The Empire Strikes Back

I want to write. I can feel it. The desire is there. My fingers are like athletes at the starting line, shaking their muscles and squatting into the starting blocks. It's a familiar feeling - one I enjoy experiencing. The excitement of knowing what might come with the perfect combination of head, heart, and correct grammar.

The grammar? Let's just say the grammar and spelling come easier to me than most. (And heaven forbid I make some humiliating gaffe in this post.)

But I'm sensing a bit of a challenge from the other two entities that compose my writing empire. The decided, albeit involuntary, "default" source of most of my entries is my head. Be thankful you can open a window to my brain, take a brief look around, and leave just as freely. I, however, am trapped here. Blogging is my way of forcing you to share my burden. I have such great, albeit involuntary, friends.

Head demands humor. Anecdotes. Sarcasm. Gross exaggerations. And thanks to my acute ability to be insincere and callous, I'm more successful than not. It's in my blood. (Yes, that was me shirking some of the responsibility. Yes, I feel better. Thank you for asking.)

But Heart is filling my inner suggestion box with thoughts of its own this time. Instead of sitting around doodling unicorns and hearts and tiny woodland creatures with enormous eyes (oh, like yours doesn't?) and waiting for Head to take the lead, it's nagging at me to take a different, less-familiar route.

And I'm concerned.

First of all, if Heart becomes as opinionated as Head, I foresee me explaining exactly why you should love me. Graphs may or may not be involved. Oooooooo! And a laser-pointer!

Ahem.

But how am I supposed to describe the bizarre combination of happiness/gratitude/excitement/calm/attraction/connection/anticipation/expectation I'm being forced to experience? (Insert Heart wearing a big foam finger and cheering wildly from the stands.)

He listens to me. And that makes this verbally-inclined gal's heart sing. We can have discussions. In which we don't necessarily have the same perspective on. And not only still love each other, but still WANT to love each other. I have forced him into many conversations I don't think he ever dreamed of having until he found himself cornered on the couch, or in his truck, or behind one of the grain silos at the dairy...and then he, quite literally, sweeps me off my feet and I find myself looking into that patient, handsome face. And no more words are necessary.

He's seen every facet of me (like a diamond, I am). And, by some miracle, still wants to take me fishing & camping, teach me new things (like how to be quiet), introduce me to family & friends, show up with me to BBQs, sit with me in church, and talk about what the future may hold in store.

Everything is better when I'm holding his hand. Any raging, internal fire that might be roaring inside me is allowed to maintain a slow simmer until I'm ready to put it out. And he'll hug me in silence or take my hand mid-stride, just to let me know he cares. That he's not ignoring the fact that I'm hurt or upset, but that he knows if he says something, and it isn't the "right" thing, much damage could be done to his skillful fly-fishing hand. So he doesn't say, he just does.

And, ironically, him not saying anything speaks love directly to Heart and Head.