I have been struggling to figure out a way to blog this and for it to make sense to you, the reader; hopefully I have formulated it in such a way that it does now.

The other day my boyfriend and I were heading home and as we pulled into the driveway, he kindly popped out and gathered the mail.  I frequently order online, so I get packages pretty often and lo and behold there was a parcel in his hands.  He wanted to open it and normally I would not mind; my stuff is no secret, I hide nothing from him; but I balked.  He was so excited to open a package that he did not recognize my hesitation and proceeded to open it, much to my embarrassment.  He commented on how much he liked the motorcycle charm and that he liked this very much, probably one of his favorite pieces of my jewelry.  To be honest, who has a man in their life that would say something like that?  If my mind hadn’t been so clouded by anxiety, I would have taken the time right at that moment to appreciate how wonderful my man is.  But instead, I stressed.  My ex, as well as a family member or two, have always been critical of my spending habits. I would cringe every time one of them noticed a new piece and then would proceed to interrogate me; how can I afford this? Don’t I have enough? How much did it cost?  I would react defensively and over the years I have grown accustomed to feeling uncomfortable revealing my spending habits.  I have two fellow jewelry fiends who I chat with on a regular basis and its such a relief to “talk shop” without judgement.  I am not going to lie; I am a spendthrift.  I know that it is considered an unattractive personality trait by the public, but I love jewelry, and I like to spend money on it (though, this is going to change since I can tell I am reaching the end… I have a future REAL motorcycle to save up for now).

So back to the other day.  When he went to open my package, I cringed, waiting for the inevitable criticism.  It never came, because he is awesome.  But after he had opened my package, he noticed my demeanor and we talked about it.  I felt awful talking about it because he didn’t do anything wrong; I would never compare him to any of my exes.  But, from his perspective, I could see how it looks like a comparison.  I swear it isn’t.  When you are used to living your life in a certain way for many years and then it changes for the better, regardless of how much you are glad that the old way is in the past… I guess the best way that I can explain it is that it is like a haunting… Pale apparitions of your former life that need to be exorcised.

My boyfriend is nothing like anyone that I have ever known before.  It is fucking incredible.  I love him more than I have ever loved anyone.  Yet there are times that I am terrified that my insecurities that haunt me will interfere with the happiness that I have now.  It is up to me to put these ghosts where they belong; in the past.  I work on this everyday.  I do a lot of self-talk; it seems to be the most effective, and I am happy to report that it quells my insecurities pretty well.  On those days that it doesn’t however, it is nice to know that I can talk about it.


one step at a time

Today is a gorgeous day.  There is nothing quite like the first beautiful day after months of snow and cabin fever.  It is like breaking out of prison and experiencing freedom for the first time in what seems like ages.

But for some people, today is even more wonderful than that.  Those are the people that own a motorcycle.  Today means that they can start up their engines, and spend some serious time in the wind.  I was on my way out from an interview, and I saw two guys on their bikes, throttling by and I felt a keen sense of envy.  I felt it in my chest, and I knew at that point that I had to ride.

When I came home, I watched as my love started up his bike, strap his helmet on, and start rolling his way out onto the road.  His flaxen hair caught the sun as he rode down the driveway, and I wanted so badly to go.  He looked so beautiful as he tore away on his Harley, face to the wind and freedom on two wheels.  I would like to be on the back of his bike, but in all honesty I want my own.

But I have to do it right.  I have to get the right gear.  So far, I have an armored hoodie on the way, and three pairs of pants tough enough for riding.  I just need a pair of boots and possibly a helmet.  And then I need to take lessons.  Sigh.  I am so impatient.  I just want to get my gear and at least ride with my man; being on the back of a Harley is better than no Harley at all.