Knowing.

Have you ever put on your most comfortable sweater and spent the last few hours of a regular evening doing things that didn't exactly need to be done right away simply for the pleasure of knowing the outcome? Every move you make so absolute, deliberate and comfortable that you can grasp the peace inside when everything else feels like it is never going to be your way. You run the dishwasher even though it isn't full because you know that the dishes will be clean. You put away clothes that have been in the basket for two days because you know the feeling of accomplishment you get when your  closet is organized. You fold until there is a perfect stack of fresh towels. Because no one can do it like you can. You know how to make it just exactly how you want it and it's the only thing in life that you know will be exactly how you like it.

And then, Pandora plays the perfect song and it's okay again. Sure, I wish I was in love with my best friend. I want to find my Gerry or my Wesley. That for once I was someone's exception instead of someone's rule. That I would wake up tomorrow and would have a love at first sight moment with someone at Tesoro. Oddly specific...

But don't make fun because I am about to tell you my greatest fear: I am scared that I will never find who I am looking for. I know "they" say that as soon as you stop looking then it will find you. The lady bug theory like you're in a meadow and you know that there are lady bugs but you cannot find any until you lie down to take a nap and when you wake up you're covered in them.

Knowing the outcome is not an option. Loving the adventure of being washed, folded, and put away...well, I am hoping that is the key to being happy no matter what.


Even still I hope. I believe it exists. In the words of He's Just Not That Into You's Gigi:

Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, Every story we're told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. But sometimes we're so focused on finding our happy ending we don't learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don't, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe... it's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is... just... moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope.