Is this What Mansplaining Is: Non-lawyers Who Keep Telling Me What It’s Like to Be a Lawyer


Sorry to write about specific people, but it still bothers me that when I told my dad I was going to apply to law school, he said, “You know that’s competitive, right?”

No way… really? I thought it was going to be a piece of cake! Every movie I’ve ever seen makes it seem like anyone could do it.

“You know it isn’t always being in a courtroom and doing trials. There is a lot of paperwork.”

Again… really? I’m shocked!

_________________________________________________________________

Text conversation with new guy… who I have yet to meet, by the way…

Him: “Are you in summer break at school?”

Me: “Yep, although it’s more exhausting to me than being in school because with internships it’s more like the ordinary grind of a normal work week. There isn’t much flexibility in the schedule and it’s a lot of time sitting at a desk.”

Him: “When are you doing your internship? How much longer do you have ahead of yourself? You know that once you graduate you will have no life and will be working 70+ hours a week right?”

Me: (Blinks several times)…

Me: …

Me: …

Me: (Blinks again)…

 

 

It takes every bit of humility in me not to find the most sarcastic, biting retort and send it to him.

 

Funny thing… every dude I have met online tells me that he once wanted to be a lawyer, but he usually decided it was too hard either before even taking a practice test for the LSAT or just after taking one. I met one guy who did some paralegal stuff, then took the LSAT and got a low score, then gave up. The one I met who got the furthest along the law conveyor belt dropped out after his second year of law school. (All of these choices are completely valid, by the way… it’s fine not to be a lawyer. It’s not for everyone.)

 

So, question: why on earth do all of these dudes think they are in the right position to tell me what it will be like for me once I graduate? Plus, they always do it in this manner that’s marked by a condescending benevolence, where they act like they are doing me a favor. It’s as if I have completed two years of law school, but somehow am wearing rose colored glasses. Like I am just a precious, naive, delicate flower who needs a man with less education under his belt (and little or no legal education or work experience) to swoop in and save the day.

 

Is this what mansplaining is? I haven’t really got it figured out when the word mansplaining fits. It fits here, right?

 

 

 

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Summer Lovin’


Karen suggested that I should blog about dating. Because she knows. I’ve been leaning on her a lot lately. But I’m not writing this for her. I’m writing for me. 🙂

Thanks, Karen.

 

You know, I completely understand why people stick around in shitty relationships. Why it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea to stay in love with him, even though he’s sleeping around. Why it doesn’t seem so terrible that she’s controlling. Why you might stay with him even though he hit your kid. Why one E.R. visit never seems quite as bad as everyone else makes it out to be. Why she went back to him after he choked her and slit her throat.

When I was volunteering with Victim Services, the constant thing was this question of why victims stay in shitty and abusive relationships, but I totally understand it.

 

I dated someone this summer. Yeah, we’re not even halfway through with the summer, but I’d like to file this relationship away as if it’s a summer romance that happened a long time ago.

 

My Person works with the blind. Has a kid. Is stable in life. Smart. Funny. Recently rescued a puppy.

I liked that I beat My Person at Scrabble by about 200 points every time we played. I liked that we texted throughout the day. That we held hands all the time. Lounged on the couch together while watching tv.

I liked the relationship-y things that we did.

I felt like in this particular relationship, I was making a good choice. I haven’t really had a relationship before. Most of you know that. I’ve dated a lot, but haven’t really done the long-term thing.

So I decided I need to give it a try.

And you know, My Person seemed like a pretty decent one to try with… right up until My Person broke up with me because I wasn’t ready for an overnight in Phoenix.

I know, right?

It blew my mind, because that’s the sort of thing that only happens on 90s television. 90s tv was always trying to help us be better people. Teaching us not to do drugs. Not to have an eating disorder. Not to date anyone who would pressure us to have sex.

I miss 90s tv.

My Person discarded me because I didn’t provide a pleasure My Person felt entitled to have.

When I was initially invited to go to Phoenix, it was to the tune of, “No pressure… open invitation.”

Then, when I said no, it was a week of not-so-subtle hinting and teasing and even some outright pressuring me to go.

Then, when it became clear I really meant no, My Person broke up with me. Over text.

Then texted me the next day to apologize.

Then texted me the day after that to see if I would like to get coffee to talk and to see if we can still be friends.

 

I get that we were only together for a month…

But it meant something to me…

People so often act nonchalant about stuff like this… like it’s no big deal and we should all be able to emotionally handle the one-month breakup oh-so-very easily.

