On Talking To The Void

Or, "writing letters to someone I know nothing about is a useful coping mech".

I know my Person is out there. They have to be. I was talking to my dear friend Olivia about this about a week ago and she said that she's thought about it a lot too and figures that some people are just meant to be with someone, period. (Olivia, for the record, has been with her boyfriend for nine months and they're pretty sure they're each other's Person and other than the fact that I randomly decided to refer to him as Penguin, I'm pretty sure he's the best thing that's ever happened to her.) It's reassuring, that certainty. At least I have something, y'know?

One of the weirder things I've read on various lists of things for Good Christian Girls to do while they wait for their Prince Charming (those of y'all who've seen such lists know I'm not exaggerating) is to write letters to one's future Person. When I was a little bug who did not believe in love (why that changed is another post), I thought that was the most ridiculous idea ever. Yes, even worse than hope chests, and don't get me started on that. (Thus says the girl who's never dated anyone and yet has her wedding dress already. I have such fun inconsistencies.) Now that I'm older and in the stage of desperately waiting for my blossoming to happen... it's actually awesome.

I'm doing a lot of things for my future Person, which is hilarious considering I don't exactly expect them to show up anytime soon. I'm working on the Beekeeper Quilt nightmare, which remains nowhere near done but I'm trying and maybe it'll be done in four years (I am realistic). I have a nice collection of clearance-rack lingerie, which I admittedly do wear on days I need a confidence boost but honestly no one's going to see it on me for a darn long time. And then there's the journal. The Journal. Ohhhhdear.

I'm not sure why I actually started that project. The journal itself was an impulse purchase of the "things that come home with me when I get stuck on a long Walmart trip with my mother" variety. (Normally that category is occupied by eyeshadow and hairbands and holiday novelties.) I've attempted journaling for myself at so many points starting when I was a tiny and... honestly, I suck at it. I get bored. I generally drop particular journals after something bad happens, and then a little while later I get it into my head that I actually want to do this again and acquire a new one and the cycle repeats. I know I do this. And maybe part of me thought this would happen with The Journal. Part of me wonders if it will, at some point, when my current delusions of preparing for my ascendance are dashed by one more terrible broken heart. But a stronger part of me is pretty sure it won't, because this project isn't for me.

This project is for someone I know basically nothing about. I mean, my Person is most likely male (sexual fluidity nightmare being what it is, unless something major shifts, that's the way those attractions actually go) and most likely older than me. They're hopefully quite a bit different than me and hopefully not the sort of person who spends too much of their spare time wondering about their future Person, because one of us does need to be functional, and if they do have the same cute-but-not-actually-helpful coping mech that's getting me through the uncertainty of waiting, I kinda doubt they're envisioning anything like me. (I'm no one's ideal, I know this, and that is not a desperate plea for petty compliments.) I know that they're loyal and good - they have to be, I won't tolerate anything less - and... that's about it. The stuff that I'll notice first, the stuff I'll fall in love with, I'll discover when it happens. And I'm trying to be okay with that, but I really hate uncertainty. I like knowing things. The fact that the defining relationship of my life is currently a complete unknown is... not good for me.

And maybe that's why The Journal helps, because it's giving me an outlet for my wonderings. I'm writing little love letters to someone who won't see them for years, but I'm also revealing little pieces of myself, things I may not remember to tell them but that still matter. It feeds the uncertainty, yes, but it makes the dark unknown feel welcoming. I am embracing it before I know what it is. I am falling in love with someone I haven't met yet. I am doing what needs to be done for me and, at the same time, doing what needs to be done for them.

I have no delusions of everything suddenly being okay when I find my Person. Most of y'all reading this have met my parents; believe me, that idea got shot in the foot before it had a chance. But I do know that it's going to be magnificent. And when the time comes, I will have a whole lot of stories waiting to tell them.

Song of the day - "When You Sleep", Mary Lambert.