August 11, 2010
Doesn’t everyone have this story? The story about the one that got away? The one that you’ll always wonder what if… ? The person who, if you had ended up with, your life would be a totally different story from what it is now. The game changer.
2001
When I was 20, I met a guy and we started dating. Two months after we had begun our relationship, I can remember sitting on my front porch, talking on the phone with my mom and telling her that I had met the guy I thought I could marry. I asked her if that was crazy – I was only 20, after all. My mom, who had met my dad when she was 20 and married him a few years later, assured me that it was not at all crazy and I should expect an engagement ring in a few months.
Okay, she didn’t exactly say that last part… but I may have extrapolated it from the conversation.
I fell hard for this guy. We were a good match on so many levels, and I was certain that we would be together for a long time. One warm April day, 8 months after we had started dating, he broke up with me. I was heartbroken. I hadn’t seen it coming, and in fact, I think I even tried to talk him out of it.
I spent the summer in Durham, working at internship and channeling my sadness and heartbreak and anger at him into the training I was doing for a triathlon. At the time, I was furious that he ended it so definitively (no "on a break" here). But later, after the sadness subsided, I was thankful for how clean our break-up was and the lack of any bitterness or head games that I would see be the calling card of many of my friends’ long-suffering break-ups.
Life went on. I went to Spain. He immersed himself in preparing for post-graduate work. We both moved on, fell in love with other people, had life experiences that shaped and molded us into new people.
2004
One night in the middle of Spring semester, I walked in the door from a fun night with girlfriends out at our usual location, Burke St. We spilled back into our apartment, giggling and rehashing the night. I walked into my room, and out of habit, checked my away messages.
“ANNA! Anna! Anna, get in here!” I screamed to my roommate.
She came rushing in, looking slightly panicked.
“Guess who just IMed me?” I pointed excitedly to the screen.
She looked closely. “No way. When was the last time you talked to him?”
I shrugged my shoulders. Since my return from abroad, we had only run into each once on our tiny campus and it had been pleasant but uneventful. A chance encounter of two acquaintances. Other than that, we hadn’t talked into two years.
I read the IM again. “I saw you at the bar tonight. You looked cute. Thought you should know!” The message ended with the big dorky AOL smiley face. I went to sleep with that ear-to-ear grin on my face. It had been a hard year, and the surprise IM was a bright spot in a stressful spring semester.
Fortunately, the story doesn’t end there. The message left to more conversations over instant messenger, tenuous and guarded at first, then quickly progressing to the rapport we had struck up so easily years before. The semester ended, graduation day came and went, and I was in U-haul van headed for NY. Our IM conversations turned to hour long phone calls which, over the course of the next year, led to visits which led to “will you be my girlfriend?” which led to moving to NC which led, finally, gratefully, and wonderfully to “Will you be my wife?”
And suddenly, the one that got away was the one who found me again after all these years. The one that changed it all? The one I would have always wondered how it would have turned out?
Was the one I ended up after all. Lucky me.
Lucky us.
Happy Three Years, Husband. I adore you. Here’s to changing the game.
August 8, 2010
Happy Wedding Day, Kate + Charlie!
I adore this couple and I couldn’t be more honored to have been there on the day when they start their journey together as husband and wife. They have such a cute “how we met” story, too. Charlie is the best friend of Kate’s brother-in-law, Locke. So Kate and Charlie met at Anne and Locke’s wedding and have been dating ever since. We became friends with Anne and Locke when they returned here for residency (they were both Wake undergrads, and Anne was a sorority sister… so now they are back on home turf in Winston-Salem) and met K+C through them. Their wedding was held in Charlottesville, which happens to be my 2nd favorite city in the South. (After Winston, of course.) It was beautiful, fun and joyous – exactly as the start to a happy life together should be. Congratulations, ya’ll!
Me + My Better Half
Girlfriends Jamie and Anne (sister of the bride, too)
Anne and Locke
February 14, 2010
When I was in grad school, most of my classmates had 5-10 years on me and rings on their left hands. This, of course, made them experts in the realm of dating, and since I was 22 and single, made me the victim of their expertise. I was perfectly content sitting in my apartment on a Saturday night getting tipsy on Sutter Home and IM-flirting, but my grad school friends were intent that I have a Real Life Date. Thus, began a series of blind dates that while often disastrous, were also usually hilarious.