Just for the record, it’s not easy.

It’s never easy to deal with someone discarding you.

That’s why rejection in dating feels so terrible.

Even if I ignore all of the hopes and plans for the future that never came to fruition… that day I requested off of work, because we were going to spend it together… the plans to see this or that movie, do this or that activity together…

All of those things have to be grieved, but even if I ignore everything else that hurts in breakups… there’s still, always, that terrible, terrible truth that someone else shat all over my identity.

 

Sure, sometimes breakups are logistics or geography… timing or incompatibility… but mostly they are a commentary on the person being dumped.

 

Not worth the effort unless there’s sex.

 

That was the commentary on Kate.

 

And you know what is the craziest thing ever?

I want My Person back.

Not really… but sometimes, in the stupid part of my heart that wants to go back and re-have what we had.

 

I’ve watched most of the women in my life stay in shitty relationships. I’ve also watched a complete stranger want to go back to him after he shot her son, choked her, beat the hell out of her, slit her throat, and cut off the tips of her fingers.

 

Because there is something about the way a romance impacts identity… validates identity… destroys identity… builds up… magnifies… reveals… reflects… identity.

 

That’s why DV victims can’t leave him. Identity.

 

I was proud of the choices I made in my summer fling with My Person. I did a truly spectacular job setting boundaries and paying attention to what was really going on in the relationship and why.

On day one, I was aware enough to suspect that My Person wasn’t used to hearing no. I was careful. Payed attention.

I also had a lot of fun. I allowed myself to really try. To be vulnerable. To hope. To have secrets within and about this relationship. To kiss.

Prior to this relationship, it had been more than ten years since I’d kissed anyone.

This is totally a side-beef that I have, but not kissing is one of those things that I think married people don’t get. They can’t. Some of them probably don’t have a ton of sex, but it’s impossible to explain to a married Christian how painful it is to try to “kiss dating goodbye” Joshua Harris style. And, okay, not all Christians do the no kissing thing, and I honestly wasn’t even trying not to kiss… but the Christian dating world is a bleak, bleak place. There was nobody I even wanted to kiss, nor would they have been on-board for a kis on or before the one-month mark.

And yes, I admit it, My Person is not a Christian. Had my person been a Christian, we would have talked a lot about marriage and baby-making and predestination… but we definitely wouldn’t have kissed.

 

Side-beef rant ended.

 

Yes, the correct question right now is how all of this fits into my faith. I don’t have a good answer for you. My beliefs about Who God is and how to read the Bible and what God expects from me have changed a lot. However, I’m not having a crisis of faith. As has been my habit since I was 17, God and I talk nearly every day. I read my Bible. Journal. Listen. Ask Him questions. He’s teaching me things… but I haven’t got it figured out just yet.

 

I will say I think I’ve learned that it takes a remarkable sense of self-worth to do the relationship thing well. Were I the type of girl who doesn’t see any value in herself, I would have gone to Phoenix and I would still be with My Person.

I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to consider others more important than myself. That’s what Jesus would do, right? That’s what the Bible legit tells us we should be doing… Phillippians 2:3. And you can qualify that ish all you want with talk about appropriate boundaries or how Paul was only telling us to be that way within the church… but Paul didn’t qualify it that way, nor do I think he meant us to only take on a humble posture like that with other Christians. And had I considered My Person more important than myself, it would have been disastrous.

 

On that note… I have a date with a New Person this weekend. New Person seems nice. Is interested in theology. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t like texting. The rest will have to be discovered over time. Here’s to hoping New Person and I do better than a 90s tv breakup… over text message (which I understand didn’t exist in the 90s).

🙂

The End of My Self


*Yes, I’m aware that the word is myself… by I really mean it to be more like my self… with self as the noun, and my as possessive. You also have a self… that’s what I’m writing about today.

I remember sitting with the Johnsons, and one or both of them pointed out that I don’t do a very good job of needing, and, perhaps that’s one of the reasons I gravitate toward singleness. They tried to explain the difference between needing someone to live… and just needing someone. Just because the heart keeps beating once someone is gone and that person lives on… that doesn’t mean the need for that lost person has lessened. I get that… and I think I got it in a very intellectual capacity then. However, I also had an intellectual understanding of my misunderstanding of “need.”

I tucked that thought away and brought it out every so often, never quite feeling that “need” for someone, but always knowing that I was missing something.

