Rejection, Acceptance, and Faith

I live on site at my job.  It's 26 feet from my apartment to my office.  This sometimes leads to awkward, strange mornings - me sitting at the desk taking a reservation when my boss unlocks the door on my day off, running for the phone still in a towel after my shower, or a renter knocking on my door having locked himself out.

Or, as it was about a month ago, a realtor trying to open my bedroom door.

Luckily, I lock the doors at night, otherwise the poor realtor, potential buyers (a high school friend of mine and her mom - seriously, small towns can get so damn awkward), and my boss would have had quite the sight.

The day the realtor woke me up was the same day I submitted a job application in a nervous, hopeful fog.  I had applied for this job once before, senior year of college when I still had a full semester of class ahead.  I never heard a peep.  A lot changed in two years, and I held my breath as I prayed over the process, sure that God's timing was so obvious here.

Three hours later, I had an interview.
The interview ended with them saying I had "an awesome set of skills."  They told me the decision would be three days.
Three days later, they told me three more days.
Three days later, the opportunity was gone.

They were very complimentary.  Basically, it had come down to me and someone else, and the someone edged me out.  If another opportunity came up, they would love to have me.

A nice rejection doesn't make you feel any less rejected.

I sat in the bottom of my closet and cried as I called my SO and my mom.  I ate an absurd amount of calories.  I bought some vodka.  I argued with friends, because sometimes they just don't say the right things and sometimes you just don't care enough to be nice about it.  And mostly, I felt crummy and boxed in and just not good enough.

7 days later, everything changed.

I was checking my email during a particularly slow moment at work.  The woman who would have been my boss made an appearance.  In essence, the someone else had backed out, and they wanted me - was I still interested?

Um, yes.


So now here I sit, filling my last two weeks before moving into The New, The Different, and The Unknown.  I spent those seven days resigning myself to staying where I was, to believing that the right thing would come, that there was a reason I wasn't "there" yet.  And now it's all changed again.  The world is so topsy-turvy sometimes, so hard to reckon with.  But I believe those seven days were good for me, if only to serve as a reminder that I need to accept myself and accept that I won't always be the best, the brightest, and the winner.

Numb

I started my morning off with a cruise through Facebook, like I usually do.  I stopped on a specific post, a longer one, because I knew whatever was said by this person would catch in my heart.

"I think when there is no end in sight or no date to return God puts a sort of numbness on me so I don't feel the entire pain of missing him."

I certainly understand that.

The author of the post was talking about the child she hopes to adopt, who is on another continent, and though I'm not adopting, I know that kind of numbness.

I haven't seen my SO in almost two years.  I know most people think that's crazy and ridiculous, and I'm not here to justify my relationship to the world.  He and I have lives that don't give much right now, and so we struggle to find time to be in the same timezone.

People always say long distance relationships don't work.  Sometimes that's true.  I've said before, distance is tough.  I think one of the hardest things about being away from your loved one is not having all of the little daily reminders of why you love them.  He's not there to stop and grab flowers before a date, or pick up your favorite orange juice before you spend the night, or help you rearrange the furniture without complaining.  Your love, in a way, has to perpetuate itself.

Being lonely for someone gnaws at you.  But when that person is gone every day, it can't gnaw all the time.  You can't spend every waking moment pining.  You have to have fun, to enjoy days without him, and to be content without him sometimes.  It's healthy.

Those moments, though, are when I think people start to question their LDR.  "If I'm fine without him, why are we together?"

That question is a liar.

You have to be fine without him.  Even if you were married and together every day, you'd have to be okay being separated.  If you weren't, that would certainly be a sign of an unhealthy dependence.  Surviving and thriving while separated doesn't mean you don't love your partner, it means you love yourself and your relationship enough to be strong, to build toward better things, to work to build a life where you can be together.

Two days ago was my love's birthday.  Because of his job, I didn't even get to call him on his birthday.  It sucked.  I thought all day of how I would celebrate him if we were together.  At the same time, I went to work, made dinner for one, and never let myself cry because the last thing I wanted to do on his birthday was bring him down by piling my sadness on top of his.

Being numb is sometimes the only way to cope.

A Lesson in Patience

About two weeks ago, I packed up and took off to Montana for a week.  My best friend J was getting married, and there was obviously NOTHING that would stop me from being there.

I had prepared myself for the the emotions that were going to come with it.  You see, J's husband is in the Air Force, currently stationed in England, so a lot was about to happen.  In just a few short days, I got to see J again, met her husband for the first time, did everything in my power to help take some of the wedding chaos off her shoulders, put up with some of the more...colorful...guests, spent many many hours alone in the car with another of my close friends, and said goodbye to J before she jets off to her new home outside of London with a question mark where her return date goes.

And yet, weirdly, one of the most painful things to happen that week was a picture message from my mom.

About ten years ago, my dad and I built a nearly 200 sq ft flower bed for my mom, and ever since, she (with, okay, minimal help from me) has been turning it into a perennial garden, which means we spend the spring and summer waiting for everything we've already planted to pop up and bloom again.

I wait for the tulips and the lillies.  Those are "my" flowers.  This year has been a strangely soggy one for us here in Minnesota, and under the average temp too, so the growing season has been delayed.  My lillies still had not bloomed. And then a day after I arrived in Montana, they did. 

This has been a recurring theme for me, this feeling of missing out, of feeling the world's time slipping out of sync with my plan. It's a disaster. Despite my best efforts, at heart I am still a control freak. Losing my place feels like heartbreak – and getting back on track takes more than just hopping on one foot until the hitch in my ankle cures itself.

I cried about it, I did. Not just about the flowers, but about life and angst and feeling lost.  Then I got back on my feet, wiped my face, and moved on – talked to people, put together the wedding, danced the Cupid Shuffle and YMCA. Pretended I was on the right track. 

And when I got back home, I found this.