"Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."
I meant to keep you updated. I meant to tell you about the three lost months I spent in a long-distance relationship with a guy I saw a grand total of twice during that time. I meant to tell you about the weird time I very briefly dated a steroid-ridden weightlifter who was so very full of himself there was no room for me. But all those "meant-tos" and "should-haves" cease to have a place in my life. And I am so grateful for that.
Here I often claim I am attempting to dodge the Willoughbys of this world, but the truth of the matter is that I often can't spot those characteristics until I am knee-deep and must escape with some force. That's the thing about Willoughbys, I suppose.
But the good news is (and I am here to inform you of it) that there are good men in this world. There are Darcy, Knightley, and Wentworth types. They really do exist.
My dear friends of the past four years, my time with you is now coming to an end. In true Austen-heroine fashion, I am ending the documentation of my dating life with a marriage. It still looks so strange on the page. I am getting married, I am getting married, I am getting married. How can this be real?
Let me tell you, it was not what I was expecting; he was not what I was expecting. I cannot succinctly describe the past several months in any entertaining way. I cannot express my gratitude and my hope for the future. I do not know if I ought to cry or jump about in girlish giggles, so I actually just do both.
He is the best person for me. He is so much of what I need in my life, and I fell in love first with his kindness. His kindness keeps me from freaking out (too much), and it keeps me from wanting to run away. I thought I knew what I wanted, I thought I wanted fireworks and healthy debates and sarcastic humor, British accents, and tweed jackets or something. But those things aren't for me. Not anymore. All I needed was someone to be kind to me, to look at me in that way, to treat me like I am their entire world, to be treated as though I am both more than and enough and perfectly able to become better. Encouraged, cherished, supported, loved.
It is all so unlike a Jane Austen novel. It's better than a Jane Austen novel. Simply because it's real.
Con amor for the last time,
The Coquette/The Lady
P.S. I cannot thank you all (and the other Anti-Austens) enough for the love and support over the years. Writing for this blog has been my joy and my honor. All the best to you, and all my love.
5 comments:
Ahhh, I have been awaiting this post! It makes my heart happy to read the pure joy spilling out from between the lines! So many congratulations.
AAAAAAHHHH!!!! YAY! I wish you would tell the whole story. I love that he was not at all what you were expecting, but that somehow he is perfect for you. Congrats Lady. We will miss you!
Now I think I understand the steak vs. hamburger post.
I'm so perfectly happy for you, Lady! Mazel tov! I'm so sad to lose you (will you be starting another blog??), but what a way to go! I was tearing up cheering for you--I feel like the guy in the bathtub at the end of The Truman Show. So sad that it's ending, but so happy for how it ends!
Anony, your mention of the Truman Show bathtub guy may be the single greatest reference this blog has ever seen.
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