a second chance

People don't often get them...but I did. I guess after a week, I've finally wrapped my head around the whole situation enough to blog about it.

The truth is, I went to California not only for my annual birthday trip, but in pursuit of a second chance. With Mr. Perfect. Who, let me clarify, isn't really perfect. He's plenty flawed in ways I just can't seem to think of right now, other than he has a cyst on his wrist, sometimes gets mumbly when he's sleepy, has a bad dog he rewards with a treat every time she runs outside and down the street, and once spilled ink on his bedspread. All terrible things, I'm sure :).

I don't know how else to explain it except that he's perfect to/for me.  That it's him. It's always been him since we first met a little over a year ago and he inspired this post. And at first it was just the idea of him, someone like him--that gradually, as I got to know him better, became him. 

So, I went on my trip last year, hopeful, but just in time to catch him on the tail end of his singlehood as he decided to start an exclusive relationship with another woman. We had one dreamy, friendship-only birthday date at the Tim Burton exhibit, eating Dim Sum, shopping at a toy store, and being stuck in traffic for two hours. Then we shook hands, his Facebook relationship status changed the next morning, and it all ended like this. 

I respected his relationship (he was fiercely loyal to her), was genuinely thrilled for him, and interacted with him only occasionally over the next six months. But, as we both have a sort of 'online presence,' I always knew what was going on with him, and him with me.

Just a week or so after returning from that last trip, I met Dr. Yummy and fell head over heels. But still found myself (rather annoyingly, when one is in love with someone else) not able to go a day without at least one thought of Mr. Perfect popping up. Somewhere along the way, we both ended up single again and resumed a more regular friendship at the beginning of January. Both dating other people off and on, but still mixed up with one another, too. Sometimes vocally entertaining the whole "what if?" idea. Every good day I had seemed to be connected with him somehow. Even after a  year, every text I would get from him would still make my stomach do little woopity-do flips.

So, I guess I finally forced myself on him or whatever that thing is I do when I can't live with the uncertainty anymore, knowing I might not be able to really get involved with someone else until I figured out how Mr. Perfect and I worked together outside of texts and Face Time phone calls.

Off to California I went.

And, it went good. Like really good. Like really, really, really good. Like I have never felt more free to be my authentic self spiritually, physically, and emotionally ever, with anyone. Including my ex-husband.

I could speak whatever kooky thing passed through my brain and Mr. Perfect wouldn't just tolerate it, he'd get it. I could ask any question and Mr. Perfect would answer. I could dance across benches as we walked down the street, hand in hand, and Mr. Perfect would dance with me. When I hugged him, he hugged back harder. He even offered to push me, really fast, on the shopping cart through the parking lot. And, oh! The laughter! How my heart had been yearning so long for such laughter. I knew I could have easily lost myself in his routine--wacky as it was. Could have loved everyone in his beautiful family.

I know he was feeling dizzy about the whole thing, too.  Surprised and maybe a little blind-sided at how well we fit. How mooshy it all was.

I saw, hard as I tried to fight it, a glimpse of a possible life together in a little mid-century modern cottage we fixed up, all filled with art and kids, fingerprints on the windows, pie baking in the oven. The furniture re-arranged to make a blanket fort. The Specials would be playing on the stereo. He would be at his desk drawing in his brilliant way. I'd be sitting nearby, on the corner of the bed, laptop open, writing my next best-seller. While I washed the dishes, he would come up behind me and wrap his arms around my waist, push my hair out of the way, and give me a kiss, right behind the ear. And in the evening, there would be family prayer and scripture study, with his two girls and my four boys listening, I imagined, with permanent marker moustaches and eyebrows drawn on their faces and tin foil costumes of some kind on, leftover from whatever adventure they'd thought up together. We're both semi-moody creative types with active children, so of course not every day would be all sunshiny, but I still think we'd fall into bed at night, exhausted, but happy, reach for each other's hand, smile, and say, "Good job, you."

And I don't know how all that would work or re-arrange itself to happen. I just know it would be worth it. And I'd do whatever I had to for it. 

For now though, while he meets some crazy deadlines and gets some things sorted out in his life that he feels he needs to, we go on as friends and distant sweethearts. In a ship where we relate, but not in a relationship. Maybe that means it's time for me to let go. Maybe not. I'm just willing to wait a little longer and see because--

I don't know that I will ever meet someone like him again. I trust in God to let me know about that. Trust in His timing and abilities and individual plan for me. But I really did feel I needed to make a record of the event. Because of its importance in the scheme of my single life.  Because even if he doesn't feel the same way, all I ever wanted with Mr. Perfect was one, perfect second chance. And I got it. A little nugget of joy in life, like being able to pull a single diamond out of a whole mine full of them. That's worth something. And no matter what happens from here, it feels like enough.