♥

someone should have told my ridiculously-happy-with-life self to send messages to my future self, too. Sigh.

You know, it's funny to me how matters of the heart can affect you. Ani told me today that it's relationships that will make even the most put-together woman fall apart. Work, family, money... I guess it all affects you in different ways. But matters of the heart are in a whole different store, on a whole different level, in a different mall in a different city about 12 states over.

I've always thought it was silly, with so many huge things in the world that could consume you--injustice, genocide, prejudice, God, ruling structures, and on and on and on--that women become consumed by men. That we let ourselves fall into irrational fits of despair just because someone (who may love you) isn't in love with you. Or doesn't want to kiss you. Or wants to kiss you but not today. Or doesn't love you the way you need to be loved. It just seems so petty.

Over time, I've come to the conclusion that it is actually valid. That the reason why we get so broken is because we're offering a level of vulnerability to this person that we're not offering to anyone else. Maybe it's the little girl inside of us that was fed on Disney fairy tales and is just waiting for the moment when Happily Ever After begins. Probably it's just that we all long to really, truly be heard and understood.

I have an, erm, not so stellar history with men. By choice and by circumstance. So it's been a while since I've had to really deal with my heart. After Scott, there were different layers of heart-related issues, but mostly for 2 years my heart has been quietly gathering itself together in an attempt to rise from the ashes. But I've recently had a friendship that opened up my heart. Which was nice, to feel again, to feel in a stable and healthy way, even if he didn't feel the same.

As I've been dealing with it, I've been finding little hearts everywhere. Hearts made of plastic, little wooden hearts lying on the street corner, intricate glass hearts sent to me in cardboard boxes, hearts in the coral at the beach. I've never much liked hearts but I've begun collecting them. Maybe the sign is that I need to hold on to my own, and not keep it on the windowsill like I was doing. Maybe because this recent man made me feel my own heart beat again. But maybe all that it means is I'm supposed to feel my heart but hold it close to me, wear it like a necklace, keep it as mine.

I never know, but I try to learn from everything I go through. If I don't learn the right lesson, there'll be another situation to teach me what I was supposed to actually learn. I started writing this last night, pride-hurt and wallowing. But right now, I feel okay with everything--happy, even. My heart is mine to give and to keep. I guess my ridiculously-happy-with-life self is still here. Everything is too incredible to get stuck in the mire for long.