Lovin' Ain't Easy

Falling in love wasn’t an easy process for me. There are a thousand reasons why but I want to be clear. Falling in love isn’t easy for me. It is painful and it means thinking about someone else other than myself and it means letting someone near to the places inside of me that are still so raw and hurt that I don’t even like to look at them. Loving someone meant giving up always being in control and having to be gentle with their feelings as I made changes in my own life. This is not something I am skilled with. At all.

I don’t think I have my soul mate but I have a damn good mate. This is because I don’t believe in soul mates. I don’t think we were “meant” for each other but I think we have grown into meaningful relationship. I never understood being “meant” for someone anyway. I don’t know that God had him picked out for me but I do believe God helped me pick someone worth having. I just don’t think that this is how God interacts with the creation. I could keep going with these but you get the general idea.

The warm fuzzies of a new relationship are addicting to me. Like having that first snort of cocaine after not having it for months on end. It is fucking gorgeous. The problem is that when that warm fuzzy wears off and I’m left with a hairy man who has a hard time communicating emotions when he’s tired and he’s tired all the time because he works a lot. Yeah, that’s the problem. I mean, what do I do with a hairy, grumpy tired man who happens to love me? What do you DO with that?

Most of the time I still don’t know. I feed him and give him his space while still trying to get a snuggle in I suppose. Perhaps that’s what falling in love for me really is: finding the balance between the warm fuzzies and the frustratingly annoying hairs that stick to the linoleum floor of the bathroom. It’s knowing that while we often have little in common we have the ability to talk for hours on end on occasion and are very good at sleeping in the same bed without annoying the other too much. He doesn’t snore. This is one of the biggest reasons why we worked out I think.

Also he knows how to put me in my place. I always thought I’d want a man who supported me in whatever crazy venture I decided on but I realize now if I’d gotten that kind of man I’d fallen out of love because he’d be a pushover. Instead I needed a man who knows how to put up a fight. I needed an alpha to match my alpha. This, sometimes, can cause a shit ton of conflict because we’re both jockeying to be in charge. It means that, at times, I’ve wanted to run because I don’t feel like he has my back. It means, at times, he’s wanted to run because he thinks I’m out of my mind. I am sometimes out of my mind.

Once, when I was treating him like crap he responded, “Hannah, you’re being a dick to me right now and it is not okay.” This was the first time I realized I was gonna marry him. You see, for me, falling in love is not roses and sweetness and feather pillows. Love, for me, is scraped knees and tears and hugs and saying what I need to say even if I am afraid. I needed to know that he would put me in my place once in a while. I needed to know that he would question my crazy ideas and make me play the tape through. I needed someone who would be willing to follow me anywhere as long as I was willing to fight for it- even if it meant fighting my partner a little bit too.

Falling in love has been a consistent process that has taken persistence and an unrelenting commitment to forgetting all the Disney movies I grew up on. It has meant loads of therapy, writing and talking to friends. It has meant learning how to make the bed everyday even though I hate doing it. It means being willing to pick up the house when I’d rather be blogging or napping or watching tv.  It has meant pushing him to be okay with the occasional mess or dishes not being in the dishwasher. It has meant snuggling up on the couch on Sunday mornings and delaying the inevitable house clean up process but still having the clean up process even though I’d rather not.

I want people to understand. I have cried a lot in the process of falling in love. I have also hyperventilated a few times and had at least three panic attacks. He has also made me laugh a thousand times over, has moved us twice and has held me while I sobbed over the decision to give up my dog, buried my brother and lost two of our unborn children.  He is not the epitome of an emotionally sound person but he is the most stable, caring and consistent man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He can converse with me over religious theory and practical applications of 12-step recovery and not blink an eye but he wears work boots to the job every day. It is So. Damn. Sexy.

Getting to the point where I am comfortable and content in our relationship has meant almost breaking up at least twice. It has meant seriously considering the realization that we might not be able to find a middle ground. I believe that considering that possibility is the reason why we were capable of deciding that we would work it out. You see, I’m ultra liberal and he’s a swing voter. I’ve lived in 2 states and 1 other country in the past seven years and I’ve only just got him to move out of the county where he’s resided for the past 10. So yea, we’re different. Our differences are good and awesome and so very frustrating when I realize he supported yet another Republican candidate.

I’m really really really glad we’re different. I’m glad that we both like Six Flags and CBS Sunday Mornings but he’s totally okay with me taking the bus to Philly without him for a week and I’m totally okay with his insatiable desire to do service work for the 12-step community we participate in. Being different is good. Sometimes annoying but mostly good. But also highly annoying.