I’ve had plenty of opportunities to date. I don’t regret any of the relationships that never happened, because none of those guys were right for me and I wasn’t ready anyways… and, while I used to have the luxury of believing myself to be unattractive and unlovable, God has worked on me and shown me that I no longer have to try at femininity… I’ve actually changed enough that most people don’t even see the softball in me anymore. They think I’m just a nice, sweet girl, and when I try to put together a dodge ball team at work, they say things like, “I’ll only play if you get some athletic people on the team.” I mean, what am I… a delicate flower or something? 😉 I don’t even feel upset that they can’t see division 1 scholarship offers for how well I throw a ball.

But, if we’re real about things, I have to admit that there have been two major obstacles between me and men:

1. I didn’t understand needing a man.

2. I was, and am, terrified of needing a man.

Softball Katie, you see, had never come to the end of herself, really. She could always run one more mile, read one more book, find one more solution to a problem, buy a house or a car for herself, etc… She was just doing her thing and enjoying it.

That changed about 3 years ago, when I started reaching the end of myself/my self.

I can’t say that I needed someone to provide me with food, $, or even emotional support. I was fine. And, in being real about it, I’ve never understood the question: “Are you okay?” because everything is always fine, and I’m always okay. At mile 16, when my calves are cramping and I’m literally struggling to walk, I’m okay. When I’m sobbing alone, I’m okay. I’m not saying I’m splendid, but I have always had a knowledge that it’s going to be what it’s going to be, and the best way to make it through things is to know, with all confidence, that it’s okay.

However, coming to the end of myself felt an awful lot like needing someone.

And it felt like not being okay… even though I knew I was okay.

It was a deep longing… for someone to take care of _________ every now and then. Maybe food, or $, or emotional support… not because I couldn’t provide those things for myself, but more because the pains were heavy… and I just wanted to not be dealing with them independently. I wanted and needed someone to do something that I always do for myself… maybe something as simple as driving when I didn’t want to drive, or microwaving dinner, or putting a hand on my shoulder while I was crying. And I can’t even say that it’s a loneliness, although it is sort of that… it’s honestly that sense of needing that I didn’t understand while the Johnsons were explaining it to me.

During lunch at work a few days ago, everyone was talking about ordering a pizza on our early release day next week, and they asked me if I wanted in. I joked about having a fear of commitment, but I thanked them for asking… and Lawrence laughed and said, “You do have a fear of commitment.”

Everyone looked at me oddly, because it was one of those rare glimpses you get into a person you’ve known for a long time without actually knowing. And I never talk about dating with them. I never talk about anything personal with them, so I think they think I don’t date… or maybe they think I sleep around, but keep it quiet. Lawrence obviously knows me slightly better and thinks my singleness is my fault… this isn’t the first time he’s spoken of my singleness with blame and almost disdain in his voice… like I’m not like everyone else, which means there’s something wrong with me.

But I’ve been trying to learn a lesson in regards to sameness. As we try to push all of our students to be college and career ready, by making them all like one another, I’m frustrated with this factory mentality of quality control, as if people are like Starbucks drinks, and should all come out tasting exactly the same regardless of where and when and how we encounter them. I love buying Starbucks in other countries, but the reason for that is because everything else is and should be different…

In Peru, the kids were so different from American kids. They had a visible and wondrous knowledge that they weren’t the center of anything. The landscapes were different. The air was different… which is why I love traveling. I love that feeling I get when I exit an airport in Mongolia, and see people who look different, speaking a different language. People who eat a lot of goats, and drink fermented horse milk. People who use different bathrooms and love ping pong the way Americans love television.

In the midst of all the differences, Starbucks, however, is exactly the same, which is cool, but only because it’s the only thing that’s the same.

In the states, we decided long ago that different was inherently unequal… and that inequality was evil.

But I think God treats us with inequality… and I think it’s okay.

I could sit around envying all of my friends who found love when they were 20. I could be angry with God for giving them something He didn’t give me… even when they made more obvious and frequent mistakes than I made or when they were immature in this way or that…

But, no matter how many judgment-filled comments my friends have for my choices about love or friendship or whatever… I wasn’t ready. I just wasn’t. And maybe I still am not ready. I’m not ready to run 26.2 miles, but that doesn’t mean I never will be ready or that I’m not working towards it. I have exactly one friend who is working towards 26.2 at the same time I am. And she’s already run it before. Twice. And she may drop out any day. Which is all okay, because she isn’t me, and shouldn’t live her life exactly as I live mine. I’d love to have her there for the run, but I won’t judge her if she does something different.

