Moving on...

A dear dear friend of mine, the great Jenny wrote a post on her lovely blog a few weeks ago. It made me think, and I decided to write my own post on the subject. I'm nervous, because this reveals a lot of information about me, and I have a dirty feeling that everyone who reads this will think of me as an immature little girl from now on. Hopefully not, but maybe. Jen's post was about how difficult it is to see ex boyfriends (those ones who previously would insist they'd never get married) happily tie the knot. Most likely to a teenager.

The exact "type" of girl who they would make fun of and jeer at.

And there you are: single, with all sorts of memories at your disposal to analyze and dissect, along with the lovely responsibility (that most women feel they have) of letting go of the embarrassment, betrayal, and rejection that comes with the simple, heartbreaking realization: he found someone else.

Even worse, I think, is the realization that you are replaceable.

Reading her post threw me back to several years ago when I was head over heels crazy for a boy in Texas. My friends from Texas may think they know who I'm talking about, but the odds are pretty slim. Few people knew even about my crush on this boy. Let us call him Boots. I feel pretty sure in hindsight that this Boots didn't really notice me as much as I hoped he did. I was still a teenager, and he and I were never exclusive. It's not like he didn't know that I existed; he would sit next to me often in classes or in church and would whisper things in my ear (which I mistakenly took as "I'd like to marry you someday."), and would always go out of his way to crack jokes at me (which I wrongfully took as, "Our kids are going to be really beautiful."). He'd often rest his arm on the back of my chair and would scratch my back (only heaven knows what I took that as), and I would daydream about what our first kiss would be like.

Like I said.
I was a teenager.

I'll never forget the last words Boots said to me before I left to go up to school over 1000 miles away: "hurry back, ok? I'm going to miss you like crazy." He looked at me for a minute, and touched my cheek lightly with the back of his hand, then tapped my nose in the playful way that he would.

My heart skipped a beat, tripped, and fell flat on it's face.

I took a deep breath, got in my car, and drove off as he waved goodbye under the hot Texas sun. I don't know how I even made it home. I was so twitterpated.



The next time I saw Boots, over a year later, he was dating another girl. A girl I remember him describing to me once as someone he'd "never even want to rub shoulders with" when we'd had a discussion on the characteristics of people we would be interested in dating. He had described her as superficial and shallow. Yet, there she was next to him: gorgeous and glowing. I had dated a few boys since last seeing boots, and anticipated that he had a significant other by now, but when I saw him with another girl's arms wrapped around him, I was heartbroken. I wasn't over him, even though there was really nothing to be over. I'm not sure what I expected when I saw him, but it certainly wasn't him casually waving (I'm not sure if he was even directing that wave to me) from across a crowded room at an activity while his gorgeous girlfriend was dragging him out the door. A few weeks later, we ran into each other, and had the most platonic conversation I've ever experienced.

I think I stopped to get myself some pity ice cream on the way home that day.

Sometimes I wish I could time travel back and visit myself at that exact minute in my life. The minute when I sat alone in my car, embarrassed, crying and eating ice cream; wondering if I'd ever get these kind of butterflies from another boy in my life. I would be sure to put on a good outfit, fix my hair, and then I'd knock on the window of my car back in 2004, and ask to sit in the passenger seat. I'd give 18 year old Alyssa a hug, and without revealing too much information (my 18 year old self would never believe that A- I would become a dancer, or B- I would meet my love while I was on a dance company),

 I would assure my 18 year old self that I would get over Boots. 

I probably would leave out a few things. 

Like the fact that it would take me longer than I would've hoped to get over a boy who I'd never so much as held hands with. I'd probably leave out the fact that later, Boots went off the deep end, which would break my heart a little more (something I thought impossible). I'd leave out the fact that to date here in 2010, no one would ever break my heart as badly as Boots did. All of the break ups I experienced after I moved to Idaho were a piece of cake, including when my future husband broke up with me in college. When Gid wanted to go our separate ways, my feelings were hurt, and my pride was especially bruised, but it was a pinprick compared to the sledgehammer of a adolescent girlish infatuation being blown up by the first boy she ever more than liked. Ouch. Thinking about it still stings. But I think that, my first heartache taught me a little about how to be independently strong and confident.

There is a reason it's not possible for me to go back to 2004 to comfort myself in that moment of complete depression (minus the ice cream). And there's a reason that Alyssa in 2020 can't come give me parental advice when I'm going crazy with my future kids (who, if they're anything like their parents will be quite a handful).

This life is all about experiencing things, and the learning and growing that comes with those experiences.

So, when you find me moping in a corner, most likely eating ice cream and secretly thinking about reading the twilight series (ahem, solely for the purpose of getting my mind off of whatever), remind me about Boots.

I'll probably get a little red when you mention him.

But hopefully, I'll get the point.