Commitment

While distracted by the trials of everyday life, I grew. I've grown into someone suddenly sure of things. Mostly sure, at least. I am happy about this. I am tired of loud parties and possibilities for affection from handsome strangers in dark corners. The dark corners now seem more bleak than mysterious and the handsome strangers now seem more daunting than exciting. I've mapped a road in my head and I as I run my fingers over the skin of this map, I trace things I desire in a partner: intelligence, humor, fair taste, those things that everyone lists because they feel that it is safe. "Is this me?", I wonder from the corner of the flashing lights and the sweating bodies and the stale smell of beer. How pathetic it was to have an internal relationship crisis in the middle of a party. I was sick of it and I was tired and I wanted to lie down. I wanted to fall asleep at 10 pm so that I could wake up early to the smell of coffee and feel the sun warming the sheets of my bed as I read before work or school or responsibilities. I went from needing attention from men I barely knew to having enough confidence in myself to let it be and move on. I wanted to prepare for the next part of my life.

I have been seeing Kevin for three months. And I'm not sure how to talk to people about it. Three months ago I was alone (for the most part) and denying any desire for anything serious. "What I'm serious about is my education", I would tell myself. In my mind, a relationship and my schooling could not co-exist. That's what I would tell myself. Now that I am waist-deep in this thing, this wonderful, unbelievably comfortable thing, I wonder why I was trying so hard to push away what I never knew was coming. Is it healthy to force something when you're too bothered to invest or even care? No, of course not. But I'm ecstatic that this person came marching so unexpectedly into my life. Men have come and gone in the past few months, and I want so desperately to articulate how much Kevin means to me compared to all the others (for a start, he makes me refer to everyone else I've ever felt anything for as just "others"). I still remember the day we met so clearly. He's gone from the stranger across from me at the coffee shop, passionately scribbling notes about his students, to the man humming Etta James in his boxers while making me breakfast. He holds his cat close to his chest when he's reading and he starts my car before I leave while I'm still in bed. He is attentive and neat and considerate. He orders extra pizza when he knows my friends will be around. He wants more than what the world can provide him at ease and he wants to make changes. He is passionate about the political state of the world and wants to write things, eye-opening things. He inspires and pushes me to write more myself. We read in bed together. We discuss the news together. I have spent the last four days straight living with him in his apartment. This is more time than I've ever spent with anyone. Even sleep has become something that we share, something that's no longer just my own.

I'm trickling down a path of excitement and anxiousness that makes my stomach lurch. I care for him greatly and have finally put myself in a place that has made me vulnerable. I'm proud of myself for finally taking a step forward, but everyone bone in my body is begging my to inch back. It's his move and I'm desperately hoping we begin to walk in place.