Day 4

I'll be the first to admit that I have trouble following my own advice sometimes. Despite the fact that I had been invited to multiple Super Bowl parties this weekend and had already chosen one (and made dips to bring to it the night before), I woke up this morning just not feeling like going anywhere at all. Had it not been for my roommate I very well may have stayed in my bathrobe and watched the game with a frozen pizza and half a bottle of wine. You see, football was a thing that the ex and I had been following together all season long- every Sunday came with my requisite weekly run to Wing Stop followed by half a dozen games on DVR (so as to watch every division and really get a grasp on who was headed to the ultimate of championships.) This Sunday however was bittersweet. I did end up going to my friend's and having a decent time, but to wait so long for something so big to happen and not share it with the person that waited with you feels like a bit of a letdown. (Kind of like a relationship that doesn't pan out- yeah, you see where I'm going here.) You can yell and cheer all you want, but somewhere, in between the mediocre "economic crisis" commercial reruns and less entertaining than normal halftime show, you can't help but wonder what your recent better half is doing and if they are thinking the same thing.

For some reason, one commercial tonight stuck out at me- not so much for its brilliance, but rather, for its random association to something I had heard so many times. Seeing the Tin Man animated in an ad (I don't even remember what for- smart work there, ad guys) took me back to my hundreds if not thousands of Wizard of Oz viewings throughout my childhood. And though the message I held close throughout childhood was "there's no place like home", the newer realization tonight was when the Tin Man finally meets the Wizard who says upon hearing his request, "A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others." Now I know that I have a big heart, bigger than many people I have me, but often I tend to love so much it can hurt. So how is it that you get others to love you? And if others tell you you have one of the biggest hearts they know, does that mean that they realize this because they love you back?

Today has been a very difficult day overall. Not because I was in a strange place surrounded by unknown people, not even because I was wrestling with a two year old while trying to watch the big game. Simply because I'm not sure if I've made the right decision here. Did I read his emails correctly? Did I overreact by taking a multi-month vow of silence? (Really either of those questions could be a yes or no.) I want to say I made the right decision; I know in my heart I more than likely did. So why then do I still carry the mixed feelings that I did twelve hours ago, and how can I make them go away?

When I started this experiment, I never said it was going to be easy. I never stated that it would all be okay, my heart would heal, and I would move on within a week. But I certainly didn't know it would be so hard either. I've actually never had quite so much trouble bridging the gap between an old relationship and a new one in the past, be it with myself or another person waiting in the wings. And maybe this is to say that one should never experiment in matters of the heart. (Then again, maybe if we didn't experiment, we would never find exactly what we're looking for.)

When I was in elementary school, I loved doing Science Projects. The build-up to choosing an idea, the hours of gathering materials, the week spent formulating a hypothesis, the months spent observing and recording the progression of variables A-E in comparison to the constant. All this work and time would lead up to that one night before the project was due: I'd stay up hours past curfew, double-matting and gluing my weeks' worth of blood sweat and tears onto a tri-fold piece of cardboard, working so hard to be the best. And when that Saturday morning came and the school would display the best projects in the fair, I'd stand proudly next to my table explaining what I'd done and everything I'd learned and what I would do better if I had the chance to do it all over again. And though often I felt as if every judge loved my project and me, when the time came in fourth grade to hand out the ribbons to the winners, I stood there smiling and ready and... lost. I didn't even get third place. Now I had always won in the years prior, so even as a ten year old I was sad, shocked, and angry, thinking that I deserved to win. I was the best they had: I spent months testing different fabrics for durability, I sewed them together and for hours rode up and down my block on my bicycle wheels covered with silk, linen, and lace. I even documented the evidence with photos and journals of how the fibers wore differently due to materials, varying terrains, and how they appeared under a microscope, and these judges were throwing it away on two volcanoes and some bean sprouts in a Ziplock? This just didn't make sense to me. Why wouldn't they chose me? I played it over and over again in my head for weeks after, and no matter what I wanted to do differently, I couldn't. The decision had been made, and regardless of what I thought, I was still standing there at the end of the day with that certificate of participation in my hand.

Much like that science project, dating for me is becoming an experiment in itself. I can do my best and plead my case and explain what I'd do different given the option again, but when it comes down to it I have little additional say in the final decision. And even though I've won in years past for less than stellar relationships, I feel like this last go round I was slighted that chintzy star trophy and blue ribbon. The judge had reached a verdict, and I needed to respect and deal with their decision. I suppose there is always a chance that you'll get that same judge next year, they may pull you aside and tell you that your project really was one of the best but volcano's Dad had just helped build the new gymnasium and it was their way of saying thank you. And provided that you can find a way to cast your previous issues aside and still explain that new project with as much hope, intensity, and vigor you did the first go round, you might very well have a chance of winning this time. But somewhere inside, even if you are set to win first place, you will always have some doubt in that judge until the blue ribbon is physically in your hands. Your only hope is to believe in your hypothesis and decisions no matter what, and always prepare yourself for the next big project instead of dwelling on the last; whatever else comes next does so because it is supposed to, and unlike the fabrics that are washed and dried, you simply have no control over what happens to the ones spinning around and around on varying terrains. Use genuine, natural materials and you will come out with a few scrapes and bruises; use synthetics, and you're dooming yourself from the get-go.