Going the Distance

In writing this blog, in telling the story of Aindrea and Mick, and in talking to people face to face, I've been surprised to hear how many of them (the women, really) want what I have. I'm not surprised that they want a fantastic husband who is also your best friend, but they want the whole process. It happens almost daily, a customer at the pub will notice that I'm obviously not from around here, ask where I'm from.
"America"
"Oh, what are you doing all the way over here."
"I married an Englishman."
"Oh, how did you meet?"
"We met online as teenagers. Over the years we kept in touch finally met, and now here we are."
"Oh, how romantic, what a love story!"
And I'm always a little bit surprised. Even a friend of mine said to me once, "I want what you have. I want that love story and I want a British boy."
We all want a love story, and we all deserve a great one. British men are plenty nice, but they're still just men. What I don't think people realize is just how hard it all is, and how much it entails. I love Mick more that anything in the world, but would I recommend that any couple go through what we did? Absolutely not. It's hard, it hurts, you find the most stupid things to argue about when you're apart, and you just end up not being very nice to each other a lot of the time. Not because you're horrible or you don't love each other, but because you're so frustrated with the situation and you don't know how else to express it. We were only apart for 7 months, but in that time, we had a lot of arguments, a lot of doubts, and I even had to visit the ER twice because I was in so much stress, I had a panic attack that lasted for several days.
Mick and I have both talked about this, and we have agreed that if, for some reason (God forbid) things didn't work out for us, we wouldn't do this again, with another person. Would I do it again, with Mick? Yes, because what we have is special and unbreakable. It takes unquestionable and complete trust, a lot of faith, and the kind of love you only find once in a lifetime.
I think it's really important that people don't limit themselves. If you decide at some point in your life that you're going to have, x,y,z (in my friends case, a British man), you're going to be focused on only one area. And if you do that, you're going to limit yourself and you might miss out on something really fantastic. Perhaps a Swedish guy? An Australian guy? A guy from New York or Vancouver, or, most desirably, a guy from your own town. Don't put yourself in a box, be open to life and all the surprises that life sends your way. I didn't plan to fall in love with an English boy, but it fell in my lap, I discovered how important he was to me and I decided that, come hell or high water, I'd fight to keep him. We can't help who we love, and so that also means that you can't make yourself love someone. You might find someone who checks all the boxes on your list, but at the end of the day, you might really surprise yourself with what you actually want.

Today I met a girl in the pub, and she asked all those typical questions. Once she realized we had been long distance, she immediately launched into all these questions about how she should handle a sitation with a guy that is long distance. I immediately recalled the insecurities, the desperation, the excitement, and the sadness. Let me tell you, I didn't envy this girl one little bit. I basically told her that she just had to be open, honest, and decide what would work for her, and would just have to go with the flow.
And then she spoke the words, "but I don't want to just wait and see, I want to know."
I could have laughed out loud. Not because it's funny what she said, or that it's so unusual or unreasonable to want to know how love will turn out, but because I can remember saying that to my mom, or to Brittany, curled up on her couch and wallowing in the distance. "I just want to know if we're going to make it." Over and over. I was such a broken record. I wished the girl luck and walked away wondering when I'd become Dr. Love, but I was glad to be able to help, because I certainly know how she feels.
Nobody has a crystal ball (as my mom has told me over and over and over my entire life when I worry about something) and we can't know how something is going to turn out.
But isn't not knowing half the fun?

I guess I just wanted to bring some light to the situation. I'm not saying I'm not really happy, because I am. I have snagged an amazing opportunity- I'm living in another country and learning about another culture, I'm a newlywed and the world is my oyster. But we're still a couple, like anyone else. We fight. I'm sometimes really unreasonable, and he's sometimes really insensitive. I get sad and homesick and want to go home somedays, and he gets sad about that. But each day, we wake up in the same bed, happy to see the other there. And that's all we wanted for so very long.

You just have to greet life with open arms, take what it gives you, and turn that into something that makes you want to get up every day and smile at the world. I found it in an English boy, but you mind find it somewhere else. And that is beautiful.

The hair band and the rings

On the morning of June 23rd, 2010, I was a bundle of nerves. I woke up in my best friend of 22 years' spare bedroom near Los Angeles. Tabatha was going to take me to the airport that day so that I could fly to England to meet the man (unbeknownst at the time) who would be my husband. We rushed around the house, kind of re-packing my suitcases. I was trying to do my hair and makeup in a way that would last 16 hours of travel (hah). As we talked about all the what-ifs and hopes and dreams, Tabatha said she wanted to give me something for good luck, but she didn't know what. After rummaging through he jewellery box, she pulled out a purple and teal hair band. "I just feel like I should give you something to keep with you through this." It went on my left wrist and stayed there through the whole month I was in England. I wore it for a while after I got back to America, but it started to stretch out and went into my makeup bag to live for a while. I've switched makeup bags a few times but never lost it. Seeing it now and then, peeking out from underneath a tube of mascara makes me happy. The other day I noticed it again and glanced at my left wrist, where it used to live. Traveling further down my arm and onto my had led my eyes to my wedding and engagement rings. I had to smile and felt a nice little warm feeling in my heart. I took the hair band out of my makeup bag and put it back on my left wrist. The past, present and future.
It's a good reminder of a few things: a good friend's love, the power of hope, and the love we all search for. And the love I found.

