The Cons.

Usually, I feel good about my wanderin' ways. I feel confident when I'm traveling. I feel confident in the wonderment of where I'll go next. I'd even go as far to say that I would take pride in my unattached,   carefree, follow-the-sunshine-where-the-weather-fits-my-clothes, frequent flyer attitude towards life.

But now I feel different. I want to be taken seriously. I don't want people to wonder where I will be, if I'll stay or when I'll be leaving. Well, I definitely don't want people to wonder when the hell I'm leaving. Ha! That'd be horrible, huh?

It's the fact that I know there's a correlation between my nervousness to start a relationship and my grasshopper-like lifestyle. If I never let it start, there will always be the wonder of whether it was going to work or not. It's that mystery that I long for, the thing that seems to perpetuate my entire existence. It's that feeling of running and someone reaching out to tag you and you have that one last boost of power in your step and that forward movement of your shoulder that clears you; missing the grip that almost made you stay. 

I can recall, as far back as first grade, when the most sought out boy in Mrs. Buckelew's class was the object of my affection. The one I thought about when I listened to whatever sappy love song you listened to on 96.9 The Dove. Mine happened to be by Amy Grant, Every Heartbeat. It's truly embarrassing; just Google the lyrics really quick and you'll see how my "red blood ran true blue." Esh.

What ended up happening, was that I took it upon myself to write Kenneth a letter that simply asked if he liked me, giving him a yes or no to circle and return to me in a timely fashion. To my surprise, he responded with a resounding, yes! Inclusive of an illustration of he and I and some hearts. Seeing this response made my heart stop and caused me to ignore Kenneth for the remainder of the year. Honestly, I don't really remember talking to him very much throughout school. In fact I did a lot to avoid this kid.

Where does this come from?

Another great example of this display of irrational dating was a brief stint in junior high, with my first boyfriend. I would pretend to have call waiting and put him on hold and then tell him I had to get off the phone because I was nervous about how much we talked. This relationship did in fact end soon after hearing he wanted to come to my cheerleading competition; something I think, on paper, sounds great! He must like me! Unfortunately, that Saturday while he was just a few fields over from where I was cheerleading, at his soccer game, while he sat on the bench and I stood from a distance next to a nearby tree and witnessed my hit man whisper into his ear telling him that he would no longer be my boyfriend. It was very God-Father-esque. 

Before you discredit my actions for just being a youngster, I'll let you know that again in middle school, oops I did it again. Brit was right. There was a boy that I had longly loved from a distance. Noah. He played football, he played soccer and he was just adorable. I wondered why he didn't return my unsaid affections until one day he did. He wasn't in any of my classes until one day, this boy who was a grade older than I came a-waltzin' into my mixed-grade math class. My heart dropped in electric-shock. I started wearing my Grandmother's (who had just passed away) gold watch and bracelets to attract his eye. Sparkly things do that to boys, right?

Noah and I began to talk more. He was friends with my friends and on occasion, we rode the same bus home. One day, Noah proclaimed his affections for me, in which I responded that we were just friends! How could he do this to me? I'll have you know that nightly, most likely up to the day Noah told me how much he liked me, I would pray and talk to my Grandma and tell her to please, from Heaven, just let me marry Noah. "Grandma, I love him and please just let me marry him," wasn't that her responsibility as a newly inducted angel? Well, I don't recall exactly what happened to my relationship with Noah after I told him that I just couldn't date him. Confused by my reaction? I am too; to the point that I believe I am comprised of two individuals. 

These scenarios were duplicated scenes in a painstakingly continuous string of occurrences, which hang from my limbs like the countdown chain links you made during the holidays except its purpose was in reverse. They get caught in doors and fortunately (?) the more people see these extensions, the lesser the occurrence.

How does one remedy this? No, really, I'm asking you. My only solution is telling the truth and sometimes people don't take too kindly to your seemingly unthought out show of expression. I now give men/boys outs in any situation. "Listen, I know, I understand, don't worry! We're friends!" she says as she forces a laugh instead of a yelp after her own punch to the gut. Straighten the back, stretch back, take a deep breath and a sense of calm and hopefulness overcomes her. 

That's how I do, ya'll. 

This is all spurred on, obviously, by my first date, on my first night, in my newly moved to town of Austin, TX. Give me a few days to break the news to you on my recent, possible disastrous sequence of events.