Yet Another Single Gal

I am one of those “late bloomers” who showed up to dating substantially tardy. In high school, a combination of about 50 extra pounds,  a jheri curl and an uncontrollable habit of waxing poetic about books in the middle of conversations about singers and TV stars forfeited my already lackluster game in the girlfriend competition. College was overwhelming on so many levels that the thought of embarking on a journey that others had begun years before me seemed both frightening and ridiculous. Post college, when I threw myself into the dating pool, I did what I had done when I was barely 10 and my father threw me into Lake Pontchartrain and TRIED to teach me how to swim. I thrashed wildly about as if the water which barely covered my head would take away my last breath before finally giving up and laying my substantial bulk on the water’s surface, content that if I were in a “drowning situation” as my father said, I could be saved by my stellar floating skills.

I supply this background into my romantic history because I have found myself in my first long term relationship. I am 38 years old. When The Yankee and I hit our 3 year mark this summer, I will be 39. 

Because I have always been a self-motivated over acheiver, I am genuinely surprised at myself for taking for granted the many life skills I could have been strengthening through a healthy, loving relationship. Somewhere in between my mid 20s to now, I became so accustomed to my life as a curious adventurer who pursued each and every arbitrary whim those gemini twins whispered into my ear that I never even thought to cultivate my other self. The self who shifts her priorities for a partner. The self who not only willingly cares for a lover, but relishes such a duty.

Today, I had a revelation that surprised me. Not only would I make a really good wife, I would probably enjoy being one.

I chuckled when this occured to me. I have never been anti-marriage; I just honestly never spent much time thinking about it. I attended numerous weddings throughout my 20s and 30s with no other thought than, “I am so happy for my friends.” I have spent time with married couples and even babysat their children feeling no other emotion than gratitude that I could hang out with happy people and their hilarious offspring. So, today as I sauteed pork chops and contemplated the two other meals I would make so the Yankee and I could have wholesome lunches at work, I was truly surprised at how happy it made me. I thought about how often I think about us – not just me – but US. At this point it comes rather naturally for me to stop in the drugstore to pick up something that I know he will need and to text him, asking him to bring me something I didn’t feel like stopping at the store to get. There is something to be said for having help. Those few times in the past I had thought about having  a husband, my mind immediately went to how much easier my life in a metropolis like New York City would likely be if there were another income I could utilize.  Now that I am in a partnership, I feel the most secure when I know someone else will bring in toilet paper because I for damn sure am not going back out to get it.  

I am grateful for THIS love in my life at THIS time. Because I have consistently developed into a more compassionate human who is able to tame her ego, I truly believe 38 year old Keturah is much better equipped to nurture a relationship of this magnitude. When I think back to the frightened, arrogant gatekeeper I was just 10 years ago, I am actually surprised that I managed to break 6 months in a relationship. This post is not so much a salute to love as it is to my decision to awaken to it. For while The Yankee is truly a wonderful boyfriend, had I not chosen to develop the skills that are crucial to love properly, this post would not exist. And neither would my first long term relationship. 

Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: love, marriage, relationships |