How to Find Yourself in One Really, Really Complex, Uncomfortable Step

My life changed for good and for the better last October. After dating the same person for nearly four years, I realized that we weren't going to work out and we mutually ended the relationship. I would love to say, "Oh yeah, I totally ended that relationship on my own and made him cry and I am such a strong, independent woman that I didn't care at all." But that would be a huge lie; after we broke up, I did cry. I cried a lot. I cried in my college's library. I cried in my car. I cried at the Sonic drive-thru, and the car-hop thought I was crying because my order wasn't correct. (She gave me an extra peppermint and I regret nothing about this moment.)

I thought at the time that I was crying because I had lost out on a future with my ex-boyfriend, but when I was rejected from Teach For America a few days following the break-up, I realized that I wasn't upset about breaking up with my boyfriend at all. (I don't want to sound bitter toward my ex, because I am not. Sometimes people don't work out and know they won't work out but stay in a disintegrating relationship for three years too long because that means they have a date to all-you-can-eat spaghetti night on Thursdays. I am these people. I stayed in a relationship purely on the promise of having someone to look at while I slurped on spaghetti noodles. The spaghetti was good and I learned a lot about myself from it - like how I will hang out with anyone if they like the same kind of food I do - so I have no regrets.)

When I got the email informing me that Teach For America did not want me, I realized all at once that I was upset about the huge life change facing me. I was a senior in college with no idea where my life was headed. If you told me then that in merely a year I'd be insanely in love with an incredible person - a person with whom I'm compatible in nearly every way - and working in the field I love and living with the best cat in the world, I would have laughed hysterically to mask the onslaught of depression. Simply put, I was more comfortable being consistently unhappy than taking a chance on happiness and falling short. For this reason, I helped start - and later quit -  a shitty sorority (I chose the adjective "shitty" because I like the alliteration and also because it's true) where I was treated poorly. I have horror stories from my experience in the sorority, but I won't share those out of respect for the few people in the sorority who treated me kindly. (You will know who these people are because they're the only ones I kept as friends on Facebook.) 

Much like in my relationship, I was disregarded and often belittled in the sorority. So many people talked about me behind my back that I began to suspect that I was constantly sitting in wet paint without realizing it. I lost two family members to suicide in a two-week span and it was still more pleasant than my first three years of college, two of which were spent in this sorority. 

I quit the sorority. I quit my relationship. I quit trying to retain a sense of stability in favor of taking a chance on new friendships, relationships and life paths. Because of this, I became better friends with Kelby, one of the best people I have ever known. I gave a relationship with Gideon a chance after knowing him for four years; this, I am sure, is the moment I will relay to my grandchildren someday as the greatest decision I ever made. (Either that or the time I resisted the urge to purchase Kris Jenner's tell-all memoir.) 

Today, I am happier than I have ever been in my life and I know it is all because I stopped worrying and started living.  Now if someone will put that on a bumper sticker and quote me, I would love to be famous. 

You know it's love when he tries to eat the back of your head.