Grand Gestures

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the past. Just looking back to the first days of my relationship with Jake. Remembering the first time he held my hand walking out of camerata.. I couldn’t stop grinning in class because of it. I love looking back on those times. They are so sweet, so simple. So completely beautiful. The time he texted me about the photos Esther had taken I almost died.

And it makes me wonder – where did all that go? Have we somehow lost something there? Why don’t I get giddy whenever he tells me I’m beautiful? Why do I barely even accept it? Why don’t I grin uncontrollably every time he reaches for my hand in front of others? Certainly these things make me happy. But it’s not the same. What has changed?

I want to go back there. I want to recapture that simple joy.

I saw a coworker with her new boyfriend the other day as she was introducing him to a friend. She stood there with the silliest, stupidest, most adorable grin. She was simply in his presence and stupidly happy about it. And not that that never happens to me. But too often I’m disappointed, upset about… Something. Something petty, trivial, and surely unimportant. I don’t want that.

Something fundamental has changed. Because, quite simply, then everything was a pleasant surprise. Every sweet text was something to giggle over, to show to your best friend. Every time he came over was a special occasion that I had to dress up for. I felt special and loved and overwhelmed by everything that was happening.

And I’m not sure I feel that anymore.

But here’s my question. Is it me? Have I become something I never wanted to be? Have my expectations gone through the roof? Have I become something of a selfish bitch who needs grand gestures to feel loved? Who needs constant attention to feel validated? Who needs groveling and control to feel secure?

It’s a question that needs to be answered. Because I don’t like the way I’m feeling.

Maybe the answer doesn’t lie with Jake. Maybe it isn’t found in trying to manipulate him into showing that he loves me. Maybe it’s not solved by saying, “We need to talk,” by crying, by delving deeply in an effort to figure out what’s wrong inside. What’s making you feel this way. Perhaps it’s deeper than trying to kiss it away, more meaningful than escaping into your own mind.

Maybe the answer lies with me.

Perhaps the solution isn’t grander gestures but appreciating the small ones. Not the frequency of assurances but believing the ones that come. Life isn’t made up of grand gestures. Sure, they make great stories. And don’t get me wrong, there’s value in the kind of moments that live in your memory forever. I think I’m just trying to say that those moments can be small, insignificant even. I should say seemingly insignificant. It’s your choice that makes those moments significant.

It’s my choice that makes my life significant.

Because I can easily continue the way I have been going. I can continue to wish for grander gestures and more attention. I can continue to feel slightly sick inside. I can constantly fear that he doesn’t love me quite as much as he says he does. Or. I can choose to make every moment count. To savor every kiss. To build every word inside of me, to believe and remember. To simply seek to live every day. Devoid of grand gestures, of money and expense, of plans, but full of adventure and treasure and assurance and, well, love.

It’s a matter of expectation. In the beginning, I didn’t expect any of these things that have happened to ever be possible. In fact, they were so far out of the realm of possibility that only foolish dreaming kept it alive. Perhaps somehow only the hand of God. A thousand wishes on eyelashes have come true and when I stop to think about it, I’m not sure I can even comprehend it. I get that same feeling I get when I try to think about heaven. That I just can’t quite get my mind around it and maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m just supposed to appreciate it, bask in it.

I don’t mean that to be sacrilegious. I’m just saying what I feel sometimes.

But anyway, now, as is the case with all amazing things, it has become somewhat commonplace. I’ve gotten used to this idea, to this life with this man. And I’ve come to expect well, everything he is. He is unbelievably wonderful. Thoughtful, creative, brilliant. And he loves me to death. He loves me in such a way that everyone can see how much he adores me. Who can claim such a gift? Who on earth has been given such a wonder?

But the more I forget, the more I crave. And so my expectations rise beyond the confines of reality into the realm of crazy girlfriends and insecure fiancés. And certainly beyond the reach of even the most wonderful and beautifully intentioned men.

I’m ashamed to say that. Because the more I think about it, the more I think it’s because I’ve neglected to be my own self for so long. I’ve become lazy, complacent. Relying on my relationship to fill me up and forgetting that there’s no way it ever could. My thoughts are consumed with relationship. Not with writing. Not with my own thoughts, my own ideas, passions and dreams.

And I wonder why I’m not that excited about writing anymore.

I’m not excited because I’ve become half of a relationship. Not half of a best-friendship. Of an adventure. Not a thunder buddy.

A girlfriend. A fiancé. Things I never wanted to be.

It’s amazing how quickly we forget. But somehow. By the grace of God. We remember.