I’ve been reading a book called THE COOL IMPOSSIBLE, which is about running, and it reaffirms my belief that it’s so important for each person to run her own race, because each of us is inherently different.

“The hardest thing for a person to do is to run as he or she normally does when she knows there’s someone watching,” (Orton 22).

A girl must run at her own pace. She must overcome the obstacles on her path… which may be very different from the obstacles on another person’s path. She must wear the shoes that work best for her. She must listen to music, or sermons, or nothing… depending on what that day and that moment call for. And, while it’s nice to run races with others, it isn’t an insult when we hit a fork in the road and go off in different directions. A great runner can balk a run that should be “easy” and a novice can inexplicably own a really difficult run. Because inequality is built into our experience here on Earth.

It took me a long time to reach the end of myself… probably mostly because I didn’t want to believe there was an end to my self. Unfortunately, that meant that it took me a long time to see the value in having someone next to me… to help me keep going past the end of myself. It took me a long time to see the value in risking heartache. And none of that means that I’m going to find the guy tomorrow, but maybe it means that I’ll be a little slower to throw relationships away before they even get going. Maybe it means I finally want marriage… when I’ve never really wanted it before.

Clearly, UNARGUABLY, Not My Fault


After not drinking the bad coffee in Atlanta, I boarded my 4 ish hour flight back to Tucson.

I had not shaved my left leg for more than a week; I had not showered that evening; I had not slept that evening; I was not wearing make-up; I was wearing workout pants that probably smelled like sweat, because I had not washed them for more than a week; I sat down, put my headphones on, willed that “Eff off” onto my forehead (you know, the one from Hitch that my friends claim I lack) and I LITERALLY prayed that God would seat me next to a frumpy, middle-aged woman who was too caught up reading The Fault in Our Stars to even think about talking to me.

Instead, the person who took the seat next to me was a 33-year-old aviator who was born in Jamaica, currently living in Milwaukee, but making his first trip to Tucson to try to figure out his impending move here for work. It was evidently going to be his job to fix our airport and help it grow an extra terminal.

He was nice and undaunted by the “Eff off” and Annie Lennox screaming through my headphones. He kept talking to me even though I kept trying not to talk to him. He also laughed at me and tried to explain that airplanes are super safe, because I sometimes grip the armrest violently when a plane I’m on makes one of those unexpected, roller coaster drops that gets my stomach.

Eventually, he asked me if I’d show him around Tucson that evening because he only had 24 hours to make up his mind. I sort of lied, telling him I was going to spend time with friends, which was true ish, because I did spend time with them, but had plenty of daylight left after getting lunch with Lauren and the kiddos.

Then, he asked for my phone number.

I told him that I wasn’t comfortable giving it out.

He said that he understood.

Like an hour later, just as we were landing, he asked if he’d be able to see me again.

I said no.

He looked sad, so I told him that I’ve recently been less careful than I ought to be.

He said he was sorry.

He waited a few minutes, then told me that he really just wanted friends, and I’d described my friends in a way that made him feel like he could connect with them. He was concerned about making the move to Tucson without knowing anyone… which could’ve been a creeper tactic, but I also felt for him.

So I gave him my email address.

He offered me a heartfelt thank you.

And it is not my fault!

NOT MY FAULT! NOT MY FAULT!

I don’t know why men are into me lately, but it’s not because of anything I’m doing, so don’t blame me. I could not have made myself less appealing or less approachable before that flight.

Top Ten Reasons I Reject Date #2


There’s been much speculation as to why I don’t go on a lot of second dates. Often, there’s psychoanalysis about my internal struggles and character flaws…  my fears. It’s glaringly obvious that I’m the one putting on the brakes, which makes it seem like I’m ultra-appealing and ultra-picky. However, I’d like to submit to the interwebs that the truth is most people who are doing online dating are weirdos or just a little too awkward.

Thus, I give you a list. Here’s my reasoning for rejecting date #2.

10. Talking about my online pictures –  Okay, so being complimented once is nice. “You have nice pictures.” 🙂 Being complimented twelve times is weird. “Are those your real pictures?” “I have to ask, is that really what you look like?” “Those are gorgeous pictures.” “You’re really pretty.” “Thank you for being pretty.” “You are as pretty as your pictures.”

9. Not getting enthusiastic or happy about anything – It’s really difficult to be happy, but the happiness is impossible to achieve when attached to a chronically unhappy person. Smiling is important. Genuine amusement is important. Passion for ANYTHING is important.

