David Sedaris

a life upgraded

So Justin is over in Seattle tonight, hanging out with all the dudes for their annual Fantasy Football draft.  I don't really know exactly how it all works, but he's all excited (you've never seen guys talk on the phone so much), and... well, I'm learning to be.  It's all become this huge joke really.  I get a star everytime I demonstrate I know something -- anything -- about football.  I recognize Hasselbeck?  Star.  Point out Shawn Alexander?  Star.  Oh yeah, that's coach Mike Holmgren.  Yep.  That's right.  Star.  I go see Invincible with him?  Double star.  (Was actually a pretty good flick).

I used to be (okay, still am) the consummate fairweather fan.  If the Seahawks were kicking some major butt like they were last season, I'd catch the last several games.  If not, I'd probably use the Superbowl as an annual excuse to eat way too much in front of the TV. 

This season... will be a little different. 

It occurs to me that a few things in my life are changing.

I'm pretty sure tonight is the first or second evening we've spent apart since he moved over here in late June.  I mean, we've hung out with friends, enjoyed the company of others, but always -- together.  And this is the way we like it -- it's hard enough just to say goodbye and have him drive the 15 minutes back to his place around midnight.  We simply like being together as much as possible.

Still, this is a huge divergence from the quiet nights on my own here in the LBH.  It's been an adjustment, not a difficult one by any means, but it's a big shift.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I was truly excited for him to go and hang out with just the guys... because it also meant that I'd have a bit of time to hang out with just myself.  I think that's okay to say.  I think it's also okay to say that it wasn't long after I'd dropped him off at the ferry that I missed him and started looking forward to him being back home again.  Fifteen minutes, perhaps? 

There are the briefest of moments when I remember my quiet nights alone at the LBH with the tiniest of longings.  It usually has to do with missing some of the things I used to do when I was on my own, things that have been on a bit of a hiatus for the time being.  I read more.  I played my guitar more.  I definitely wrote more often.  I was more contemplative.  I was more of that artsy ideal I've always fancied.

I also went to the gym more.  It causes me no small amount of grief that 6'5" not-fat-in-the-first-place Justin lost ten pounds since he's been here, and I've gained ten. 

But as I sit here and think about my life... I may read less, but when I read now, I have someone beside me... someone whose own reading I interrupt at regular intervals to read any particularly brilliant passage that's resonating with me.  (And he listens).  We'll go to Barnes & Noble and wander for a while, finally settling down in the cafe for some mochas, quietly reading but enjoying one another's presence (and always finding some way to be touching).  Or, we go down to the rock-and-oyster-strewn beach by my house, sit down on the worn wooden steps, and read Buechner out loud to each other as the sun sinks out of sight behind the Olympics. 

(Justin read Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies this past week, and our conversation has been peppered with her words and perspectives all week.  She is my favorite author next to Buechner, and to have someone to savor these words with me is heaven).

I finished a book this afternoon, and I felt a real sense of accomplishment at having done so because I haven't succeeded at getting more than a third of a book read in months, but would I trade all this companionship, this comraderie, for more opportunities to read the last page?  No way.

I played my guitar more, but there was no one there to listen with a huge proud grin on his face.  No one to tell me that I really need to keep chasing that little dream in there.

I wrote more, I was a bit more contemplative, sure.  But what did I write about often?  What was on my mind and heart?  Well, lots of things, actually.  But there were many times I wrote about heartbreak or of feeling lonely, wrote of wanting someone to do life with.  And although there are times I miss this outlet and am looking forward to things settling down at some point so I can type my jumbled thoughts out a little more often, I wouldn't go back.  Not in a million years.  I kind of like the way I get to share my jumbled thoughts with Justin out loud, face-to-face.  He's a great sounding board, and always in my corner.  He's my rock.  Rather than tearing up every now and then on my own or as I'm typing or as I'm laying my head down on my pillow, I bury my tears in a warm chest and strong arms.  I find peace in the knowledge that no matter what -- no matter how weak or frustrated or tired I feel -- someone in this world is for me.  Grace abounds.

Yeah, yeah, I was ten pounds skinnier before.  But I have someone now who -- literally -- tells me everyday that I am beautiful, that I am treasured, that I am being pursued, that I am loved.  And that he doesn't care if I'm ten pounds different because he didn't notice anyway. 

You know, I almost believe him.  (And I am glad I bought my wedding dress a little big). 

In three weeks I'll be saying goodbye to the Little Blue House and to this 500 square feet of the world I called mine for a while.  Mine is, degree by degree, from the DVD collection to the laundry piles to the grocery trips, becoming ours.  Soon.  There'll be this truly interesting few months of my crashing at my folks' place to save cash.  There'll be a far more interesting period of about two weeks following the honeymoon where we'll be crashing in the room next to Grandma.  (Oh dear God).  And then... finally... Justin and I will be settling into our home.  Settling into our new life.  Our grand adventure.

I won't be looking back.