No, this isn’t going to be a recant of a really lame Avril Lavinge song.
It’s just another long, overdue blog.
I KNOWWWW every time I write one I promise I will write another one soon and then, alas, six, seven, even eight months have gone by and not a peep.
(For those that actually care and pay attention: I’m genuinely sorry.)
Believe me, the lack of consistent blogging is not out of laziness. And to be totally honest, it’s not really because I have been sooooooo busy. (Which I am. But so is everybody, so that’s a lame excuse.) To be totally transparent: I just haven’t felt I’ve had anything worthwhile to say.
If you’re familiar with my blogs, then you know I’ve been on the “finding-my-single-self” journey for a while now. You also know that the last few years have been a maelstrom of break-ups, make-ups, heartbreaks, breakdowns and breakthroughs. And if you read my last blog (yah, the one from, um, September…) then you know that within the last year, my single-self-journey has been, well, pretty amazeballs.
Being single rules. I really, honestly believe that. Sure, there are moments of sheer and utter loneliness (i.e., crying alone in the bathroom at holidays and such) but for the most part, singlehood is blissful liberation.
It’s also exceptionally educational, especially when it comes to dating. I am by NO means an expert, but over the last few years, I’ve learned a few things. Not necessarily about men- because I don’t think I’ll ever get them. And not even about dating- which I’ve done a lot of. But about myself. About what I do and do not want. About what I will and will not stand for. About what turns me off and what turns me on. And perhaps, above all, how incredibly self-reliant I have become.
All of this led me to a place where getting into a serious relationship was thee laaaaast thing on my wish list. Not necessarily because I became slightly jaded from all the haphazard dates, unsatisfying friendships with benefits, random rendezvous’ and downright drama, (which I sort of did), and not because I was afraid of getting hurt (which I definitely was), but because I was honestly and purely having WAY too much fun being on my own. My career, my inner-circle of friends and my “me-time” became the center of my life in a way it never had before and (notwithstanding some road bumps of sadness, disappointment and loneliness along the way) I had never felt more fulfilled. It all took some SERIOUS time, but Jessica got her groove back. And therefore the word “boyfriend” sorta made me want to vomit.
That is, until I met my Boyfriend. (Sans quotations.)
That word carries a lot of weight for me. The last time I had a serious boyfriend, I also ended up in the worst depression of my life when it was over. And given that emotional co-dependency runs in my DNA, I’ve worked my ass off learning how to truly take care of myself, to find joy in my own silences and have become (quite literally) obsessed with my absolutely inspiring, ridiculously INCREDIBLE friends. (Shout out to all y’all.) And so by no means was I on a “boyfriend” hunt. I have always known and believed that for a guy to come into my life and become my “boyfriend,” he would have to be exceptional. And exceptional is rare.
So this exceptional person, AKA my Boyfriend, has now come into the picture… and for the first time in years, I’ve started to let my heart open up in a way that I never saw coming. I’m remembering not only the simple joys of being in a relationship, but also, what it feels like to fall in love. And it’s not as scary as I thought. In fact, it’s beyond better than I even remembered.
But I’m not going to sit here and gush, because a) that would be tacky and b) that’s not really the point of this blog.
Final confession…(can you handle it?): so, I have quite a few tattoos. The most recent one I got is of an image I found on The Daily Love, a blog I read religiously every single day. (What’s up Mastin!?) The tattoo sits on my rib cage and reads:
1 + 1 = 11
By Mastin’s definition, it means: “Be Whole.” By mine own, it means: “Love yourself, Love another, but never lose yourself.”
Finding my Boyfriend hasn’t “completed” my life. (FYI: I think the final scene of the movie Jerry Maguire is horseshit.) My Boyfriend definitely makes my day-to-day sweeter, my thoughts more meaningful, my actions more significant, my heart flutter and my body feel pretty freaking electric. But he doesn’t fill 50% of a missing half. I believe one must be a whole person to attract another whole person. Together, you can begin to share a life that doesn’t entirely alter and transform who you are…it simply makes you stronger.
Because the number 11 is greater than the number 2, anyway.
You feel me?
So. I guess I’ll see you in another eight months…