Wednesday, April 09, 2014

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #170.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
I've been missing you lately, Sweetpea. I know, I know -- you'd never know it based on the fact that I haven't written to you in six months. But make no mistake. I have missed you and thought about you, even if it was more of an unspoken kind of missing. The sort of under-the-radar, under-the-covers kind of thing -- and no, I'm not talking about those kinds of covers. Does that make sense?

Anyway, I was reading a recent issue of Glamour magazine last weekend -- something that has become one of my favorite weekend rituals -- and came across an article in which people describe their love milestone. The first time they kissed someone. The first time they moved in with someone. The first time they finally let someone go. Each story described a different stage in life, but the more I read, the more I began to see a theme emerge.


Every one of those stories and every single one of those life changes involved some level of vulnerability. Some required being extremely vulnerable, to fully put yourself out there -- metaphorically naked, if you will. Others simply required a little vulnerability to get the job done.


I often wonder if I'd have the courage to be this vulnerable, especially with you. Sure, I'm vulnerable every day on So About What I Said, and as you know, Sweetpea, I wouldn't have it any other way. It's something I've come to treasure; plus, there's no denying the cathartic outlet of writing a blog day in and day out for nearly five years. But typing away your feelings on a laptop isn't the same as sitting across from someone, looking them in the eyes, and telling your story -- whatever that story may be. I mean, you're *thisclose* to the other person in such an intimate setting and in such an intimate way. Being vulnerable in real life is sort of like live television. There's this sense of immediacy. You can't skip, rewind, go back or delete. Once the words leave your lips, you have to come to terms with the fact that they're not just yours anymore. Anything can happen. And honestly, that can be quite scary. Even terrifying.
Take this letter, for example. I'm sitting here in my kitchen/office/Netflix theater, and I'm just typing along as the words and emotions flow from my head, through my arms, down to my fingers and onto the computer keys. I'm acting like it's all no big deal because, really, it's not that big of a deal. "I got this in the bag," I think. "Heck, I'm an old pro at this blog bravery stuff by now."

And not to toot my own horn, but I am. But with you? Could I so easily and brazenly lay my soul at your feet? And what would you think? Would the awkwardness hang in the air as we both shuffle and shift in our seats? The hopeless romantic in me is dying to find out, but my unsure heart is fine with waiting a bit longer. After all, vulnerability takes time, doesn't it, Sweetpea? Until we meet... xoxo

[Photos via Le Love]


  1. What a sweet letter. Vulnerability is absolutely hard at the beginning of any relationship.

  2. I struggle with this, even being married ten years. It's so hard to just be seen, and judged, and loved.


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