“How wrong to think I was anyone else, like thinking grass stains make you a beautiful view, like getting kissed makes you kissable, like feeling warm makes you coffee, like liking movies makes you a director. How utterly incorrect to think it any other way, a box of crap is treasures, a boy smiling means it, a gentle moment is a life improved.” -Daniel Handler
Marriage sort of jumped out at me. Seriously, I had other plans. I was moving forward with my independent female life. I was untamed and unwilling to be tamed. I was off to some distant and as of yet unfamiliar land. But then Drew came along, and without a single word of persuasion or criticism escaping from his perfectly kissable lips, he had me convinced. I couldn't leave now.
I wasn't a fool; he was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. He knew when to be serious and when to not. He smiled when he saw me and listened when I spoke. He knew the difference between "you're" and "your." If I left, he wouldn't be available for long. If I left, I would be gambling with the likelihood of being with the perfect man. And when it comes to matters of my heart, I have a strict no gambling policy. Not that I gamble anyway. I've never understood the appeal. Casinos, gross.
So, just like that, the goal of marriage was attained. Completely out of nowhere and feeling surreal. I had taken time off from college starting the year before in order to save money for my "mission." The money I ended up actually saving was a pathetic and embarrassing amount. That whole taking time off from college thing turned into never going back. There was nothing specific I had been going for. College is a lot of time and money for not having any reason to go. Plus, Drew was in school and we needed a bread winner. So bread win I do. Even though I'm not sure why it's even referred to as "winner." That's ridiculous. Let's adjust that to bread earner, because, at least in my existence, money is earned with alarm clocks and 40 hours, not won. Where I do nothing and then squeal and jump up and down? Get real.
And, just like that, here I am. I'm 22 years old. I work full-time and have a family history calling I quite like and a primary calling that I complain to my husband about more than I should. I don't know how I'll ever get good at making dinner. I like sleeping in just as much as I did when I was ten, but nowadays I get out of bed when I'm supposed to. The idea of motherhood scares me to death, but it's something I plan on jumping into eventually. Again, later - a lot later. I try to be good. I don't watch R-rated movies and keep the curse words to a minimum. I scrub my toilet on a regular basis and, with Drew's help, keep the dirty dishes from capsizing in the sink.
I'm a wife, an employee, a teacher, a daughter and a sister and an aunt. I take pictures with my cheap camera and I write. I've never run a marathon but I take the stairs every weekday. I've got a heart thunking in my chest and do my best to put it to use. I'm inherently reclusive but smile at people when they walk by - sometimes it's forced and sometimes it's not.
I used to make a habit of looking up to heaven and asking them, "Am I enough?" It took me a while to hear the answer, but now I understand that God made me, and therefore, I am enough. God doesn't make an inadequate anything. That's what humans are for.
The question I send up to the clouds these days sounds quite similar, but means something very different to me. Now that I know that I'm enough, now that I know I'm capable of anything that gets chucked in my direction, Is this enough? Now that I can't deny that I heard the answer and have this knowledge in my head, now that I can't turn back without a compromised conscience, Is this enough?
Am I doing enough? I don't know how to tell.