Walking on Broken Glass

One of my former boyfriends got married last weekend. 

It was hard.

But not for the reason one might think. 

I never wanted to marry him myself-- and I'm not saying that to save face.  And he never asked me, so this shouldn't have been a gut-wrenching experience.   But it sort of turned out that way.

I had a plan.  Saturday night I was going out to dinner with a friend, so I set out to spend a good chunk of the day breaking one of my exercise records.  I worked through four walking DVDs-- you know, the kind where you march in place or jog a bit or do lunges and squats and kicks and hamstring curls for the equivalent of however many miles.  So I did 13.  Why not half-marathon it, right?

I felt good about my accomplishment, and even better that I really didn't have time to stew while I was working through each mile. 

The rest of the morning and afternoon were likewise productive.  I prepared a seminary lesson; I practiced the piano.  I did several loads of laundry and I read a book.  It was good.

But then my friend called about 4 p.m. to cancel our dinner.  She was feeling under the weather and didn't want to subject me to her germs.  I appreciated that, to a degree.  Staying healthy and cold-free for as long as possible should help my exercise-goal achievement streak (205 days and counting).  But boy, did I realize I needed some human interaction!

I made a few calls, and sent some texts, trying to find new plan.  But things got overwhelming fast, and it wasn't long before I crawled back into some pajamas and cried it out on my couch.  For a couple of hours.

The thing is, my last date with the groom was nine months ago.  I am thrilled he found someone who is a better fit for his life than I possibly could've been.  But the small, childish, and selfish part of me kept asking, "Aren't I due for a happily ever after?"

It can be frustrating to know I've gone at least 13 miles without leaving the house.  It's frustrating to know I've been working on this for 18 years, and I'm still in the same spot, relationship-wise. 

So Sunday evening, instead of popping in another DVD, I drove 30 miles to Albuquerque so I could walk 4 miles when I got there.  But it was good to break free.