Last weekend I was asked how old I was and I said, “Well almost 34..” and she replied, “Oh good. That gives me hope.”
I think what bothered me the most was that she was talking about my engagement, not about what I grew into being. Working on that being was how I was ready for the right guy in the first place. If I am even honest with myself, he caught me right at the end of one being and at the beginning of another. While no one makes you do anything, the best partners are the ones that let you shine, encourage you, and grow with you.
We moved in together last year. I was unhappy about the move because I was moving into his already made home. I wanted a place the two of us picked together. After a few weeks of exhaustive searching, we decided the most economical idea would be to keep his loft. I gave away a few of my things and moved the rest into what I considered a cold, drafty industrial loft. We had the first real fights of our relationship. Dishes, chores, money, and all of my stuff, his stuff.
But really the fights weren’t about that. I think they were more about me being afraid. Afraid this was going to hurt and it’d probably hurt a lot. I had spent months writing him bits from Sylvia Plath’s Mad Girl’s Love Song and shoving them in his work bag.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
He literally wouldn’t go away. He was there when I got home from work and he was there in the morning when I woke up.
How crazy is it when the stars align just right? I had just finished my first semester back at school. He supports my crazy schedule, my stress levels, and forever questions if I am taking enough time for myself.
We spent Christmas in Nashville. We watched all the original Star Wars movies because I am on the only person on the planet who has never watched them. We spent Christmas day in the hospital because his mom had a stroke. It was a sweet Christmas with family and I cried when we drove home. I didn’t eat sugar for a month.
I took American literature and fell in love with Emerson, Thoreau, and Emily Dickinson.
The next great influence into the spirit of the scholar, is, the mind of the Past, — in whatever form, whether of literature, of art, of institutions, that mind is inscribed. Books are the best type of the influence of the past, and perhaps we shall get at the truth, — learn the amount of this influence more conveniently, — by considering their value alone.
African American literature gave me Hurston, DuBois, and Marcus Garvey.
….Mr. Washington’s programm naturally takes an economic cast, becoming a gospel of Work and Money to such an extent as apparently almost completely to overshadow the higher aims of life.
I created my first lesson plans and learned how to make a podcast.
Poetry Explication Podcast-Robert Frost
I discovered that I am a constructivist. I believe people learn by viewing and reflecting upon experiences through their personal lens. It seems nearly impossible to read a piece of literature and not develop opinions and ideas of our own and create connections to our own experiences.
I learned literacy is a problem. I learned about Paulo Freire and his Pedagogy of the Oppressed
The more radical the person is, the more fully he or she enters into reality so that, knowing it better, he or she can transform it. This individual is not afraid to confront, to listen, to see the world unveiled. This person is not afraid to meet the people or to enter into a dialogue with them. This person does not consider himself or herself the proprietor of history or of all people, or the liberator of the oppressed; but he or she does commit himself or herself, within history, to fight at their side.
I got goosebumps the first day of of my Adolescent Literature course because there is no doubt this is where I am suppose to be.
A sweet note to my future self because I know there will be days when you will forget: You won’t always be the best, you won’t always connect, and you won’t always get it right the first time. But just remember why you started this and remember what it was like to fall in love with a book for the first time.
In May, his best friend and I threw what was suppose to be a surprise birthday party for him and it became our engagement party. He double crossed me in the sweetest way.
He bought me a new dress and new perfume that day. He even picked a fight with me that morning so would be thrown off. We had dinner and he refused to take off his jacket. Neither of us ate very much. When we got back to the house, we toasted with friends and at the bottom of a glass was a shiny diamond ring. I laughed and cried, kissed and hugged. My heart has never been so close to nearly bursting.
Now we have started talking money, a house, school for both of us, careers and daydreams of two (or maybe three) kids. Serious talks about baggage, letting things go, secrets that never needed to be because they don’t matter anyway. Tears and forgiveness- of ourselves and each other.
A fun party is exciting. A big cake that I’ve dreamed about and all our friends and family. But wedding planning is just a detail. This is already a done deal.
I still run a book club with some old and new friends. They will never know how much our meetings mean to me. I look forward to them every month. It always brings home how important these relationships are to me. I am surrounded by intelligent, funny, driven, and wonderful women.
I don’t take as much time as I should for myself. I’ll work on that.(I say every year).
For the girl who said I give her hope: I wouldn’t trade a single moment of the time I spent getting here to be engaged or married sooner. I would have married the wrong guy, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. I wouldn’t be the woman he wanted to marry. And I wouldn’t be the woman that is going to shape the world someday.
I have grown older another year. I still want my mom when I am sick and I still hate oatmeal. But overall 33 has been a good year. I’ve found happiness and purpose suit me.
KEYS TO THE IGNITION 