If someone told me two years ago that I'd be packing up, leaving Baltimore and my beloved job because I'm truly in love and in an incredibly healthy relationship, I'd tell them to lay off the crack.
But if someone had told me this, they'd be right because that is what is happening.
Yesterday, I reached over to turn the volume down on the mixing board while I was explaining to my new intern how all the hardware works and watched as my left hand pulled the knobs down... I don't know if it was because I was wearing a black cardigan, the L.A.M.B. watch, the accidental pale pink translucent nail polish I chose at the nail salon last week, or that my hands really belong to an adult, but boy did it look grown up. I wouldn't have recognized my hand in a line-up.
And for once, it didn't make me want to throw up.
Whether this is because I'm happy, and mentally the most healthy I've probably ever been, or because I'm old enough to know that the pressures I used to read and take such close notice to in the past (ie: girl magazines, mens magazines, my friends and their dreams being shoved down my throat) are bullshit, I'm not sure.
My mother used to always say that in a healthy relationship, things would progress naturally. That the two people, as a couple, would make goals together and complete them together. She said the two people would support each other and be there for each other and you wouldn't have to nag or ask, and that's how you would know you were in the right place...
I always understood this logic, but I had never lived it. I had always nagged and I always had to beg for any attention at all. If I brought up goals, it brought up arguments, and they were my goals alone. Hindsight is 20/20, but I wish people would learn from my mistakes. I wish people would remember where I was, and see where I am now and be happy for me. I also wish people wouldn't so easily forget what I came from and how long I suffered being the doormat who tried to make a person love her for so long. It's a pathetic way to live, and that behavior is nothing less than unattractive (to men or women).
Now that what my mother was saying has clicked and makes perfect sense, I feel foolish for wasting so much time, but really "blessed" (not in the spiritual sense, but more than lucky) that everything happened as it did. If I would have attempted this relationship any earlier, it would have failed, I truly believe. I believe that everything for both of us outside of "us" needed to run it's course so that we could be completely alone in "us". It's been amazing, and back when I used to daydream of the perfect situation and my perfect life and exactly all that I wanted, I could have never guessed that one day I would really have it.
It's hard for me to not shout from the rooftops that I am ridiculously in love and the luckiest girl in the world, but when I even begin to mention my happiness, I can see the looks on my "friends" faces turn. It's funny how people would rather hear you complain about your life than ever hear about your happiness, unless they themselves are in your exact same situation. I guess I've been guilty of the same in the past (negative drama is always far more amusing than lovey stories), but I'm pretty positive I was a far better actress.
So for now, I'll keep to telling my boyfriend that I'm the luckiest girl for having him in my life, and telling this blog and my twitter which I keep mostly just for writing down my own thoughts for myself. Each day, something happens to reaffirm he is right when he says, "who cares? You won't have to worry and be upset about any of this when we move".
Passive aggressiveness is not something I ever warmed up to.
Looking forward to change and hope the change doesn't lead to losing friends in the process... I don't want to be seen as doing something wrong by being happy.