Most of my blog posts are about being a wife and mother- appropriate, as these are my starring roles right now. I am a cardiac nurse one night a week, a novice chef an hour or two a day, a gym rat a few days a week.. but those are about the only things I do alone. Every other moment in my life, I have company. Cute company, but no matter how sweet the baby face, I would probably still choose to be able to lock the bathroom door if I could. Grant is pretty good with this boundary, thankfully...
But this morning as I was making my coffee, I was lost for a few moments in the girl before babes, before Grant, before almost everything that makes up my daily life now. Making coffee is one of my simple daily pleasures- I grind beans fresh every morning, heat water in the kettle, make a personal size french press, choose one of my favorite coffee mugs and stir in cream and sugar. This is one ritual where I feel like taking all the extra steps pays off. I appreciate the convenience of a Keurig or the ease of ground beans, but making coffee for me is one place I cannot be rushed. And I always stir my coffee with a chopstick.
Here is where my thoughts wandered for a moment this morning. Before Grant, I was engaged to the guy who taught me that tea and coffee should always be stirred with chopsticks. He was my best friend in college. He was everything that I was not and I think more than anything we intrigued each other. We were stormy and moody and a force to be reckoned with when we were together- whether we were fighting or running or talking or listening to music- we were an entwined unit that either pulled people in or pushed them away. More often pushed them away. No one really liked us together, but we didn't really care.
We were together for a year before he broke things off citing a conversion to Catholicism as the reason we shouldn't get married. I had no intention of becoming Catholic, and he converted by himself. When I ran into him two weeks after we split, he was with Kate. It is the only time in my life I have been cheated on, and the evening ended with me throwing my shoes at two of my friends while they chased me through a field. After they caught me and I sobbed dramatically in their arms, my broken heart started to heal with a dance party to "I Will Survive". Cliche, but I will never forget it. I will also never forget that both of them told me this was the best thing that he could have done for me. They never liked him anyway.
Ah... the life and love of a 21 year old. A few years ago I read back over my journal entries from that time in my life and was amazed that I had forgotten how completely devastated I was. I hadn't remembered all the things I loved so much about that guy, or how I was convinced that was my one shot at being in love. I also had forgotten how miserable he had made me, how alone we were because we were convinced no one understood us, and how he broke my heart. Eleven years later, and the best part of that relationship is what he taught me about the proper way to prepare coffee- always with chopsticks. And for that, I am grateful.