20 Seconds of Insane Courage

I haven’t seen “We Bought A Zoo” yet (I will, based on my love of all things Matt Damon and Cameron Crowe) but one line from that movie keeps finding its way into my Twitter feed and Facebook wall: “All you need is 20 seconds of insane courage…”

I’ve been thinking about this since Sunday morning, when I logged on to a dating site I keep an open profile on, clicked on “who’s viewed me” and saw his face.

He looked at my profile.

He sent me no smiles or flirts or messages, but he looked at my profile.

Now, I know there are a million explanations for this--errant thumb hits link accidentally, dog paws on the keyboard, possibly forgotten he even knew me--but I’ve been thinking ever since I saw his face again if it was intentional.

And what might that mean?

And should I do anything about it?

I usually subscribe to the philosophy of “If he wants to be with you, he’ll find a way to be with you.”

But at the same time, I subscribe to the philosophy “Act as if everything depended on you, pray as if everything depended on God.”

I’ve spent many hours on my knees about this one, from the day we met, especially in the week that followed our breakup, and occasionally in the past year or so when I missed him so much I thought for sure I’d rather just feel nothing, have some “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind” procedure so I could forget how he made me feel.

I wanted to forget him.

And then this quote, "20 seconds of insane courage, and I promise you something great will come out of it."

And then today, this blog post, about a girl who refused to give up.

And I wonder--in all honesty--what is the harm of saying hello, happy holidays, hope you are well?

What is the worst that could happen? My heart is already broken, though stitched together with seasonal hope, so the worst is that he never reads the email, never responds, and a stitch or two pops open but heals back up in a day.

20 seconds of insane courage. It takes less than 20 seconds to send an email.

So I only need one.

Because honestly, at this point in my life, why not? I turn 40 in seven months. I’ve reconciled completely and peacefully with not having children. I’m truly okay with it. And most days, I’m completely and peacefully okay with not having a spouse. I love my career, I love my colleagues, I love my space that I can keep as neat-freakish or as slovenly as I wish, depending on my mood.

One second of insane courage. It’s something. An offering at the end of a year that can only be described as utterly hopeless.

So if anyone has one second of insane courage to lend me (or wants to talk me out of sending a two-sentence email), speak up. I'm not sure I can do this on my own.

Okay, Universe, It's Your Turn (Anne)

My sister moved to a far-off land, and I want to visit her and her adorable family. But to do so requires a passport.

Can you believe I am as old as I am and don't have a passport? Since I served a mission in Canada pre-9/11, all I needed for a visa was my birth certificate. And it's not like I'm swimming in money to travel whenever I'd like, and I didn't want to go traipsing all over the world by myself.

But yesterday, I gathered all the required paperwork, paid the fees, and in 4-6 weeks I will have a passport. As I left the Post Office, I thought to myself why I had waited so long to get a passport, and though not the sole reason, one reason was that I kept expecting a different last name.

It's the same reason why I never had my scriptures engraved--when I bought my post-mission set, I was dating someone, then someone else, and then I figured I'd just wait.

(And yes, the feminist in me kinda cringes as I admit this to the world, but it's somewhat safe with the pseudonym and all.)

So, Universe, my passport application is on its way to the State Department. Is this passport gonna last me 10 years? Or will I have just paid $135 only to have to get a new one in the next year or two?

Your move.

High School Musical (Anne)

***Really hoping this post doesn’t completely reveal my identity***

I teach at a public high school, and every so often I’m asked to help out with playing the piano. I should have said no this year, as the demands of my teaching and grading load are so great that some days I wonder how I’m managing to get out of bed in the morning. But I said yes, mostly because my friend is the pit conductor, and because I love performing, and because any chance to sharpen my piano skills is something good for me.

But I wish we were doing a different musical.

We’re doing “Once On This Island,” the tale of a girl who prays to the gods to show her what her life should be like. And when a storm causes a cute boy to crash his car right outside the young girl’s village, she takes it as a sign that she is to be his keeper, protector, and lover.

What she doesn’t realize is that love (but really, it's more like obsession--think Ariel/Eric from The Little Mermaid) doesn’t really get her all that far, as the cute boy is engaged to a suitable girl within his social class. He invites the protagonist to remain his mistress, but he cannot marry her. She cannot abide his offer, thinking that her love for him will eventually overcome the social pressures.

I’m not going to spoil it, but it doesn’t end well.

As we’ve been in tech rehearsals all week and I’ve had to play the show several times, I’m often reminded of my own struggles. I’m no closer to any solutions for my concerns. But hearing lines like “Some girls you marry, some you love” over and over is wreaking a little bit of havoc on my self-esteem, my emotional well-being, and my faith.

I’m trying to have faith, trying to believe, trying to live a good life, all the while hoping that one day I will be blessed with a spouse. But does there ever come a point where hope becomes desperation? Where hope becomes pathetic? I honestly don’t know--or is my constant hope just a manifestation of my faith that even if I have to wait until I am 60, I will meet a sweet, funny, loving man who will forgive all my faults and physical shortcomings and love me?

