It’s kind of a funny story.

July 31, 2013 § Leave a comment

My summer, for lack of a better term, has been a coming-of-age movie waiting to happen. I got new two jobs and made a bunch of new friends. I have learned to  support myself financially for the first time in my life. I’m moving onto a new living situation, and I’ve been exploring different people instead of running away from them. For someone that used to let other people fix her problems for her, whether they be financial or emotional, these are pretty big steps. I’m happy with my progress, but I still need more work.

I spent the past year trying to keep my sexual and emotional relationships separate. Whenever I’ve tried to mix those two, I’ve ended up getting hurt. Becoming entangled with your friends is a stupid idea – it ruins things, so I’ve made sure to compartmentalize those aspects of my life. I’ve kept anyone I’m physically interested far away from my friends and even farther away from actually getting to know me. And then I met a boy.

To be fair, I met a lot of boys this summer. They were all good for different things, just like people in general. Every human has a story to tell and a lesson to teach, and I value that. But he was different.

It has been a really long time, like, a REALLY long time, since I have met someone I was so struck by instantly. In retrospect it sounds kind of crazy to write it out – I only met him once and I’ll probably never see him again. He wasn’t extraordinary, we just liked the same things, but that night I truly saw him as God’s gift. It’s gone now, but I don’t think that’s the point. It doesn’t matter what happened that night, it doesn’t matter who he is, or where we were, or the mess I made in my friend’s parents’ yard. It matters how he made me feel. And it matters that I not only needed to write about it, I’m still smiling at the memory.

There is something so beautiful about a memory that is fleeting, about meeting someone you’ll never really know but they made you feel ways you can’t describe. I’ve spent so long being so angry, and when he kissed me I didn’t feel love, or devotion, at least not to him. But I loved myself again for the first time in a long time. I let myself be totally vulnerable to a new experience. I wasn’t expecting him to judge me, I didn’t dread the idea that he might try to cuddle with me after, I wasn’t horrified by the idea of having to talk to him in the morning. And I wasn’t afraid for him to leave, and I wasn’t afraid of him hurting me. Because I can take care of myself now, and it’s no longer a negative thing I do to keep myself safe. I take care of myself because I want to, and it’s satisfying. But most importantly…

He made me laugh. Not a giggle while we were flirting, not a smirk, but my big, obnoxious, choking shriek that I only let people I trust hear me make. ‘Cause it’s hideous, but dammit, it’s my real laugh and if something’s funny, I’m going to do my thing. And the best part was, he made me laugh a lot.

I tell a lot of stories, and I’ve told this one before and I’m sure I’ll tell it again. But for now I’ll just be sparing with the details and hope this makes you think of something wonderful that happened to you – something you don’t want to share with the world, but something that makes you happy. And that happiness itself is what’s worth sharing.

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