Ox & Kitty

How exactly does one write a story when you don’t know the ending?

            Actually, that’s how I write most things. The things I write have a life of their own. I simply write them down as they come to me, and often they don’t reveal to me what they truly are until the end, and I am just surprised as my readers by the way they end up.

            My readers. Ha, as if I have readers.

            That is a beautiful dream, though. To think that someday I will have readers.

            But for the moment, I simply wait for inspiration to strike, for a moment to whisper to me, and for a story to reveal itself to me.

            And believe me, I am more curious than all of you as to how the story of Ox & Kitty will end up.

            Sometimes I wonder why it is so much more difficult to write about happy things than painful things. Perhaps it is simply because I want so badly to get it right, to express perfectly all the things I’m feeling. Nothing ever seems quite adequate and so I end up quitting before the story has shown me who it is. Whereas when I write about sad things, painful things, I simply write, simply let my emotions flow on into words until the story has laid itself before me and I emerge amazed at what I wrote.

            The best writing teaches you something about your own emotions.

            The other thing about happy writing is we so seldom reflect on our own happiness. When we are sad, when we are hurt, we stew in it, dwell on it, churn it over and over in our minds and regurgitate it to experience the pain over and over again. We question it, examine it, and relive it. Happiness, on the other hand, is simply experienced. We breathe it, we live it, we bask in it. But once it is gone, we seldom reflect upon it. Rather we pine for its return so we can go on living. As a result, unless we capture that emotion as we experience it, rarely can it be transferred onto the page. And the difficult thing is, when we are that happy, we can never find the words to describe it.

            And so the cycle continues. We write sad songs, sad books, sad stories. And we dwell in sadness.

            I am as guilty as the next person, perhaps far more so, actually. I am by nature reflective, sensitive, and a bit melancholy. An absolute sucker for weepy guitar music, I will naturally turn to the quiet, the piercingly beautiful, the dramatic.

            Yet I am not simply that person. I am also a person full of joy and life, spark and sass, and that side of me rebels against the quiet reflective side. These two sides of me constantly duel for my attention and attitude, and, perhaps a bit tragically, it is the weepy side that most often wins when I write. Simply put, my sassy side does not enjoy reflecting, it enjoys adventuring, laughing, moving. So the quiet side takes over my fingers as I sit still at my desk or coffeeshop table and attempt to write the stories of my life.

            But this time, I don’t want that side of me to win out. Yes, I want to reflect, but I also want to somehow capture something that makes me so utterly joyful. And that is my ox Jake. He was given the moniker of Ox by my dear friend Nikki who was teasingly insulting his size. I, however, loving the fact that he is something of a giant who happens to tower over my tiny five-foot, 93-pound frame, adopted the name as an affectionate nickname.  He currently resides in my phone not as Jake but as My ox.

            I get perhaps a strange amount of pleasure out of the fact that my boyfriend is a giant. His old track jacket, which is currently residing in my car and will never be returned to him, comes down to my knees and could comfortably fit three Esthers within its folds. Yet I wear it with pride, loving the fact that it envelops me. It reminds me that he is strong enough to protect me, to wrap his arms around my tiny self and shield me from that which hurts me. And it doesn’t hurt that he holds the school record in hammer throw and that just sounds badass when you’re bragging about your boyfriend.

            But on a more serious note, I think perhaps the reason that his willingness to protect me strikes me so deeply and means so much is because my last boyfriend also claimed to be willing to protect me. And in fact, he did “protect” me from others. He defended me from those who spoke to me unkindly, and always was willing to keep me safe from any sketchy characters. He simply was unable to protect me from himself. He thought he was my protector. He sincerely believed, and I think still believes, that he kept me safe and treated me well. But that merely shows the depths of his delusion.

            He spoke many of the same words Jake does. In fact, there have been moments that their words are eerily similar. But the critical difference is Jake lives those words. He tells me every day that he loves me, but he also strives to live those words, to show me by his actions that he means those words. Brandon told me every day that he loved me and with his every action belied those words.

            But Jake. Oh Jake. What can I say about him? I adore him. And I choose that word intentionally. According to the utterly reliable source of dictionary.com, to adore someone is to regard with the utmost esteem, to love, respect, and honor. And this one word woke me up to the fact that I needed to end my relationship with Brandon.

            I was sitting in Psalms and Wisdom Literature class, taught by the one and only Dr. John Hiigel. He is by far one of the most beloved and respected professors at USF, and one that has always shown the utmost care and concern for each of his students. I admire him greatly and respect and at least attempt to learn from every word of wisdom that comes from his mouth. On this particular day, we were studying Song of Solomon, the awkward, dirty, book of Hebrew sex poetry. Only Dr. Hiigel could have taken this book and transformed it into a real lesson about relationships. He was giving a small side-note monologue about, well, something. Relationships, marriage, I’m really not sure of the details. But I will forever remember the moment he said, “And for heavens sake, don’t marry someone you don’t adore.”

            As a girl coming to grips with the reality that I would end up married to this Brandon character, I was struck by his words. And as I reflected on what it meant to adore someone, I realized I absolutely did not adore Brandon. I was embarrassed by him, I was bitter towards him, I thought he was hurtful, unkind, and weak. In many ways, I think I already hated him. And I was considering marrying this person?

            Needless to say, I broke up with him a few weeks later.

            But I adore Jake. I respect him. I think he is strong, brave, talented, intelligent, kind, hilarious. I think he is a genuinely good man who is seeking after God, who loves God more than he loves me. And as much as that is a cliché, it is invaluable. He inspires me in so many ways. He pushes me to Christ by his words and his example, and so inspires me to be a more Christ-centered version of myself.

            But one of the biggest gifts he has given me is the inspiration to write. He saw that I have a gift, a talent, a passion, and he encourages me constantly to pursue it. Even if it means giving up time with him in order to write, even if it means that I sit on his couch completely ignoring him while we’re supposed to be having a Food Network date, he is patient and understanding with my attempts to chase my dreams. Every piece I write he reads with care, seeking to understand me and my heart more fully. He literally reads my blog every single day because he says he finds something new each time.

            Yeah. Be jealous. My boyfriend is fantastic.

            This kid is completely wrapped around my finger. And he knows it and is completely ok with it. He brings me flowers just because. He never lets me pay, even when I want to. He calls me to encourage me before interviews and first days. He misses me when he doesn’t see me every day. He visits me at work.

            What did I do to deserve this?

            He is absolutely my best friend. I know, I know, that’s a cliché. And I hate clichés with a burning passion. But there simply is no other way to say it. We were best friends before we ever fell in love and we will always be best friends first. Our relationship is not about what the other person should be doing for us, it’s not about what they did to annoy us, not about pressure or jealousy or expectations. It is simply life. But with your best friend.

            So I don’t know how the story will end. Not for sure. But really, I don’t have to know the ending. Because the story isn’t about the ending. The story is still revealing itself to me. I am still in the adventure, still living life.

            And really. It’s pretty perfect.

            So I hope the ending stays far away.