Cowboy Up! I'll take one, please.....
Last night, I was unpacking my worldly belongings out of my 20 smooshed, and newly transplanted cardboard boxes. I took a break, and checked my email, which shoved me quickly down the slippery slope of procrastination.... How I found The Pioneer Woman, I don't really remember, but two hours later I was still reading her story, amused that I was SO into her Harlequin love novel like life!! I'm not much for mushy gushy reads, but she was captivating. She was funny, independent, and cool, and surprisingly vulnerable... Not something I have felt in a long while.
I'm not even in a relationship, but I felt so drawn to her experiences... Big city girl leaves the big city (LA). During a visit to her much smaller hometown, on a "pit stop" to her next fabulous big city move (Chicago) and law school, she ends up falling head over heels while she's there. Improbable, unexpected, unbelievable etc.... But it happened! It's a true story, being told by the woman herself....I felt like her 4 year long LA relationship with "James" is akin to my old job in Miami. That was my boyfriend. She stayed out of comfort and security... But soon realized this was not enough reason to stick it out. I envy this woman's life, and the fact that she found someone to appreciate her both for who she was, and who she wasn't. She served as an inspiration and a true lesson to me, that no matter how planned out your "silly little life" seems to be, what we have planned may not be right... Detours and renovations of the 'plan', although scary at the time, can have wonderful results....
........My life had been a whirlwind. First, I'd been born. Check. I'd vacationed with my family on Hilton Head Island, gone to Broadway trips to New York with my mom, visited camp friends in other states. I'd donned ballet shoes at the age of four, and by the time I was eighteen they'd taken me to big cities and universities for workshops and performances and seminars. My parents opened doors of opportunity for me and showed me the world, and when college came around, I was way too big for the state schools within two hours of my hometown. I wanted more. I wanted bigger. I wanted Los Angeles.
I inhaled L.A., exploring every area, every restaurant, every stretch of beach, every store. I walked the walk, dressed the part, turning myself into a Valley Girl within a month of my arrival. I danced in clubs and talked to so many totally fabulous people on a regular basis, I began to think the whole world was totally fabulous. I lived large. Oh, did I ever live large.
(....jump ahead 4 years, a college degree and a big breakup later....)
Coming home from L.A., I'd become so hardened by it all, so guarded. The traffic and smog and hoards of people. And James. He'd been so laid back about love, so emotionally flaccid when it came to outward expressions of passion, over time I'd trained myself not to want it. James rarely told me he loved me, had certainly never told me he needed me—not 'til the bloody end when he realized I was out the door. He'd never shared feelings much, never talked about the future, never cared to reflect upon the state or well-being of our relationship. James was always content, when it came to us, just…to be.
This was all fine and dandy, except that over time, his phlegmatic approach to love began to burn tiny cigarette holes in my soul, holes I never knew existed until I finally left California and James in an impulsive fit of independence and feminism and stood—for the first time in years—on my own. Once back home, I finally had the time to breathe deeply, in and out, all day long, without the 110 freeway and the smog and the burden of keeping my feelings, frustrations, and fears bottled up whenever James was around. I never realized—not until I was home—how much daily energy that task had required.
And now, Marlboro Man had appeared. And daily, he poured pitchers and pitchers of affection and love into all the divots and dings and craters that California and James had created. Filled them up with a rich, thick syrup…with a sweet, soothing salve. A month in the arms of Marlboro Man and every void in my gut was filled, and then some. My cup ran over. Oh, how my cup ran over. It ran over and out the door and down the street and doused everyone who ever had the misfortune of being around me during that time. I was madly, helplessly, impossibly in love.............To be with a man who, despite his obvious masculinity, wasn't at all afraid to reveal his soft, affectionate side. Who had no fears or hang-ups about declaring his feelings plainly and often. Who, it seemed, had never played a head game in his life. This was the romance I was meant to have, and every moment I was in his arms, I reveled in that delicious clarity.
........Marlboro Man filled my daydreams, filled my thoughts, filled my time, my heart, my mind, my consciousness. With him, I had everthing I needed, and I don't mean in the material sense. On the contrary, we spent no money when we were together, contributed absolutely nothing to the economy. Zero, except for the occasional bag of groceries I'd pick up on my way to his house in the country: bags filled with wine, artichokes, and shrimp if I'd gone to the supermarket in my parent's town; potatoes, iceberg lettuce, and corn if I'd stopped at the small market where Marlboro Man lived. Never hamburger or steaks, because his freezer was filled with more beef than I ever thought existed on earth. And nightlife was as much a part of our daily routine as fashion shows and corporate meetings. Our relationship wasn't dripping with diamonds or occupied with shopping trips or fragranced by vases of hybrid roses colored with artifical dyes. The affection between us wasn't filtered by anything conditional or tangible or shiny or chocolatey or glossy. With Marlboro Man, black pumps and designer bags and jewelry and champagne weren't just the farthest things from my mind, I forgot about them entirely.
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