This is a part of a series of letters I write to my one day great love. Yep. I’m that earnest. You are too. That’s why you’re reading this. <3
This morning I wish I could reach over and and tangle my leg with yours, feeling your warmth while I write these words. I feel very close to you here in the house I’m turning into a home. Slowly it’s taking shape. Rebuilding takes time.
I wonder if embracing who you are enables you to live comfortably with someone else. I’m getting accustomed to the rhythm of a house with two boys and a dog. There is grace and a reining in of expectations and also a lot of laughter and teasing and always someone to eat the food I want to cook.
Jeremiah is my sous chef and Jason builds the fires in the fire pit. Even though we still have more boxes to unpack, our house is finally livable. Yesterday I bought an ottoman for forty dollars. It’s the first piece of furniture I’ve owned in three years. Jason carried it in and put it at the end of my (borrowed) bed and then I pounded a nail in the wall to hang a picture frame.
I own stuff. I’m putting holes in the wall. I’m leaving a mark. I’m unpacked. Baby, I’m here to stay.
Last night I sat out by the fire pit, burning marshmallows and trolling Tinder, which has rapidly been losing its appeal. I came across a profile where a man claimed to be looking for someone to go on “ADVENTURES!!!” with him. He named all sorts of things. Hiking waterfalls. Pyramids. The tombs of something something. Indiana Tinder Jones must have heard that for some people excitement is an aphrodisiac and he was all in. I, of course, swiped left. And immediately thought of you.
I thought of home. Not staying at home, rather the concept of home. Us as home. Your people as home. The life you create as home. I thought of how living a life with you will be a fantastic adventure and how building that life will be our adventure. YES, I KNOW THAT’S HELLA CHEESY. Haven’t you heard the news? I’ve lost all measure of chill since moving to Nashville. But, seriously. My life is already an adventure and when you join it I know it’ll become even more wild. Maybe we’ll see some pyramids and tombs but oh, dear God, if we’re going to hike waterfalls just prepare yourself for some serious mishaps and have the hospital helicopter on standby.
As I sat there reading this bio, rolling my eyes and thinking about how I’d already cancelled one Tinder date for the weekend and sidestepped a few other invitations, I became introspective. Decision time. My word for the year is Love. I’ve learned about it from so many perspectives. Romantically, this year has been eye opening. Tinder and Bumble have been great tools to teach me how to be present with humans without trying to plan forever. I’ve learned how to allow someone to just be a moment, to HAVE FUN, and also, that dating is actually enjoyable. But now I’m in a city where I’ve met multiple good, kind (very attractive) men in the past three weeks in real life and I think I’m going to try something wild AND EXPERIMENTAL.
For the rest of the year — the next two months, I’m only going to go on dates with men who I meet first in real life.
What do you think of this idea, love? In my mind, I see you smiling. I think it gets me closer to you and that’s where I want to be. Though, darling, I must tell you, I see this going terribly. Let me recount for you the IRL (and uncomfortable) ways in which I have met men in the past three weeks here in Nashville.
While sitting in the front row during a Girl Geek Dinner this week, I leaned on my phone during a panel, prompting SIRI to holler out, “I’M SORRY, MELISSA, I DIDN’T QUITE UNDERSTAND THAT REQUEST…” Afterwards several people (including the men who attended), approached me to ask if that was me. Yes, yes. Hello, allow me to introduce myself. I’m the new awkward girl in Nashville.
During a hip, creative event I cornered and intensely interrogated a man about his company which I find to be incredibly fascinating. It was only my (also intense and painful) self awareness which forced me to end the conversation.
A Lyft driver who I had a fifteen minute conversation with about pie which turned rather awkward when said, “Oh, this is like a THING for you.” No, it’s not a thing. It’s JUST PIE.
My roommate’s (v handsome) buddy who only shows up when I’m covered in moving dust and sweat and no make-up and three day old hair. Yesterday I suggested he come and see my new ottoman. In my room. Where my freshly laundered underroos and bras were also strewn across the bed. If you think this is a genius pick-up line, please email me and I’ll be happy to do a short coaching session with you. Ugh. I’ve never facepalmed so hard and also wanted the floor to open up and swallow me at the same time.
Can we please take a minute and just remember that once upon a time in the middle of an airport terminal I looked a man in the eye and said, “You should probably kiss me now” and he did?
WHERE IS THAT SEXINESS? Where did all my flirtatiousness go? I’ve lost my edge. My walls are gone. I’m all elbows and eyebrows and bruises from dropping fire pits on me. I smell like bacon and ginger and rosemary potatoes. I talk about pie too much and am overly invested in learning about you. I’M NOT COOL.
But here I am.
Here I am, darling man. Here. I. Am. In all my splendorous, crumb-covered glory. Are you here too? I’m ready for the next step, for all the uncomfortable, in-person, “would you like to have coffee or dinner or a drink with me FOR AS LONG AS WE BOTH SHALL LIVE’s” — oh man I hope someone quotes that. And, baby, it would be fantastic if he turns out to be you. But if not, it’s fine. I’ve found pie and when you get here, I have a fire pit under the trees where you can tell me all your stories.
P.S. If you’re reading this, love you already. Mean it. P.P.S If you’re reading this, would you like to have breakfast sometime? (It’s my favorite meal. I prefer eating it for dinner.)