Monday, February 13, 2017

What My Parents Taught Me About Love

Confession: If a Facebook memory pops up, I read it. I had a lot of emo lyric statuses during college – ie "if you’ve never stared off into space, then your life is a shame." Come on, Anna, you’re better than that. Although that is a good song... More recently, they’re generally humorous. The other day I opened the memory, and my status five years ago was: “I have a hole in my sock, but I don’t mind, because I just got a pedicure.” Here’s where the story gets crazy. I looked down, and I had a hole in my sock. But I didn’t mind, because I had just gotten a pedicure. To make the story even crazier, this was the only pair of socks that had a hole in them, and my only pedicure in six months.

I relayed this riveting tale to a friend, and he responded: Wow, you haven’t changed in five years. How does that feel?

So, of course, I began to consider where I was five years ago. I was training for a marathon – my one and only race ever run. I’ll be honest; I take unnecessary pride in that fact. I was lonely, not sure what I was doing in Charlottesville, and I found solace in running as a cathartic outlet that I understood. People asked if training for the marathon was hard. It wasn’t. It was defined. I had a schedule, I followed it, and I exceeded my goal. But navigating life – jobs, dating, uncertainty about the future, friendships. That was hard.

Five years later, I still confront the same fears and doubts. But those confrontations are not nearly as intense. I still need reminders to wait, to trust that “God will give you the desires of your heart,” but that no longer comes during an emotional outburst. I have learned to remind myself in bouts of loneliness that, in the wise words of my father, it is better to have no man than a bad man, and when I doubt my future, I remind myself of the times God has been faithful to this point. Indeed, all, I am a relatively emotionally stable woman.

Some things, though, remain as true as they were five years ago. I still find solace in athletics, although now I turn to Crossfit. I PRed my deadlift for the first time in three years last week, and I failed on a back squat for the first time - normally I'm too scared to get to the point where I fail, so that was breakthrough.

I went home last weekend to celebrate my parent’s 40th wedding anniversary. I write about them nearly every year around this time, as their anniversary is always February 5th. They have taught me so much about love; below are some of my favorites.

Love is steadfast. My parents start each morning the same way. They proclaim Bible verses, and they pray for their family. Every time I come home, whether it's been a week or six months, I know I will be greeted with a huge hug, a kiss, and an I love you.

Love has faith. Always. Maybe this is in love, or maybe this is just in life.

Love is respectful. "Hun, please don't interrupt me." "I'm sorry, my dear. Go ahead." That is the extent of arguing between my parents. I'm sure they had their moments, but I cannot remember a negative comment made by either of my parents about the other. They don't even join when their children jokingly mock one of them. And we're hilarious.

Love supports the other person's passions. Like my mom scorekeeping for my Dad's little league baseball team for the 16 years he coached my brother. And now as he coaches my nephew.

Love is joyful. And laughs. I hope my husband still thinks I'm funny after forty years. Obviously, I'll still think I'm funny after forty years.

Love is a decision. Earlier this year, I spent some time in New Zealand with my sister and Mom. Julie had recently lost her baby at 24 weeks, and of course, Mom was there in an instant. I didn't have much to add by way of words of wisdom, since the most difficult moment of my life was that time I had to decide whether I wanted the brownie sundae or frozen oreo pie*, but as always, Mother oozed wisdom. She told of one day in particular with Stephen, my severely brain damaged older brother. I was a crying baby (although still adorable I'm sure), she was taking care of Stephen, and my older sisters came home from school in the whirlwind fashion children do. She allowed herself a moment of depression - and a relatively justified one at that. She and my dad woke up every day and loved someone who was never able to recognize that love in full. Who would in all likelihood never walk, never hear, never speak. She had a moment: "I could choose this. I could choose depression. Or I could choose to love." My dad fasted forty days, praying that Stephen would be healed. Even now, when they talk about the Big Mon, they don't talk about what he wasn't. They talk about what he was. This little guy trapped in a body that wouldn't work. And rather than tear them apart, that period of time drew my parents together. They chose love for each other and for their family.

Privilege is a common term these days. Spoiler alert: I have all the privilege - white privilege, middle class privilege, and on a good night, I even have hot girl privilege. But the privilege I believe to be the most valuable is my parents. When I consider the times I lost my way, the times I felt unloved or unworthy, the times I needed someone to ground me, I see my parents. I see who I want to become.

One of these years, I’m going to write about the wonderful man who is taking me to the NBA All-Star weekend for Valentine’s Day. Until then, I'm grateful my parents have provided such a beautiful example of love and commitment.

The most exciting aspect of five years ago is that if you had asked me where I would be in five years, it wouldn’t be sitting at a bar in NYC on a Monday at noon drinking Delirium*.

Where will I be in five years? Yikes bikes I have no idea. But I’m excited to find out. And hopefully I will have stopped keeping socks with holes in them.

* Oreo pie. Duh.
* To which the bartender said, wow, that’s an aggressive way to start the day.
Sidenote: the bartender just gave me a free pen. Made my week.