That being said, the whole process has been frustratingly overwhelming at times and is nothing like what I thought it would be. I still struggle with letting go of Disney movies and the concept of what long term love really looks like. I’m really so glad he’s mine and I’m really glad I’m just southern enough that I took his name and just me enough that I will forever get tattoos whether he likes it or not. That, after all, is what falling in love is all about. 

Trash Talkin' Reminds me of J-Dog.

Let me tell you about James. Let me start by saying I don’t know a whole lot about James.  I know that James is from South Philly originally. He lived in south philly when living in south Philly was closer to a death sentence for a young black man than it was a neighborhood. But that is where James grew up, in South Philly.  I know that James is a Muslim and currently works at a Christian seminary in the refectory (otherwise know as the dining hall) in Decatur, GA.  I know that James is hilarious and talks more trash than any other man I know. I know James is very good at loving people and doesn’t want people to know how good he is at doing it.

James doesn’t really do anything politically correct. He says words that many might find offensive, he calls out the black vs white culture on campus and makes fun of the students who can read big texts books but would rather die than wash the dishes.  He’s also the campus mascot for many of the student’s children who absolutely love him.  They always want to see James, probably because he bribes their love with slices of cheese and cookies but also with gentle hugs and lets them help with adult jobs like cleaning up and doing those dishes a few of the seminarians think they’re too good to do. 

And the trash he talks… oh the trash! From Phillies/Braves talks to our following the dress code in the kitchen to how we should be working harder, he is endless in his trash talking. He calls me “sorry” because I apologize all the time and makes fun of the girls who are too politically correct for him. James is consistent in his trash talking. James is also just consistent in general. He has worked at Columbia for over a decade. He has watched classes of seminarians come and go and he’s seen professors retire (some willingly and some in shame) and knows the secrets of the walls that he walks into every weekday.

His consistency isn’t the only thing that makes James so endearing. It’s also how he shows care for those that are assigned the refectory for our work-study.  James knows which students are gluten free or vegetarian and set out certain foods for them and he lets me know what processed foods have soy in them. When I got into a theological debate with a peer and I upset him, James took his side but then told privately later that I’d “totally won” that conversation.  You see, James has a way of caring while making it look like he doesn’t care that is absolutely astounding. He doesn’t bring attention to it and probably doesn’t want the attention either. 

Funny how the Muslim black guy serving the (largely) white Christian crowd often is the most Jesus-like. James serves the children and makes them feel special, he doesn’t take shit from us students but he also makes sure we always have what we need. He has a servant heart but he certainly doesn’t mind speaking his mind or cracking jokes or having a foul mouth once in a while.

I focus on James but he’s not the only one. The entire refectory staff is effing amazing. Will, the manager, works his ass off while making sure all our hours are logged… especially for students like me who ALWAYS forget to log hours. There’s also Darlene, the morning cook who dances to music on the top 40 from the moment she gets there to the minute she leaves. She is joyful (no other word for it really) and lovely. She is kind and wonderful and sensitive. If you happen to go through the line and don’t say hello to her you libel to hurt her feelings. 

Our staff in the refectory probably goes unnoticed by the vast majority of students who don’t work there or don’t eat there. I’m not sure if the professors and administration have ever had the pleasure of sitting down and talking to James or Darlene or Will. Maybe they have, regardless these people have made me feel a part of this community as much as any other student or professor. They have taught me SO much about the campus and the students and how to serve.

I want to care for people like James does. I want to care for them without bringing attention to the fact that I care for them. I want to love them without making it obvious or pointing out my love. I want to talk shit while comforting a fellow student and letting the other know they did a good job. I want to call out my peers for not following the rules but still allowing them the pleasure of knowing I have their back. I want to serve with contentment and consistency and I want do it well.

James saves some of the best food for the end of the year so that the students aren’t left with bad tastes in their mouth when summer comes around. I know that James wants them to remember the refectory as the place where tummies are fed and happy memories of community are created. He’d never say it. Maybe he’ll read this and think that I’ve just read WAY to much into his actions and he’ll be embarrassed and talk all kinds of shit about it and tell me I’m just some sappy white girl who thinks she’s from Philly that spends way too much money on tattoos and an education that won’t get me anywhere. 

That’s just his way though. Everyone who knows James knows how much he loves us. From making sure we have food to eat to taking sides and letting us know he has our back James is the most Christ-like man I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in a very long time. I’m grateful that I had the pleasure of meeting him and I’m really grateful I’ll be working with him again come fall semester.