Note: A semi-revised essay of this article was later published on The Huffington Post titled, Actually I Don’t Want My Life To Be Like An Audrey Hepburn Movie.
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Yesterday I pulled on faded black yoga pants, sneakers, and a tank top and sweater combo that I wore in my early maternity days and walked out of my apartment, headed to my other job. When I looked at myself in the mirror that morning, this sentence (that I later tweeted) popped into my brain: The 2006 version of me would be absolutely appalled by what I’m wearing today. That made me smile.
The last time I moved to Seattle, I was a complete mess. It was December 31, 2005. Twenty-four hours earlier I had spent my last night in Los Angeles, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s on my laptop and eating pizza in my empty apartment. The next morning I had my last breakfast as an L.A. resident (that time, anyway) at the now defunct Flora Kitchen, a little café near my Miracle Mile apartment that was part of Rita Flora, a lovely flower shop. It was gray and raining, and they were playing Frank Sinatra. I had an omelette, looked out the window, and made notes about a new beginning in my journal.
Three weeks earlier my husband had ended our ten year marriage by leaving me a note and moving out while I was in Austin for my best friend’s wedding reception. Even better, he left the “Dear Melanie” note on top of a belated birthday gift he ordered for me that came in while I was out of town – a boxed set of Rock Hudson and Doris Day romantic comedies. I honestly couldn’t make up something this good if I tried, right? Even on that day, when I was a total disaster and freaking out, I had to laugh at my soon-to-be ex-husband’s break-up style.
After my ex left, my very dear and wise friend said, “Now you can just think about you. Make your life exactly the way you want it to be.” I was like, okay, fine, “I want my life to be like an Audrey Hepburn movie.” And looking back now, my life was kind of like Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but in a sad way.
From the end of 2005 until I was lucky enough to meet and fall in love with my amazing husband in 2007, I was pretty miserable. The exterior me looked awesome in my skinny jeans, long flowing hair, and stylish wardrobe (thanks to lots of stress and returning to my former smoking habit), but I was a mess inside. Like the movie version of Holly Golightly, I lived a pretty detached life. I bounced back and forth between spending time with my ex-husband (yes, we tried reconciliation…I know, I know) and unavailable men. I put my heart in a bottle and threw away the key.
At the age of 36, I was living alone for the first time in my life. At first, I hated it. I hated coming home to an empty apartment and going to sleep alone. As time went on, I adjusted to the change and even started to enjoy the freedom of having my own space. Sometimes.
Sometimes I felt like I was done with relationships. That my time as part of a couple had come and gone. I couldn’t imagine meeting anyone that I wanted to spend the day with, much less my entire life. So I continued on my crazy path, letting my heart peek outside it’s beautiful cage every now and then, but quickly locking it away again.
When Drew and I first got together, I was absolutely terrified. I fell for him so fast and so hard. I felt connected to him in a way that I’d never experienced in my entire life. When we first got to know each other, it was as friends. He was on his way out of a bad marriage and I had been there already, so we shared our experiences, plus talked about lots of other things we had in common, like our love of art, movies, books, everything. At some point I realized that I was in love with him, but kept that to myself. He was technically still unavailable. We would be friends. Until that was no longer the case, and then we’d be together forever.
Do I have a point? Yes.
Sometimes you want your life to be a certain way. You dream of it and imagine what it would be like. Then it doesn’t happen. Or maybe it does happen, but it’s nothing like you thought it would be. Sometimes you get extremely lucky and your reality turns out to be much better than any fantasy life you’ve ever dreamed of. That’s what I was reminded of when I looked at myself in the mirror yesterday morning. I am happy. I love my life. It took years of craziness to get here, but I finally found myself exactly where I want to be.
I honestly could go on and on with stories like this, but I want to get your opinion. How do you feel about personal stories on this blog? Do you like them? Not so much? I’d love to know what you think. xo