If it’s cliché of me to return to blogging after breaking in a brand new year, I don’t give a shit. I’m well past the point of being fashionably late to wish you a happy new year, which is good; I don’t need to engage in a conversation about my resolutions, or lack thereof. I don’t make resolutions, because I think they’re as much bullshit as the over-hyped holiday they’re associated with. The over-hyped, stupid holiday…that I buy into every year, hoping one night will miraculously erase the crap in my life and I’ll wake up January 1st invigorated, with a fresh outlook, and maybe even with a boyfriend (or at least someone I shared a magical first kiss with at midnight...I am that cheesy).
If I had one of those really loud, annoying buzzers from a game show that signals the very WRONG answer, I would use it right now.
Did I awake and find some amazing man in bed who materialized overnight to sweep me off my feet? Hell fucking no. Did a night of champagne shot-skis and drinking games erase the emotional baggage I’ve gained over the past year(s)? Of course fucking not! (It was a lot of fun though.) Is my path in life now cleanly laid out in front of me with a rainbow and a pot of gold at the end? You guessed it - NO! I have no fucking clue what I’m doing 99.9% of the time; though I am apparently upping the fuck quotient in my vocabulary.
You know what I did wake up to on New Year's Day? Me. April. All of my intelligence, wit, beauty, neurotic tendencies, insecurities, and quirks that make me, me. I woke up and spent the first day of 2016 snowboarding with one of my closest friends; breathing in the crisp mountain air, soaking in the sunshine of a pure bluebird day, and relishing the feeling of my board cutting down the mountain (with a lot less powder than I’d like, but hey, as a prairie girl I will NEVER complain about a day in the mountains). Me…and the human jumble that I am.
There was someone in my life for a few months at the end of 2015. Something was happening with someone, and it was…something. It was a connection I never knew I always wanted. This something was deceptively simple. It was rare, and somehow simultaneously exciting and comfortable. I was twitterpated. I could see it becoming official, and amazing. And I could not have been further off-base. As subtly and easily as it began, it unfurled in a stupefying confession and left me bewildered, and with the heaviest of hearts.
Insert gameshow buzzer here. WRONG.
This has been pulling at me for a while. It's been winding around inside my mind, slowly coming to the forefront. It does seem crucial to me that a person would want to be the best version of themselves for their someone else. I want to be my best self for that person (if I should ever fucking find him). But...we're human beings. However pristine our exterior, it belies the tumultuous interior of a human. At our core, we have hearts and emotions that defy all logic. Those hearts and emotions can muddle things, especially relationships. We can strive for perfection, for our "best version," but there's always going to be a bit of mess, it's inevitable. We're humans, and we fuck shit up (maybe more often than we care to admit). Case and point: being so much of a mess that you throw away the woman standing in front of you saying she wants you just as you are, mess and all.
I don't (only) want the best version of you, because I won't always be the best version of me.