All or Nothing

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I love the feeling of sweat pouring down my back after a long workout, or the warm ache in my muscles the morning after my first run in awhile.  I love pushing my body to complete and sheer physical exhaustion.  You could say my fitness soundtrack is usually the John Mellencamp song "Hurt So Good" on repeat.  I love competing with myself, and seeing just how far I can go.  I'm an all or nothing type of girl.  If I'm going to do something, I'm going to give it my best or I might as well not do it at all. 

I take that attitude in all aspects of my life: work, school, personal relationships.  In fact, when I was struggling with school last semester because I had no time and was always stressed to the max, my professor just kept telling me to turn "something" in even if I just threw it together.  I had the hardest time doing that, because I had been raised to do my best and try my hardest.  If I try my hardest at something, there's no need for an excuse, no room for tears, and no shame in the outcome, whether good or bad.  How much I work at something and how much I give myself over to the completion of any given task is sometimes the one thing I can control about a situation.

Being my best self is the one gift that I can give to myself every single day.   I remind myself of this in my dating life all the time.  I can only be who I am, and who I am is always good enough.  It is so hard to see that sometimes, when I meet so many guys who say things like, "You're a great girl.  You're so beautiful.  I love your personality.   You're going to make some man very happy.... but we're such good friends."

Right.  I'm going to make some man so happy-- just not you.  I'm great, and wonderful, and everything you should want.... but no thanks.  Then I start to wonder... what is it?  It has to be me.... if I'm so amazing, and admirable, and attractive... WHAT IS THE DEAL??!!

And then I look down, and I see my arm braces and think, "This must be it.  THIS has to be the reason that I'm 31 and a half and still single.  It's not because I'm not smart or pretty or don't understand football or can't cook a pot roast.  It's these metal sticks and their invisible purple force field."

And for a split second... I want to hurl them out the window.  I want to spew a million curse words and jump up and down and feel sorry for myself, because somewhere in the back of my head, that small chip on my shoulder is telepathically reassuring me that if I just let myself be angry, I'll feel better.  And you know what?  Sometimes I do.   When I come home from a date with a guy who propositions me for sex after one cup of coffee when all we've discussed online before meeting is our desire to find someone else who loves God.... when I am rejected by someone else with a disability because he can't handle the fact that I don't drive.... when a guy cuts a meeting short after 5 minutes in person because he can't deal with the fact that my "injury" isn't "temporary."  Sometimes, I come home and crank up Alanis Morisette full blast and cry and sob into my pillow and just let it out. I worry about whether I'll ever be able to feel my Daddy's hand at my side as he walks me down the aisle; whether I'll get to plan details and go dress shopping with Mama.  "Will I ever hear any tiny voice call me "Mommy?  Should I just give it up now?  Since I can't have it all... do I really deserve anything?"  I let myself feel bad. 

That's ok.  It's healthy.  No one loves herself 100%, 100% of the time.  But this girl... the Alanis- Morisette-screaming, self-pitying, arm-brace-hurling, sailor-mouth....  she's not my best self.  She's not the lady I want to be, and she's certainly not the woman I want to become-- spending the next 10-15 years of my life skulking around my apartment, Miss Havisham-style, ruminating on what might have been.

What might have been is not what is, and what is is all that matters.  The fact is that sometimes guys aren't attracted to me because of my arm braces.  Sometimes it's my hair color.  Sometimes it's my accent.  Sometimes, it's no particular reason at all. 

All I can do is keep waking up every day and giving myself my best.  Whether anyone else sees my best as what they want in their lives is completely ancillary.  If am at my best, I know I'm good enough for me, and I'm striving to please God.  In the end, no matter what happens to me while I'm on this Earth, the effort I put into making myself my best is between the two of us anyway.