Sunday Quotes

I'm going to start a new routine for Sundays on my blog. I think I'll start posting some of my favorite quotes. I definitely have a thing for quotes. Sometimes when I'm down, I'll find a book or a website that lists them and just click on random topics. I like seeing things from the minds of other people, especially the brilliant minds of the past century.
So, here's the first quote.

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."
-Douglas Adams



Interesting, isn't it? This quote really makes me think, especially when you consider my current situation. If I  walked up to Little Aindrea eighteen years ago, knelt down in front of her, looked into those big brown eyes and said "you're going to meet a boy from a place called England. You're going to fall in love with him, move away with him and marry him and live happily ever after," I'd have looked at myself like I was crazy. I would have said "what are you talking about? I'm going to become marine biologist and swim with killer whales and never leave my mommy's side. I'm going to live in California, always close to my brother and sister and grandparents."
Ohhh, little did I know! I eventually learned that being a marine biologist would require me to scuba dive at least once in my life, and being a bit of a thalassophobic (someone who fears the ocean), this would prove to be difficult. Also, I didn't stay in California. I moved to Arizona with my mom and dad, leaving the rest of my family behind.
But I really do believe that everything happens for a reason. Now, when I don't get my way and I'm sulking about that and people tell me "oh it all happens for a reason," I'm bound to scoff at that. But in the end, years later, I will admit that it was probably true.
So for some reason it has all happened. Planets aligned, and here I am. Not where I intended to be in the beginning, but where I'm meant to be. Moving onwards and upwards. Meeting my destiny face on.

***                                     

It is my last night in my parents house, and yet it is so typical of any other day. My mom taking a nap on the couch, and my dad is watching television in his recliner. Mick sits next to me working on his website and playing games on his phone. It is another day, not unusual in anyway, and yet it is a milestone. So strange, and so typical at the same time. Tonight will be my last night sleeping in the bed I've had since I was eleven years old.
Goodbye, Yuma. It's been real.

The Story of Us

I know I said I'd tell the story of me and Mick. It's pretty personal and pretty gushy in parts, but you're going to have to bear with me, here. I'm the bride-to-be, and so I'm allowed to get emotional and detailed when I tell this story. Sorry, Mick, if this chronicle of our love embarrasses you. You're going to be a married man soon, get used to it :)

I have known Mick since I was 17 years old. We met in a forum on deviantart.com. I had questions about music, and being a musician, he had answers. I’m not entirely sure how it all started, can’t remember, but we began talking on MSN all the time. I’d stay up super late, until he woke up, to catch him. I immediately began saving money to go visit him. But we were 17, it never happened. We always did our best to stay in contact, remained good friends. When we were 20, I bought a ticket to go see him. We’d become very dedicated to one another, speaking all day online during the summer. It was just so much fun to talk to him and joke with him, fall for him. We were so excited.

But then, things started to change. He had gone off to university and didn’t have internet in his flat which totally decimated our ability to talk. Then he became more and more unavailable to talk on the phone. I could feel the chasm deepening- as if a continent and an ocean wasn’t enough for us. I’d call and he’d eventually text me, hours later, saying he just “wasn’t able to talk at the time.” I was angry. I felt that he should make time. And then I didn’t hear from him at all for nearly a week. I had to call his mom, who I’d spoken to a couple of times, to make sure he was ok. Of course he was. We finally spoke after she told him he needed to contact me. The minute he answered I knew something was wrong. I will never, ever forget the feeling, the almost audible snap of my heart breaking into pieces. “Do you think a two week visit is too long? What if we don’t get along.” He went down a road I had always hoped and prayed he’d never go down. He said it was going to be too hard, two people our age being in a long distance relationship He didn’t want to be in a relationship with someone he’d only see once or twice a year for a few years. Of course, he was right, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt very much. We had some pretty ugly fights and didn’t talk for quite some time.

Over the next three years we were involved with different people, he had the same girlfriend for most of that time. I was never in a serious relationship with anybody, I liked a few guys and went out a couple times with some. But I’d sit across the table from the nameless few and stare at them. I’d feel a pit in my stomach and find myself thinking about Mick. Why did I feel such a strong connection with a boy I’d never met, and yet this guy looking at me made me feel nothing.