(Though at 60, I’m hoping the men are a little less picky about height, weight, and overall beauty.)

I don’t know what the answer is.

But I’ve learned one thing from this year’s musical: if I’m asked to play again, I’ll wait to say yes until I’ve read the show.

Touchy-Feely. (Anne)

One part of being single and childless that people might not realize is that I don't get a lot of physical attention. Even my sisters, who have happy marriages but have had spells of single-mothering due to their husbands' jobs, still have little ones climbing in laps, raining hugs and kisses (and sure, an inadvertent elbow or two to the kidneys).

I tend to shy away from physical contact—hugs, hands on shoulders and the like—because if I don't get used to feeling people touch me, then I won't miss it when it doesn't happen daily.

There's one exception.

A friend, a former colleague who is one of the touchy-feeliest people I know (and happens to be rather attractive) showed up at the same venue I was at last night. It had been six months since I last saw him. He greeted me with one of his signature enveloping hugs, and he sat next to me. We chatted while we listened to live bands, and every time he wanted to turn my attention from the music, he put his hand on my arm, on my back, on my knee. He would lean in close to talk to me, his stubble brushing my cheek.

And when the last band said good night, I turned to my friend, and he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me oh so tight. He kissed my cheek and stroked my hair, and we promised, for the millionth time since we stopped working together, that we'd stay in touch better this time.

If I wanted to, I probably could have wrangled a little more than just a hug from him...but he isn't LDS, and I just can't walk through that door yet. Yes, my Nana did, and yes, plenty of other women do. And maybe I will too one day.

But for now, it was just nice to be hugged repeatedly by a freshly laundered man who called me “baby” and adored me for an evening.

Response (Marnie)

This post is in response to one of the comments to Stella’s Why Marriage Matters. I wasn't going to write one because it seemed silly to defend myself, but another reader asked us to comment. So this is mine.

First the comment from Jill:

"Just stumbled onto this blog and sorry, some of it is kind of scary. I come from a really stable Mormon home and I don't believe in spending copious amounts of time lamenting about being single. I get that you need to express yourself, but if you are still this depressed, it might not be working. I don't think you should give up, but maybe you need to focus on what is positive in your life and if there isn't much, maybe you need to make some changes. In my opinion, viewing everything as a "painful struggle" is reflective of a lack of faith in God's plan for you-not proof of some kind of superior insight or nobility. Life can be really beautiful and fun, regardless of your marital status. This wallowing in misery is not healthy.”

Marnie's Response:
Jill, this blog about being single - not about golf or movies or cooking. Our point is all about the struggles of dating and relationships of women over the age of 30. So to think we obsess about it non-stop is in complete error. I promise you I have a very full life filled with great things and OTHER problems - just like everyone else. But we don't share those things here.

I feel bad that you worry about our depression level. I assure you that we constantly look at the greatness in our lives and revel in it. And you'll see that in MANY of our posts. No one believes more than me that life is beautiful and fun! I’ve been on this earth 40 years and have seen and experienced so much, but it's unfair to look down on me just because I talk about my “painful struggles” here on this blog.

I will admit that at times the sadness from what I don't have can be overwhelming and makes it difficult to stay positive. And when I struggle, I like to share. I find other readers have related to my posts – as you so apparently haven’t. They have read that I am not perfect - that I do struggle with understanding for God’s plan for me. They have also seen me express how I have conquered tough situations and loneliness from a broken heart (several times now). I do not believe my posts have ever brought them down or encouraged depression as a way to deal with being single.

I do wholehearted apologize to you and anyone else that thinks I've written these posts to show how I’m superior or noble I am because I think my life is harder than others. I have never tried to write that way. I also do not look down on the lives of women that haven’t married or have I ever thought they're lives weren't full of amazing things. The truth is they have their lives and I have mine. I'm only worried about my own and I only write about my own.

Everyone has a trial that seems to stick by them for a very long time. I was sick for 5 years in my 20s before I fully recovered and it was a very difficult burden to bear. Being single after many efforts to be married is my current burden to bear. The point is we all have our trials that are supposed to bring us to our knees so we can pray to our Heavenly Father and Savior for help. And that help comes through the atonement of Christ and helps us heal and move on. And both experiences (and many others) have done that for me.

Have you ever had your heart broken, Jill? I have a hard time believing you have…otherwise you wouldn’t be so trite, condescending, and unsympathetic about our desire to obtain eternal marriage on this earth. You have misinterpreted our growth and search for understanding - although it hasn’t been pretty at times - as some sort of wallowing in misery. And you are completely wrong. I feel that if you really read our posts, it would be evident to you.

But that's ok...Good luck, Jill and all the best to you! No need to come back and visit - it’s obvious we have nothing for you.