Warning: Mushiness ahead.

I was advised today, after gushing like a little girl, to write a blog about how obnoxiously in love I am. As I am not a girly girl, I'm not one to announce these types of things normally, but it's not often that I encounter the type of thing that makes all of the sappy songs on the radio make sense. It came out of nowhere, and from the very beginning, it was comfortable and easy. Now, that's not to say it wasn't exciting, just, well, to continue with my already professed mood of mushiness, right. My brother, upon my first date exiting the car, being dropped off after a movie, pizza, a kiss, and hand holding on the way home, asked, "do they fit?"
"Do what fit?" I couldn't imagine what he meant.
"Your hands. Do they fit? Paul Reiser says in his book, Couplehood, that a couple's hands should fit, if they're a good match, and that he and his wife's hands fit. Do yours fit?"
I remember not wanting to answer, not feeling comfortable with that boy, or talking about a boy I may or may not have liked at the time. "Yes," I replied, because I knew it would make him happy. "They fit."
But they didn't. And in the past, I've twisted and bent and contorted to make my hands fit into positions they did not find pleasing, because I wanted so badly to be "complete" as the girly movies call it.

I'm sorry to tell you all, that being complete is really about finding and loving yourself, and once I was able to do that, I was able to love someone else. Someone who makes love songs make sense. Someone whose hands fit. Truly, this time.



~Jen