8. Living with mommy – I can’t avoid picturing him sitting on the couch, watching tv, drinking a beer while I do his laundry… not my cup o’ tea.

7. Not having a job – Enough said.

6.Touch – A guy who gets weird about a hug is a real turn-off. Side hug is fine, but it should be a confident one, rather than scared-shitless. Fear of hugging me usually suggests a fear of women in general and me in particular, which is disappointing and unattractive. I don’t have cooties and I will not get pregnant from a hug. It’s okay.

5. Fear of trying new things – A man who won’t go to a new restaurant or a new part of town probably isn’t for me. When a guy is like this, it makes me feel like I have to take care of him, which is not what I want on a first date. More than anything, I want to meet a guy who can take care of me. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t take care of him later in the relationship… I would hope he’d let me do that, but on the first date, I should feel like he’s in control of the situation. I should feel like he’s able to walk beside me, rather than behind me… using me as a shield from a danger that may or may not exist.

4. I think I have a 100% rejection rate on guys who ask me why I’m single. First of all, the way they ask is often with reverence, which is a bit too far. Tell me I look nice, but don’t act like I’m Helen of Troy… because I’m really not and it seems like forced flattery. Second, if I knew why I’m single, wouldn’t I do something about it and no longer be single?

3.  Phone – A man who checks his phone more than once or twice is a HUGE turnoff. Once or twice may even need some explanation, like, “My sister is pregnant, so I need to stay available if she goes into labor.” Checking a phone during a first date suggests that there are more important things to pay attention to than the person in front of you – not good to communicate to a prospective spouse.

2. Touch – I will absolutely reject a guy who touches too enthusiastically. If this is our first date and we don’t know each other, he gets a hug at the beginning and a hug at the end. There may be a few other acceptable touch barrier crossings, but they are few and far between.

1. Phone – It’s probably silly for this to be number 1, but it’s the one that happens most frequently. I have a dumb phone, and there’s nothing a guy can or should do about it until after we’re in a relationship. The first date is not the time to try to bring my technology up to date. Also, maybe there’s a reason I don’t yet have a SmartPhone, so maybe a guy should not try to change me before he even knows what I am and why.

Life Without an Umbrella


* Note to Dave: You may not want to read this one. 😉

I don’t know what the hell is going on in my life. The floodgate of men has been open/the Kraken was released, and the men just keep on coming.

So… there was one guy who I was pretty seriously considering, but then the visit led me to believe that he’s got some growing in independence before he’ll be ready for a lady like me. Also, the umbrella thing was funny, and I now intend to use it as a life metaphor.

Me: I shouldn’t have done my hair. It looks like it’s going to rain.

Boy: Are you going to bring an umbrella?

Me: I don’t own an umbrella.

Boy: Do you want me to get mine out of my car.

Me: If you want to…

Boy: …

So, the not having an umbrella is partly that I like getting rained on sometimes and partly that umbrellas seem impractical to me in monsoons. The water comes sideways, which makes the umbrella useless.

The umbrella thing happened, I told the boy we weren’t destined for love, and he went home.

___________________________

Then, I went to Starbucks and all Hell broke loose.

I think there must be an astrological shift that sending men my way because I swear nothing like this happened to me prior to this summer.

I get my table and my drink. I face myself away from everyone and towards the window and the storm outside.

Man approaches and asks me to watch his drum while he goes to the bathroom.

He comes back, takes his drum and sits down. I read.

I stand up to see if SBucks has any free songs I can download, and man asks me what I’m reading.

“Basic Christianity by John Stott.”

“Are you new to Christianity?” he asks.

“No. Just trying to return to the basics.”

“I’m Christopher.”

“Katie”

We talk for a bit.

He comes over to my table.

He proceeds to touch my hands.

Then my knee.

Then my hair.

Now, okay. I should be more prepared after Scott got all handsy to yell STRANGER DANGER! and get out of there, but I cannot explain to you the sense of panic that occurs when a man I don’t know enters my dance space (Think Patrick Swayze). I cannot think. I want him to go away, but it doesn’t seem in my realm of control/power to get him to go away.

Then, he’s evidently feeling that my not yelling at him for touching me means that I want him, so he says, “I’m going to kiss you.” He puts his hand on my neck and my gut reaction kicks in and I’m like, “NO!” and I hit his hand away.

He doesn’t take it that well. He doesn’t understand why I don’t trust him. He thinks we should go dancing.

“No.”

“Why not? You need to learn to let your shields down.”

