Todd posted about online relationships and him flying out here to see me and all of that <gross> stuff and someone asked him for my side of the story. I know a lot of you have read this before so apologies for posting it again, but it’s by request (and updated to reflect the passage of time).
We don’t have a real anniversary. That’s what happens when you meet online. There’s the day you started talking and the talking morphs into friendship and the friendship slowly slides into something else until you realize that something else feels an awful lot like love. There’s no first date. No official day you started dating. So there’s the anniversary of the day you first met each other face to face and if you’re like me and you’re big on special dates and cheesy sentiments and memorable moments, you take that and call it an anniversary of sorts (though I do also “celebrate” the day he moved here as well).
So, eight years ago this August.
It’s a weird kind of nervousness, meeting someone for the first time when you’re already in love with them. You have an intense relationship because distance calls for intenseness. You can’t hold each other’s hands or wrap your legs around them at night. Your time together is limited. You have to cram every emotion and feeling into those phone calls and chats and it’s so hard to convey everything you feel that you end up feeling everything all the time. So when you’re finally going to be together and actually get to touch each other and look into their eyes and do things together, you wonder if it will be the same. You wonder if it will feel the same. Or if it feels different, will it feel a good kind of different. Better?
So you drive to the airport with this massive ball of fear and anxiousness sitting in the pit of your stomach and all the what ifs run through your mind. What if we don’t click in person? What if it all goes to hell? Should I have worn my hair a different way? Did I put on enough deodorant? Do these pants make me look fat?
And then you get to the airport and you pace and pace and check the flight board and when it says the plane has landed you nearly run into the bathroom to puke. What do I do? You have imagined this scenario in your head a million times, the two of you meeting, waving shyly as you recognize each other from the million pictures you sent and then a slow embrace, maybe playing out like some awful romantic movie starring someone who was a runner up on American Idol. Will it be awkward? What if he doesn’t recognize you because you look nothing like those photos and he’ll say “this isn’t what I flew here for!” and you lose him in the crowd as he makes his way from arrivals to departures. This is your brain on nervousness.
And then there you are. You just find each other. He kisses you as if he has kissed you a thousand times before and it’s all so comfortable and normal you feel as if you’ve always done this. You walk to your car holding hands and he tells you about his flight and you drive home, the anxiety slowly creeping out of your brain.
There are four days filled with hurried activity. Driving around. Dinners out. Meeting your friends and family. A birthday celebration. Lots of time in bed, half watching movies, just enjoying the company of each other. Just being together.
And then the time comes when it has to end and the anxiety creeps up again. Will he come back? Was I good enough? Were we good enough? Does he think we clicked because I think we clicked and oh god what if he doesn’t think we clicked? What if he gets on that plane and never looks back and he changes his email address and his phone number and I’ll never see him again? Anxiety is a bitch. She truly is.
Then he stands at the gate, at the furthest part where you can still go without a boarding pass. He reaches for you and you stand there together. You feel the warmth of his body, you listen to his heart beat as you rest your head against him and you try not to cry, he’s telling you not to cry and he’s promising you he’ll be back but you cry anyhow, a cry of relief because you know. In that instant where neither of you want to part, you know. It worked. It’s working. It’s real. We are good together. To good to not be together.
Then, just as he’s about to leave, he whispers into your ear.
“I’ll be back around.”
You drive home by yourself and you’re ok with that because you’re alone but not alone. You listen to The Cars. You listen to “You Might Think” and you smile.
Three months later, true to his word, he’s back around.
He’s still here. Almost seven plus years later, he’s still here. Almost eight years ago, my life didn’t just change, it started.
[and we got married last year, if you’re new around here]
I love Daylight Savings Time. Having that extra light at the end of the day means so much to me. Driving home from work when it’s not dark out makes a huge difference in my evening and my attitude in general. I don’t feel exhausted and ready for bed as soon as I walk in the door. I feel like theres still some of the evening left for me to enjoy instead of feeling like it’s over. I’m happy. Spring and summer are within reach. My SAD starts to dissipate. Let there be light!
But I’m noticing a lot of people saying how much they hate DST, that they hate it being dark in the morning. I think it’s a fair enough tradeoff. A little darkness while I get ready for work and the sun rising just as I’m pulling into the parking lot doesn’t affect me the way that darkness at 4:30 pm does. I’ll take a little evening in my morning if it means more day in my life.
It seems like such a divisive issue. So I was just wondering, where do you stand on Daylight Savings Time?
There are people saying they can’t listen to Beck because he’s a Scientologist and it’s a wacky religion they don’t believe in but honestly I think all religions are wacky and imagine if I didn’t listen to any artist or see any movies or read any books made by people who are into their religions. I’d have very little to choose from and my world would be pretty boring. What if I extended that and said I think your religion sucks therefore I can’t be friends with you, that would be a sad thing to do. As long as their religion or ideology doesn’t turn them into a terrible person who promotes hate then why deprive yourself of their art? How is Beck’s choice of religion harming you or your society? And don’t be a hypocrite about it, if you don’t like any religion, don’t just pick and choose Scientology as the religion you’re going to protest, protest them all and then cull your album collection accordingly.
I actually wrote about 700 words on this in a more eloquent manner but tumblr ate it and this is what you get.
Got my first tumblr copyright infringement notice. With the amount of music I post I’m surprised it took this long. Guess Frank Black doesn’t like me sharing his music.