a few weddings, lots of divorces and reasons to be thankful

I remember the fall of my freshman year at Murray finding out that this gal I'd known from a college prep program I went through in high school had gotten married that summer, a girl who was also entering Murray State as a freshman that semester. Even when I carried the torch for Jesus I always thought getting married so young was pretty damn foolish, and when I finally realized I didn't need to be legally bound to someone to get laid I knew it was REALLY damn foolish.

My principal argument against the whole thing went something like this: "I don't even know who I am right now, so how am I supposed to know who I want to be with?" Really only part of that was true. I think I've had a pretty good handle on who I am since I embraced my liberal agnostic self my freshman year, and mostly I did before that, too. Sense of self has never been an area of weakness for me. But knowing who I want to be with? Hoooo boy, that one has proven to be a DOOZY of a problemo. Muy, muy grande problemo. Or something like that.

As I've shared with you ad nauseum in the past, I've repeatedly gone for guys who are not my type, not anywhere on any planet, not even the planets where Mormons go to be their own Jesus. And on one particular occasion I very nearly had the wedding planner on the line, I was so convinced me and this sleazeburger were going to end up at the altar. (And I don't even want to get married in a church!)

Obviously there are a million reasons to thank Allah and Elohim and anything else with angel wings and a few miracles to its name that said marriage did not come close to going down. But the one I continually think of lately -- as I prepare to leave the glitz and glamour of the city that never sleeps for, potentially, a small-ish town in Kentucky that I can guarantee sleeps a whole, WHOLE lot, like maybe they're all on Ambien -- is that I am so thankful no one else had to figure all this shit out except me.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I'd married this guy, or any of the guys who promised they'd be willing to follow me wherever it was I wanted to go (HELLO RED FLAG) and then gotten here and realized all the things I've realized in the past nine months. The poor boy would've uprooted his entire world, made things work here, all for me to say, "Actually, I don't think I like it here? I've been throwing darts at a map, and I've got some ideas."

I think "I'm married to a schizophrenic" would probably be excellent legal grounds for a divorce, but I'd hate to be on the receiving end of those papers. I may not believe in the powers that be, but I do believe in sliding doors -- things happen for a reason. I thought my whole life that I had this "future" shit nailed right on down. Big Apple, big magazines, big life. Martinis. Italian stuff. And tonight as I'm putting together some pitches and brainstorming ideas for a job interview on Monday with a daily newspaper, my stomach is in knots with excitement at the idea of being in a newsroom again.

Things change. Holly and I spend an inordinate amount of time every day chatting about which of our Facebook friends -- people our age, who we went to college and high school with -- are now divorced. As for that girl from my freshman year of college, I lost track of her after that, so I couldn't say for sure. But every time my baby fever gets to heatin' up, I just think about those divorces, most of them with less than a year of marriage under their belts. And I am instantly so grateful for the ticking of that biological clock, reminding me that I'm still single and have plenty of time to change my mind.

cheers,
elizabeth