On Commitment

The other day I was in a conversation with a guy who abruptly launched into a well-merited existential rant about cultural norms regarding modern relationships.  Preach.  Preach preach preach, preach preach preach.  He talked about how people are too willing to break off relationships-- dating relationships, marriages, and even friendships--because our culture sees commitment as temporary.

I agree with all of that frustration.  All of it.  So what do I do instead of breaking off commitments?  I don’t “break-into” them.  

I am starting to realize commitment scares me tremendously.  I love to whisper. That’s my version of whispering.  

Why is commitment scary?  Because vulnerability is scary and relationships are hard work.

I just wish it felt as easy as it was when I was seven.    

When I was seven I picked a best friend and I kept her around for the rest of my life, because when you are seven you don’t see relationships as temporary or scary or work.  Your “best friend” is your “best friend for life.”   

In the second grade I picked Katie, the new girl from Connecticut in our second grade class-- with her intentionally miss-matched socks and disdain for practicing cheerleading at recess-- to be my best friend, against her explicit wishes.  I remember giving second grade Katie notes to deliver to her Mom, requesting that her Mother force her to spend the night at my house.  Second grade me-- precious!  Second grade her-- not a note passer.  Twenty years later, the joke is on her... I live with her Mom.  I can put notes on the fridge, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

To summarize the rest of elementary school, I kept giving her lice and told our third grade teacher that Katie thought her son was cute, even though I did, too… the whole world did.

To summarize middle school, I convinced her to join the cheerleading team with me (I still don’t know how I managed to do it) and told this one girl that the reason Katie missed a couple of days of school was “because she’s in the hospital… she overdosed… on viagra.”  The girl’s parents made the two of them look it up.  You’re welcome.  At least I stopped giving her lice.

In high school I called her everyday to give her a daily report on what I ate that day and always had the lightsabers ready whenever she talked her high school boyfriend into leaving all proms early to hang out with me and my sisters instead.  Oh, and I forgot to give out invites to her pirate themed 16th birthday party that I had planned, for which she will forever hold me in contempt.

In college I refused to wash my pile of dishes in our tiny dorm room to the point that I challenged her to throw them away if it bothered her that much-- she did.  To get even, three years later, I threw up in her car.  Then a few months after that little incident, I threw up in her now husband’s car.  But only a little bit the second time.

Front bangs and mirror pics, FTW!

Last year, I lived with her, her husband and two kiddos for like a month and a half while the house I was moving into underwent renovations.  We survived it.  We survived it all.

We even like each other sometimes.

Recently her perfectly sweet, perfectly sassy soon-to-be five years-old, slash almost as old as we were when we met, baby asked me, “Bubby, when you were a little girl, did you know you wanted to be a Bubby when you grew up?”

I’m still not sure what she thinks “Bubby” means,

but this is what it looks like.

Little does that sweet babe know that becoming a Bubby was the whole reason I grew up.  When we were both 20-ish years old standing outside of the student center, my decaf coffee sporting best friend told me she was pregnant; I just looked at my scared crying person and told her that loving that baby would be the best thing we would ever do (which has proven to be the truth).  Suddenly growing up got real for two small girls… she grew up because she was a Mommy, and I grew up because I wanted to be a Bubby for my Bubby’s little ones. 

11ish pound newborns. <3

When Baby 2 was born, I delivered sushi to her hospital room. #pushgift

Life can be scary, but commitments don’t have to be.   Sometimes our gut leads us to people and we pick them for a reason as random as their socks miss-matching on purpose, and then boom… we have a person we can share all of the scary and cool and so-cool-they-are-scary moments with.  Sometimes vomit and lice and neglected birthday invitations must be endured to get to that point though… that’s just part of it.

Now my best friend for life and her hubby and kiddos are likely moving to Dubai for two years.  My. People. Are. Leaving.  Angstttttttttt.

On days when I am scared and overwhelmed about the prospect of having to make new friends while they are living on the other side of the world (and, you know, maybe even like falling in love one day or something), I just remember that I have a shining example of making a commitment work for 20 years.  Even though I’m not perfect (i.e., I vomit in cars sometimes) God has shown me there will be people who see me as I am-- my constantly vulnerable, over thinks everything, always says what she thinks, self-- and still love me perfectly, regardless, with no expiration date.

Aren’t those commitments worth celebrating in advance?