I had only met her once before — it was at Housepitality to pick up my ticket. Now she was in my passenger seat for 3 hours, one of which was spent describing her breakup in full detail and how she wasn’t looking forward to seeing her ex.

Her then ex is basically my now ex — and we haven’t even started dating.

I’ve tried on countless occasions to bring this conversation back to my memory.

My memory used to be spoken very highly of…

I don’t know how today would be different if I had actually remembered that conversation. Would I not wish he was in my room more often? Would I have said something odd very early on in an attempt to make him lose interest? Would I have walked out the door that night I came over and he was mopping his flooded bathroom with a towel? I have a feeling I would not be where I am today. I wouldn’t have gone this far.

But how is that even fair? Why would I let a 3 year old story told from one point of view sway my interest? Why would I let the woman who spent one hour telling her story on the drive over and spent another hour on the drive back talking about how they slept together but it didn’t mean anything, betray the stuff my fantasies are made of. Why would I?

Because I like to live out the options over and over and over again in my head until one of them finally jumps out as the preference. And the one that jumps out is the option that’s not spinning as fast as the rest. It’s the hamster that was propelled off its running wheel. It’s the options that makes me feel excited, safe, and ready. This is the option that carries out in both my heart and head.

I used to listen to people’s relationship stories and be happy and didn’t have any worth sharing in return. Mine was so easy.

 

 

Was.