I'm just not interested in getting married is easier than explaining why I would actually marry again, under proper circumstance.  If I said that, as simple as it sounds, I'd get, "oh the conditions will never be perfect."  True.  Proper circumstance does not equal perfection. 

But, that's not my point. 

I say, "because Forever is a long time to promise," because, well, it is.  I look back on clothing style choices back years later and think, "what the heck was I thinking?"

And, I've done the same with boyfriends, and one husband.  A few friends.

So, for me to marry again... well, it requires very special circumstances, and I don't know how to describe them.  I'm not certain I even know them myself. 

I'm really betting on, "you'll know it when you see it."  Risky.

This is a really good read:
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Tomorrow is my second anniversary, which means it's time to ponder marriage again. Or, rather, it's time to ponder the real horror that underlies it - to remind myself of what it means, and make sure I'm measuring up to the reality it exposes. It's time to dust off and ponder the realization that hit me right about the time I decided to propose to my wife, the one I haven't been able to shake since:

When you stand in front of your friends and family and say "I do," you're promising that one of you is going to watch the other one die.

I realize that this is old hat to a lot of people, but to me it means a lot. It means that some day I am going to sit beside a bed in a darkened room and hold her hand, and then she will be gone. It won't matter what I do or what I say or whether I'm ready or how many mistakes I've made - I'm going to have to watch it end then and there, and the beautiful, loving woman I've spent my life with will be gone. Or - maybe I'll be the one feeling my life slip away, having to watch the despair in her eyes as she whispers comforting, meaningless promises and entreaties into the stagnant air.

Maybe we'll get lucky and die together suddenly, and painlessly, after a long and happy life. More likely, something will happen at a distance, and one of us will be killed while the other one goes about their business - unaware and way, way too far away. Maybe we'll die fast, or well; maybe slowly, or badly. No matter how it happens, one of us will be suddenly and irrevocably deprived of the other, forever.

That's what marriage is, after all: it's giving up the choice of when to part. It's promising that it won't be a petty argument, a decision about a job or money, or changing personalities that separate you. It's going to be the Grim Reaper himself, with his scent of roses and his dry laugh, that does it for you. For all you know, he was standing at the altar too, looking into your eyes and taking oaths of his own in a low, heartfelt voice.

That's the decision I had to make back then: was I willing to hand one of the most life-altering and painful decisions one can make over to the ultimate horror of human existence, for a chance to live my life with this woman? That's the decision I remind myself of every year - it's not up to me anymore which day is the last day, which trivial utterance will be the final legacy of our relationship. In the end, of course, it wasn't a difficult decision, however difficult it is to think about. And I didn't see any black robes in the church that day - just a vision of loveliness with bottomless eyes that shone with just the suggestion of tears, and with infinite sincerity. So I said "I do," and I made my fateful bargain. I haven't regretted it yet. I just try every year to make sure that I remember what I meant when I said it, so I can live my life accordingly.

Credit to Velox: http://everything2.com/user/Velox/writeups/I+do

Perspective is Life

Can I tell my story here?  I hope it's okay.  It might sound like a "humble brag", but I ask you to please remember–perspective is everything.  Perspective is life.

I have been thin and, what I call, "class b pretty," my entire life.  I was never popular... but, I was the girl the popular guys liked, but were embarrassed to pursue.  I wasn't the girl you were supposed to be into.  I was by no means ugly growing up, but still...  I was kept in the shadow.  The back up girl.  I always felt if something better came up for "him," he'd leave in an instant.  I wasn't pretty enough.  I wasn't enough.

For so many reasons, I have such a difficult time disconnecting my worth from my looks.  They aren't a 10, or anything, I know that, but so much emphasize is focused there.  I am collateral damage from my mother's damage.  Much like many woman, her childhood and adulthood was all about staying thin and pretty.  If she wasn't thin and pretty and young, she was worthless.  She stood in the mirror daily--sighing in disappointment at herself and mumbling negative self-talk.  She tried hard, but this attitude of inadequacy passed to me–not quite so intensely.  My sisters were less lucky than I.  They are worse off, and I can't even imagine being more hindered than I am.

It's all really difficult to explain.

I'm not enough.  I think I let people use me because I thought, "This is what I'm made for.  This is what I am."  I've always liked being helpful.  So, I pleased in the most efficient way I knew how.  I sacrificed me.  I did for them.  For motherfucking decades.  Right.  Walk around and look pretty because that makes people(men) happy.

Since I was 15, men have been noticing me.  I know how to be sexy.  I don't mean just eye contact.  I know everything about being sexy.  It's natural to me.  I can turn it on and off.  But, I'm not allowed to want sex, right.  Women should be sexy, but not sexual, right.

While being told I'm pretty or beautiful or sexy does make me feel good (probably for psychological reasons that even I don't understand), that shit fades, right.  It's very rare someone sticks around long enough to break through my self-defense mechanisms (by the way, being sexy to distract is one of those mechanisms) to see me.  I know it's not fair they exist, I know, but so much has happened.  Think about how fucking long a decade is... think about it now.  Imagine meeting someone who has a DECADE's worth of living to do to catch up to you.  Think about where you were a decade ago.  Do you even know that person anymore?
 
Well, here I am, 35.   I've been divorced for 8 years, having been married 5 years.  I see the stress lines in my face.  I have a lot of scars... flaws, I guess.  I feel my age.   I'm 35.  While my looks begin to fade, I've changed so much internally.  I know what I am now.  I know how much more I'm worth.  I mean I can speak the words, at least.  To myself.

I know better than to lead with my sex, and I know better than to accept less.   So, I quit leading with my "class b pretty".  I quit leading with my sex.  I stopped making eye contact with every man and woman I passed.  I quit seducing people.  I decided I wanted to force someone to know me. 

Well, now I don't know how to make a connection without it.  And here I sit alone. 

I guess I'll just wait.  I mean... what else can I do?  Just wait.  Wait for someone to see more.  I'm just here alone in the meantime.