A Month’s Perspective
I’ve spent the day enjoying one of my favorite past times: remembering.
On this day a month ago, my life changed. For the better. On this day one month ago, nearly two months of what felt like the realest relationship I’ve ever had with someone finally became tangible.
We finally met.
I can go through the entire day. I can remember what I was thinking at specific moments and smile, wish I weren’t doing so now from so far away. She was nervous. She was nervous for much of the two months building up, and the day before I came, I think she probably wanted to throw up. I was the opposite. I took comfort knowing she was nervous and that I’d be able to ease her mind when the wait was finally over.
But then, after finally seeing her, after dropping her off at work and waiting for her shift to end, the universe turned on its side. I was nervous. The confidence I had slowly built for so long didn’t disappear; it hid. And I couldn’t find it. Couldn’t find it while we watched TV and I repeatedly tried to look for a “smooth” moment to put my arm around her. Couldn’t find it when we finally got to my hotel room and knew what was supposed to come next.
Until I did what I’ve done so many times before: I told myself in three, two one, JUST DO IT. Like four times. Then, before I knew I could fail my mental countdown again, I finally just did it. I kissed her.
And so began four days of realizing every daydream can be realized. That in just a short time, all your inhibitions can be cast aside and you can enjoy every second of being with a person like you’d only fantasized about one day being able to do.
But I keep going back to that nervousness. I’ll never forget it and I’ll never let go of its power. I can feel only one emotion in response to that happening to me: gratitude. I’m grateful I was reduced to a teenager who didn’t know what to do. I wanted it all to be perfect, because she deserved it, and was. It was perfect.
"How was your trip," everyone asked me when I came home.
"It was perfect."
I’ve begun to consider the fluidity of that word, perfect. It tends to turn people off because its implications are that some unattainable expectations come with it. Something that’s perfect is without mistakes, without flaws. To me, something can only be perfect if the potential for flaws and mistakes, and thus, growth, are present. Fear, anxiety, confusion—all emotions that can be unpleasant, but without them, would leave me feeling empty. Dead.
This time one month ago, I finally did move closer to you on the couch, put my arm around you and rest my hand on your leg. I felt comfortable, then nervous again, and then I felt like I had climbed to the top of the world and took you with me.