Choosing

So I told Fella what I felt about the NYC bride and groom and their unguarded love for each other and how  I worried he was missing out and how I felt broken.   He said that he didn't think I was broken.  Being a knight in shining armor is too much pressure, he said. He likes knowing I can stand on my own two feet but choose to be with him.   He said he didn't want that woman that thought he hung the moon, because he has a woman that challenges him and makes him laugh and that is amazing, so why would he want something different.

Yeah. I thought that was pretty awesome, too.  Brokenness stopped in its tracks.

But the way I'm second guessing, reevaluating, questioning... is that bad? Does it mean this is not right?

So then today I read this on my new blog obsession: "For me, [engagement] was an ongoing regimen of gut-checks: Is this what I want? Is he who I want? And the answer was always yes. I was choosing him every day. And I knew he was choosing me."

Yes! This!  I keep checking my gut, I worry overly often, to make sure I'm on the right path. Since I don't trust my romantic choices, I'm continuously reassessing them. Is this right? Is he right? Are we crazy? Can I possibly have finally gotten it right?   And in doing so, every day, I choose him. Over and over. Pretty nifty.

Broken

Fella and I attended a wedding last weekend. It was quite the event- on the Hudson River in New York City, four course seated dinner, beautiful flowers... but what struck me was the ceremony.  The couple had written the entire ceremony themselves, and though I had never met either of them before that weekend, by the end of the night I felt I knew them well because they were able to incorporate so many personal elements.  One thing was quite remarkably clear-- these two were madly in love.  Madly in love, in that maybe I should write this down because I don't want to ever forget a single word that comes out of his brilliant mouth sort of way.  Can't keep our hands off each other sort of way.  The world stops when she walks through the door sort of way. Want to voice every thought and feeling we ever have sort of way.  It was lovely, and sweet, and really very moving.

I started thinking, naturally, about the wedding Fella and I will have. About our relationship.  And about how I feel like I am not capable of THAT kind of feeling.  I love Fella, I think he's a really good man. He makes me laugh, he's smart, and he's kind.  And I worry that he's getting the short end of the deal here.  I mean, he thinks I'm all that and a bag of chips, so he's pleased with this arrangement, don't get me wrong.  But am I depriving him of that kind of relationship?  His childhood friend just married a woman that looked at him like he hung the moon up in the sky just for her... But Fella gets a woman that looks at him with cautious optimism.  Because I'm broken.

I used to be that girl. I was wide open- honest and naked and completely and totally vulnerable. We all know that didn't turn out so well, and I think it's not unreasonable that I'm guarded.  But.

I honestly don't know if the wall will ever come all the way down. I'm not keeping it up on purpose, and I don't keep him a little bit at arm's length consciously, but... It is happening.  I'm protective of my soft places, and I'm a protective of my individual, separate life.   We've discussed this before.

When my phone beeps, if he picks it up and reads the text on the screen before handing me the phone I immediately feel a bit violated. Not because there is anything in that text that I don't want him to see, but it irks me that he would read it. It's not to him.  I have to remind myself that he just likes to know all about me, it's just his way, he's not trying to control anything. It's not like he's snooping, he's just infinitely curious and wants to know all about me and all the people in my life.  I'm not that way-- self-absorption or self-protection, I don't know, but either one, I'm not all that interested in other people.  I purposefully do not mention any little stories about a friend to him, because he will continue to ask about that friend and that situation forever. I tell myself it's protecting that friend's privacy, but sometimes it's really just because I don't like to share every corner of my life.


What if the wall never comes down? What if he's stuck battling my defense mechanism forever?  What if I'm irreparably broken?

Name

When I got divorced 3 years ago, and changed my last name back to my maiden name, I swore I would never change my last name again.  Never.

I hate that when I see someone I haven't seen in a while, and they say, "your last name was different then, wasn't it?" There are multiple possibilities for what my last name might have been.  There's my last name at birth. My last name when my step-father adopted me in second grade (my current last name), and two married last names have come and gone, with my maiden name making an appearance in the middle.

And despite my confidence in this decision, in Fella, in our ability to make it work, I'm unsure. I mean, of course I'm confident. He's my lobster!  Confident, yes. But I'm still wary.

My hesitancy is partially due to the fear that one day I'll have to change it back. Again. Those fears that rear their ugly heads, the remnants of my past, the foundations of my wall.

There's also the whole professional angle, Judges and other attorneys are starting to know me by name and I'm going to go and mess that up?  Also, if I keep this name professionally, clients and opposing parties will not be able to find me as easily in the world (by searching property records, etc. YES they do that).

I have to figure this out before I order our Thank You cards....

Funny

So, as I stare down my imminent move (25 days to go) I was thinking about all the times I had moved since this blog started.  I moved to Colorado during a time I wasn't blogging much (*cough* marital disintegration *cough*), and I didn't much talk about it. Then I moved again when I found myself suddenly single in June 2008, and didn't blog about that either. I lived for a few months with a roommate, then moved to my own place in early November 2008.  Then in April 2009 I moved in with P.  Then in April 2010 I left Colorado and documented my cross-country move. And last September, I moved back home to Memphis. And now, I'm moving in with Fella.


Wow, blog tweeps.  We've been through a boatload together.  This is my seventh move since I started the blog. I'm too lazy to count the jobs I've taken, lost, and/or  left (okay, I counted. Nine. Nine jobs, since I started blogging).  I've adopted a new kitten (wow he was so tiny!), lost a dog, moved across the country, gotten divorced, started writing like three books (none finished, of course), moved back across the country,  stayed in a job a WHOLE YEAR, found someone new, and now I'm getting married...

Life is a funny thing, isn't it.



p.s. I bought a dress. A pretty one. A bride-y one. :)  I went to visit my mom and sister and we went shopping.  I'm certainly not putting a picture up here, but I wish I could. Because I LURRRVVVE it.