As You Are

It is rare to find someone who loves you.

I mean someone who loves you, after they've seen how you actually are.

I talk in a baby voice.

Not all the time.

But sometimes.

When I'm around my kitty.

When I'm really, really tired.

When my inner tutu clad six year old rears it's stubborn head.

Sometimes, at age thirty two, I talk like a little girl.

Now to most people, this is not only an undesirable trait, it's ANNOYING.

I understand I am a grown lady and a grown lady should act accordingly.

But I can't help it that my favorite color is still glitter.

I can't help it that I get as excited about Disney movies as I did when I first saw The Little Mermaid.

It's just who I am.

Today I was trying to reach for something at work and someone was in my way.

And rather than just shoving them out of the way (which is something I'm prone to do) or barking a terse MOVE! (which I'm also prone to do) I opted for my more playful, silly persona, and pretended I was wearing my sparkly pink tutu.

"Mmhmmph."

I moaned in what I perceived an obvious "Move" tone, the way a toddler might moan if you held it's favorite toy just out of it's reach.

My offending blockade refused to budge and merely fixed his gaze on me.

"Mmmhmmmphmmm."

I moaned in even greater annoyance, feeling my adorable curls nearly tighten into two ribboned pigtails of ringlets.

Still unmoving, the blockade frowned. 'Did you lose your ability to speak?'

"No. And if your daughter had done the same thing you would have understood exactly what she was saying."

'My daughter wouldn't do that. And she's F-I-V-E.'

The look he gave me was filled with such disgust and a lack of amusement, I had one of those rare freeze frame moments where I step out of the scene momentarily.

Those moments when something happens that stands out so greatly from the rest, whether it's that great, that traumatizing or that surreal, and I feel as though I'm looking down on what's happening, as though I'm watching my life like some Woody Allen film I rented from Redbox.

He truly hates me.

Or rather, he hates my behavior.

In this moment, what I've just done, he abhors vehemently.

He hates my baby voice.

He doesn't think I'm cute.

And he doesn't think that I should act like a little kid.

He's actually physically leaning away from me.

It's really hard to find people who can stand you just as you are.

I've loved a lot.

And the last man I loved was really hard for me to let go of.

Looking back it was so painfully obvious he'd stopped loving me.

I could actually see and feel the pity of the people in my life looking on as I foolishly held onto the ideal we'd one day reconcile.

It was the same way I felt for Gatsby, watching his misguided hope in Daisy.

Such an epic fool.

I must have known it would never be.

Because I knew, early on, that he was all wrong for me.

He didn't meet my needs, he was never who I thought I'd end up with.

It was so glaringly obvious he didn't want to be together.

But it felt so much easier to just believe, to hope.

He was the only man I'd ever loved that I'd felt I'd been my raw self with.

And even after that, he still wanted to hang out with me.

Baby voice and all.

It's really hard to find people who can stand you just as you are.

It's really hard to let go when you find one who can.

I have friends.

I know I am loved.

But how many of those friends really make time for me?

How many friends truly make me a part of their life?

I'm single.

And when people aren't single, they create their own mini world with their significant other.

It's not intentional or out of malice, but slowly, one by one, most of my closest sisters, become mere acquaintances.

We make time for the things we love, for the things that are important.

Our daily run, our Iphone apps, our phone calls to our parents while we commute from one event to the next.

Which is why I knew when my wonderful date was too busy to see me, that it hadn't actually been so wonderful after all.

If we don't make time for it, for someone, for something, it's not important to us.

It's really hard to find people who can stand you just as you are.

And it's really hard to find people who will make time for that person you are.

My two best friends are my best friends because of how much time they share with me.

Life is chaos.

And time often creeps away from us.

But it takes effort to love.

And the older I get, the more I realize how love is so simply time.

Time to be there.

To accept.

To love in spite of.

To encourage.

To believe in.

To hope with.

To support.

Because it's really hard to find people who can stand you just as you are.

And when you do find any, than you accept their faults too.

Because I don't want to feel like I can't talk in a baby voice or wear my pink tutu since most of the world will feel uncomfortable.

I want to be all the wonderful horrible sounds and colors that I am.

And if, in doing so, I only live to share coffee with five people, the five who share their time, who love the horrible wonderful I am, than that will be the sweetest cafe au lait's sipped upon.

Cheers.