Lessons

The first boy I recall having a crush on once told me a story about how he sneezed spaghetti out of his nose. He told me this on an evening when my parents invited his family over for dinner, and we sat at the kids table set up in front of the closet in my living room. If my memory serves me right, our meal was some kind of pasta based dish. I was only eight or nine at the time, and that kind of thing would usually disgust a normal girl in that general age-bracket. Me? I thought it was charming. Hilarious. Endearing, even. For whatever reason, young-me was undeterred by this brief glimpse into the innate grossness of boys. And considering I continued to have a crush on this kid for the next four years, I think I was far more forgiving and resilient back then. I mean, he was the boy that my mother told me she would choose for me if she could arrange my marriage. He could read almost as well as I could, which I found to be an extremely attractive quality when we would take turns reading Bible verses around the flannelgraph in our 2nd grade Sunday School class. Plus he rocked that late 90's haircut like a boss.

This crush came to a tragic end after I made the truly embarrassing decision to leave him a note in his Bible in the library after church one day. Given that I never received a response, and he is now engaged, I don't think it's going to work out. Sorry, Mom.

But, lesson learned. Don't tell a boy you like him, because it makes you look like an idiot. However, some life-lessons need a refresher course. Especially when you thought you learned them so young.

I met my first boyfriend at camp when I was fifteen. He was tall, played guitar, and had a very dry sense of humor. Took all of two days to develop a serious case of camp-crush on him. Of course at the end of the week, that manic panic of coming up with a way to casually ask for an email address or phone number sets in when you realize if you don't you'll probably never communicate with them again and, by extension, never get married. I don't even remember how it happened exactly, but he wound up asking me, so obviously our engagement was inevitable. After camp we began emailing, then chatting over MSN Messenger. (I know, another lifetime, right?) We'd play checkers and chess, talk about school, family, and God. He'd send me songs he played on guitar, and I smiled like an idiot.

Several months went by, and we talked nearly every evening. He told me how his dad was planning to buy him a new guitar if he didn't go to his prom. I thought that was interesting, and almost-kinda-sorta-not-jokingly asked if he would go if I could go with him. His immediate yes caught me off-guard and I almost chickened out, but I asked my mom if she would let me go. She said yes. At the end of April I flew to Michigan with my mom. I went on my first date that weekend. We got ice cream and walked down a pier by a lighthouse. And it was exciting. And I was unaware of the significance that whole trip would hold for me when I would reminisce years later.

We dated as much as two kids can date when you're over 600 miles apart and still in high school. We've only spoken a handful of times since we broke up, and he got married a few years ago.

Looking back, I can see that was my first taste of how intoxicating it feels to know that someone you care about likes you back. I'd have a couple minor brushes with that feeling throughout the years, and some moments I dared to think that it could last, but that was the first time it lingered. There are a lot of firsts in life we don't actually pause to realize are happening.

First job. First car. First college acceptance letter. First address away from home. First all-night study session. First passing-out experience at the end of your first all-night study session. First time getting your heart broken. First holiday spent alone with ravioli and wine. First speeding ticket. First broken windshield. First flat tire. First argument with an employer. First "maybe I'll cave and go see a doctor because these headaches won't stop" moment. First panic attack because people will move on and live their life without you in it. First...

First.

Firsts become lasts and we hardly notice.

What can you do? Nobody ever said living life or finding love would be easy. Nobody said you'd get it right on the first try. Sometimes it sucks and you hurt people, or they hurt you, or you hurt each other. Sometimes, you get scared of the hurt. You don't want to hurt anybody else and you don't ever want to get close enough to someone that they can hurt you. So when you start to like someone new, you stomp out those pesky feelings and emotions before they can go anywhere.

Because the lesson you've learned is that you don't know what you're doing, and probably never will. And you have a tendency of messing things up because you try too hard not to.

Lesson learned. Stop those first feelings.

Lesson learned. Inhale independence, and expel the butterflies taking up lodging in your abdomen.

Then, as you finally have a controlled grip on your emotions...

Lesson lear.... wait, what lesson?