the best laid plans

When I think about spending the rest of my life with someone, I think about my Grandma. There is no one in this world that can parallel the love I had for her. Growing up I would visit her small two bedroom apartment in Anchorage, Alaska. It didn’t smell like old people, it smelled like Norway: travels, and traditions covered in cinnamon. In the back room she had hundreds of toys and games on special reserve for when my brothers, sisters, and I would come visit. We would play dress up with her fancy outfits, and she wouldn’t flinch when we draped ourselves in her expensive antique pearl necklaces.

Grandma Bea surrounded herself with the people she loved most in her life. If I have learned anything from her, it’s the very Norwegian immigrant idea that our wealth is judged by the love of the people whom with we choose to share our lives. As I walk through my mid 20s, the fog that has been surrounding my life ideals is quickly beginning to clear, revealing my desire to become rich with loving, honest, deep, and genuine relationships.

My Grandfather’s name was Arthur, Art is how I am used to hearing his name. He was a pilot in Alaska and when his plane crashed into the mountains, he died. My mom was 19 years old. Grandma Bea never re-married. I have always assumed that she had one love of her life, and in her heart she grew old with this man.

Devotion is what I think about when I think about marriage. Currently I feel unprepared and idealistic when it comes to such an engagement, and it doesn’t ever feel like a real possibility for my life. The inclusion of a man, one man, by my side from now until I die has always seemed like a distant memory and I’m not certain of its reality.

When the decision is presented to me, if ever, I am certain my answer will be the riskiest and most important one I have ever given… and will ever give.