In Which I Find Salvation in Sin City

When I read declarations from last year’s BiSC attendees that the trip changed their lives, I immediately dismissed it as a possibility for me. Five days of drunken hedonism, life changing? Not for this girl.

I could not have been more wrong.

On Wednesday night I stole a few moments alone in the garden. The scent of jasmine was heavy in the warm night air, the sky was clear and the stars were surprising bright. It was an incredible night, and I cried, because I knew that I enjoyed it less without someone to hold my hand. I’ve struggled with that overriding feeling that something is missing in those quiet moments. The feeling that I’m waiting for someone seems so shameful and pathetic and flies in the face of what many people expect from a strong and independent woman.

The truth is, though, that I’ve had someone to hold my hand for the entirety of my adult life, and the ache that fills that space is undeniable. I decided then and there to stop hating myself for it and just accept that love is incredibly important to me and I’m struggling in learning how to live without it.

Thursday night I met face to face with people I’ve known and loved through a computer screen for years. The experience mirrored one of those huge family reunions where you run into someone, explain who your parents are, and find out that they knew you as a baby.

Later that night, I was struck with an urge to do something that was completely out of character for me just a few years ago. I was ill prepared for the opportunity, enough so that it was just not a good idea whatsoever. It was disappointing, but I accepted that sometimes following my heart in the moment is not always what is best for me. I resolved, figuratively and literally, to start keeping some panties in my purse so that I can seize opportunity without showing my ass.

On Friday, I fell in love. I fell in love with myself again. My skin felt like a comfortable place to be for the first time in a month. I fell in love with the world again, the collective, that innate understanding that no one person or thing is a large enough vessel for all the love and passion I have to give. My heart finally understood what my mind had been trying to say all along- that what I’m missing is a small slice of an otherwise rich and delicious pie.

Saturday’s photo scavenger hunt was an absolute blast, and I truly enjoyed running with the pack and taking the grand prize. Victory was sweet, but I also realized that while being a part of a team is an awesome and necessary thing sometimes, I will always hold myself to an individual standard.

After the race, R and I grabbed a drink at one of the bars in our hotel. It was there that I got a good hard look at a couple that love each other enough to do whatever it takes. Regardless of time, distance or outside obligation, they wake up every morning committed to being there for each other. I found my faith in love again in the way they looked at each other, and the affection and admiration that was a visible current of energy between them.

Later that night, I found myself walking through that same garden holding someone’s hand. He was sweet, charming and handsome. I will never see him again, and that’s okay.  I realized as we watched the flamingos sleep that what I want for myself isn’t just a hand to hold. If it were, I would and could have it- it isn’t hard to find someone to hold your hand in this life.

Twelve hours later, I finally found myself on an airplane. I also found myself in a lively discussion about trust, love, marriage and money. We agreed on almost all points of discussion. He admitted that he is somewhat ambivalent about having children- he’s seen the way that his brother’s life has changed, and it intimidates him.  Then he admitted that if he found the right girl, he knew he would want to settle down. He knew he would want to make a family with her. That he was really just waiting for the girl he couldn’t imagine not marrying and having a family with.

That, my darlings, is what I want. A mutual inspiration and connection that defies fear and doubt, that compels both people to wake up every morning and love each other more. That missing piece of the pie needs to be as rich and delicious as the rest of it is.

Remembering that on the deepest level imaginable was exactly what I needed, because ironically, it allowed me to let go and shift my attention to the rest of the pie.

Which is, after all, very rich and delicious.