my not-so-storybook ending

Dear ___________,

For the longest time, my fairy tale was very specific. I knew it just had to be you. I had this feeling that no matter what happened to us, in the end, we would end up together. Everyone else was so convinced we were perfect for each other that it simply had to be true.

I was completely incapable of imagining my future with a different outcome. The thought that we wouldn’t wind up together was terrifying. For years, you were the only person I’ve ever wanted… I didn’t allow myself to consider any other possiblity. I literally convinced myself that you were exactly the one I’d been looking for. I fell in love with the story of our friendship, imagining how perfect it would sound after we got together. “Hung up” doesn’t even begin to describe how bad it was. I really loved you. But, as I learned the hard way, unrequited love does not a fairy tale make.

Recently, for the first time ever, I realized that it might not be you. You might not be the man I marry. You may not even be a man that I ever date. Maybe there really is someone out there who is more perfect for me than you. Someone better than the someone I had “settled” for imagining myself with for so long. That thought is more liberating than I could’ve ever imagined. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to think it.

Unfortunately, this does not mean my feelings for you will instantly evaporate the minute I hit publish. Chances are pretty good that I will always wonder what if, especially since I know that we will both be in each other’s lives for a long time. And when this better man doesn’t come along on a white horse right away, I have a feeling I still might wish that you’ll step in and change the ending. But here’s my confession: I hope you don’t. It’s finally time I got myself a new story.

Here’s to endings. Here’s to beginnings. Here’s to rewriting the story.

More-Sincerely-than-I-have-ever-been,

Beth

just maybe

I don’t know about you, but my life has been marked by books. Since the years of “Goodnight Moon” and Dr. Seuss, reading has been everything. I was the girl who got in trouble for reading under my desk in 4rd grade math class. Beth wasn’t complete without a book in hand. Quirky, nerdy, or otherwise, this was (is) me.

My childhood was shaped by the innocence of the Babysitter’s Club, and the curiosity of Nancy Drew. My middle school years from age 11 were charmed by the magical imagination of JK Rowling- effectively growing up alongside Harry and company. Salinger spoke to my angst-y, teenage soul in “Catcher in the Rye”. Then Ann Brashares taught me more about myself and my friends than I thought possible in the Sisterhood books. And so it goes…

There were literally hundreds of books between those mentioned. But I do feel like my life has been shaped by the characters and worlds contained in the pages of these books. Reading has been my only constant- my solace in times of sorrow, my peace in times of contentment… my connection to myself.

Why am I writing this now? I guess partially because I’ve never acknowledged this quite so frankly. And also, because today (while reading a book, of course), it hit me. I think I am supposed to be writing. Maybe it’s a pipe dream, or my true post-undergrad naivete coming out, but I think it just may be what I want to do.

So this is me saying, just maybe, I am going to try.

after a while

After awhile you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn’t mean possession
and company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises and you begin to accept
your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build your roads today
because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have ways of falling down in mid-flight.

After awhile you learn that even sunshine
burns if you get too much so you plant your
own garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth
and you learn.

-Veronica A. Shoffstall