Red Alert!!!! Shields up!

“Because I don’t know you.”

“What would we have to do for you to feel like you know me?”

“I’d have to see you in multiple contexts.”

“Like what?”

“Like interacting with people other than me.”

“Like who?”

“Your friends… My friends… anyone but me.”

“Ok. When can I hang out with your friends?”

“Monday night two weeks from today.”

“Why so far into the future?”

“I’m going out of town.” And I hope you will get distracted and forget to show up.

Then I gave him the address of some of my friends. – Yeah I should’ve given him a false address. But who knew I actually needed an umbrella because there are men falling from the sky? I haven’t even lost any weight or beautified myself recently. I just bought the biggest pair of jeans I’ve worn in like 5 years.

What the Hell?

A Dating Fear


Fear: Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.

In my recent dating escapades, I’ve discovered that this completely depressing idea is true. And I’ve also discovered that most men waste the time given to them.

My most recent date was with a very nice man. A decent man. Small-town. Church-going. Family. Those are all great pluses to this guy’s credit. But then, we start talking, and he asks if I like to travel.

“I love to travel! I haven’t done as much of it as I’d like to do, but I’ve been blessed to go to spend time in Rome, Florence, Venice, London, Beijiing, Mongolia (no one knows the city names, so may as well stick with the whole country when I mention it). Do you like to travel?”

“I’m totally into travel,” he says. “I’ve been to Hawaii a couple of times and I loved it.”

Then he asks if I’m into sports…

“Well, I played softball my freshman year in college on an athletic scholarship, but gave that up for a lot of different reasons. Nowadays, I’m into running. I usually run a half marathon or two every year and my favorite race is a long-distance, overnight relay. You like sports?”

He tells me that he once played flag football with some friends, then he proceeds to try to explain to me what flag football is.

Then he says he’s really into scifi movies. Do I like scifi?

“I LOVE scifi. I totally grew up watching the Next Generation and I love The Fifth Element, Alien, etc… I even go to conventions and talk with legit Trekkies in Starfleet uniform.”

He proceeds to tell me that he’s really into Star Trek, but can’t remember the name of the captain in his favorite Star Trek movie.

Then he asks if I like to hike, he’s really into hiking…

“I actually don’t love it, but I’m always up for hiking if someone else wants to. I’ve done the Grand Canyon a couple of times. Rim-to-Rim once. I’m going to Peru in a few months and am going to do a 5-day trek to Macchu Picchu. What’s your favorite hike you’ve done?”

“Oh I don’t actually hike very often.”

Finally, here’s the best one. He tells me that he really is only looking for one thing in a girl. She has to be serious about God. He proceeds to ask me some sort of vague question about what I think about church and the Bible. I didn’t know exactly what he wanted to hear, so I just started talking. I’m pretty good about reading my Bible, especially during the school year since I’m on a regular schedule. It’s harder during breaks. I struggle with prayer. I rarely miss church. I like reading books about theology and doctrine…

Then, I discover that he rarely reads his Bible and has read exactly one and a half books about his faith… both are Joshua Harris books about dating.

And all I can think is, what the hell has this guy been doing for the past 30 years?

One of my early Christian reads was John Piper’s Don’t Waste Your Life, and I think that book helped light a fire under me so that that I’m intentional about really doing things rather than just thinking about doing them. As I look back on my (nearly) 30 years on this planet, I’m pretty proud of myself. I’ve been committed to Christ. I’ve shared the gospel – not as well as I should have, certainly, but well. I’ve loved people – again, not as well as I should have, but well. I’ve seen the world and experienced soooo much.

Sadly, I’ve not yet dated a man who I could honestly say has lived life well. I’ve known men and women who I can say that about, but I haven’t found a man to date who I would describe as worthy of his calling. Quiet desperation – sure. Wasted time – absolutely.

Because all of the men I’ve dated have not lived very much, I’m incredibly afraid that attaching myself to a man might make me less-worthy of my calling. Or less interesting. Or less-_________. Why aren’t there more men (and women) in this world who do what they want to do and/or what they believe they should do? Why aren’t people more aware of their mortality and the limited time they have? I really don’t get people who want to do things, but don’t. Sure, there are things that circumstances may keep us from doing, but I hated that the guy I was out with said he loved traveling, hiking, Christianity, SciFi, reading, etc… but he hadn’t exactly done any of them. Even with his faith, he didn’t do/live it. He thought about it… but he didn’t follow through.

I can’t imagine many ways I could live that would be sadder than that. 😦