Even though Mick instigated the break up, it wasn’t because he didn’t care. It took me many years to figure this out.  Over time I learned that he hadn’t stopped loving me or silently, absentmindedly hoping that we’d make it somehow. He worked pretty hard at trying to keep me in his life, even when I was sure I wanted nothing to do with him. We eventually reached an understanding and were able to be civil to one another. Every time we’d start talking again, I’d get my hopes up, and I hated myself a little bit for it. It was just easier to remain at a safe distance so that I didn’t fall for him all over again. I’d be his friend, but nothing more.
Last fall, we began talking a good bit. He and his girlfriend had been apart for a while, and I was “single as a dollar bill,” as I would jokingly say at the time. Our communication was sporadic, but the most contact we’d had in years. I felt it all resurfacing, and I think he did, too. Then, in late October 2009, he sent me a letter. He had gone on vacation in Europe with his family and confessed to not really being able to think of much other than me. He sent me a bracelet and a photo of a place he’d gone, and said he really wanted to take me there. He said he was really glad he hadn’t lost me completely.
And I immediately realized what an idiot I had been. I had tried really hard to keep him out of my life, and had failed. I had tried really hard to think of him as only a friend, and as I read his letter, I realized, again, I’d failed. I couldn’t really think of him as just a friend. I wrote him back, pouring out the emotions I’d been holding in for three years. I asked him if he still felt the same, and he did.
The next few months I found myself falling in love with him all over again, as much as you can fall for someone you’ve never met. Life seemed to just fall into place, and I was so, so happy he hadn’t let me kick him out completely. In February, on Valentine’s Day, actually, I swallowed my nerve and bought my ticket. I was going to spend two weeks with him in the summer.
Meeting him in the airport was surreal and strange, but not at all awkward or uncomfortable. Sitting next to him in the car on the way back to his house was a bit like the feeling you get in grade school when the teacher makes you sit next to your crush. We got to his house, I showered the nasty travel gunk off myself and we hung out in his room, talking.  Within an hour, he hugged me, but nothing more. I could tell he was nervous, and so was I. But I was beyond caring about nerves. I had just flown across the world to meet this guy, and I was finally in his arms. I kissed him, he told me he loved me, and asked me to stay. So I did, for a while month. We fell into a gorgeous, passionate relationship that encompasses everything I’ve ever hoped love could be. He showed me ancient buildings, historical castles, and two more countries. He showed me love and passion and understanding. He showed me what it’s like to be taken care of. He showed me, and I showed him, too, just how great something can be when you wait for it, and work for it.

On July 25, 2010 I began what would be the hardest thing I have ever done. Harder than controlling a class of hormonal teenagers. Harder than being brave enough to meet a stranger. I got on a plane and left England, left Mick. We were long distance for the absolute worst 5 months of my life. It was so weird- I had spent 23 years without him, and then one month with him. In that month, I forgot how to be myself without him. I forgot how to sleep and eat and be happy. Five months. During which I very nearly broke up with him a few times just because of the sheer stress and pain of being apart. But he wouldn’t let me.
On December 19^th, I flew back to England to spend the holidays with him. I was so nervous! I didn’t know if all the anxiety I’d been through, if the time and distance would have changed what we had during the summer. What if it had only been the excitement of meeting for the first time? Maybe that would be gone. As I wandered through the arrival terminal of Gatwick International, I saw him. I didn’t feel any better. He hugged me and kissed me. I still wasn’t sure. But then in about 30 seconds I blinked and it was like the past five months had never happened. I was home, and I was safe.
Mick was able to come back to America with me after Christmas, and so we’ve been together the past 5 and a half months. We’ve learned what it’s like to be a couple together. I’ve shown him as much of America as I’ve been able to with my work schedule. It’s been great.
I love telling our story and reliving all of it. I don’t even mind thinking about the pain so much because then I realize the magic that it all took. Nothing short of the hand of God brought us together, this much I know is true. And as I look down at the ring he placed on my left hand, I can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world. About a month ago, Mick asked me to marry him. I of course said yes, and now it’s only a matter of weeks until we move to England where we’re going to spend the rest of our lives.

Here’s what I want you to take from this. I am not what you would call a lucky girl. I don’t win things, I’m not a knock out, and I’m a bit overweight. Things don’t come easy to me. I don’t turn heads and guys have never beat down my door. But I am who I am and I do the best that I can with that. And for some reason, an amazing guy saw everything he wanted in that, and didn’t give up on me. We had everything against us- odds and logistics. It’s been hard and it hurt, and I know we’re not done yet, but we made it. We made it.

 In other newwws! 21 days until I move to England, and 7 more days of school!