Let’s begin the story-telling by noting that all names have been changed to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
My classmate Rick was a 30-something, Jewish, dual MD/MPH who I think may have died a little inside when we were discussing relationships one day and I told him I was perfectly content being single, and probably not getting married for at least another 10 years. (I was only off by 7.) Rick was intent on finding me a guy who was “marriage-material”. Just what every 22 year old girl is looking for, right?
The week before I went home for Thanksgiving, Rick and I were walking out of our health comm class when he tells me he passed my email along to a friend of his, who had recently broken up with his girlfriend but was really, really nice, and laidback and would be soooo perfect for you. Mark, the friend, emailed me over Thanksgiving and after exchanging some basic niceties, we decided to get drinks at a bar in my neighborhood when I returned.
My first warning that this was about to be a blog-worthy-bad date was the email I got about 30 minutes before I was due to meet Mark at the bar.
“Don’t wear a turtleneck. Wear something sexy.”
I promptly went and changed into a turtleneck. I’m that kind of girl.
Upon returning from my first, and last, date with Mark I sent the following email to my girlfriends:
Top Ten Things to Say/Ask on a First Date to ensure that there’s no second date:
1. Are you a wearing something sexy? (As I still have my coat on)
2. Are you looking for a relationship… or just friends with benefits?
3. So, do you like me?
4. My ex won’t really let me talk to her anymore… she told me not to contact her.
5. Are you a virgin?
6. (As we’re leaving the bar) So are you going to kiss me?
7. I kind of think Federal Hill (the neighborhood I happen to live in…) is a shit hole.
8. I’m a Yankees fan.
9. So, do you like me? (yes… again…in fact, a total of five times)
10. So, when can I see my girl again? (note the possessive pronoun)
When our date had ended, I bid Mark good night and told him, as kindly as I possibly could, that I just didn’t think this was working out for us. I’ve never dumped someone on a first date, but I felt that my intentions better be made known quickly and without any room for interpretation.
The next morning I woke up to an email from the persistent and affable Mark that said that he wanted to see me again, but if I didn’t want to date, we could just be friends with benefits. (Marriage material? Really, Rick?)
I wrote back, in no uncertain terms, that we would never be seeing each other again.
A few hours later, I got another email from Mark and the subject line read: “Limiting Yourself.”
The content:
Meg,
Don’t limit yourself in life. You have hard and fast rules for everything in your life and you make obtuse decisions.
Mark
I didn’t bother to grace Mark with another reply and in fact, I haven’t thought about Mark since that October night in 2004. I came across his email tonight though, as I was looking back through old emails trying to find the address of one of my grad school friends. As I scrolled through the few emails from my one-date-boyfriend, ironically on Valentine’s Day, I thought how in fact the best relationship decision I ever made in my life was based on exactly what Mark had warned me against: having hard and fast rules for myself. Limiting myself.
The best decision I ever made in my love life was finally deciding that I wasn’t going to spend any time and energy with any guy where I had to guess what his intentions or motivations were, how committed he was, or how interested he was. In my year of grad school, I had been recoiling from a relationship defined by two people emotionally exhausting one another, I had gone on enough first dates to rival that hideous Drew Barrymore movie and I had had a few weeks-long relationships with guys who were more than just a little hesitant at the mere mention of the idea of using monikers such as “boyfriend” and “girlfriend.”
By the spring of that year, I had decided to set some hard and fast rules for myself. I wanted to date someone who wanted to call me their girlfriend. Who would call me. Often. Tell me he liked me. Be honest and sincere in his interest. Make time for me. They weren’t rules that required jumping through fiery hoops and buying gifts that came in baby blue boxes (although that never hurts)… but they were rules that, in 9 years of being in relationships, I had never bothered to set for myself.
When Matt asked me out, I was taken aback by how straight forward and honest he was. He liked me, he asked me to date him, and that was that. All the “games” that I had been so accustomed to playing in my past relationships never made an appearance. He made it a point to tell me how he felt about me. He made the time to come and see me (not an easy task as we were nearly 400 miles away.) He called me his girlfriend without me asking, without making a fuss, and with pride in his voice.
Setting hard and fast rules for myself made me consider myself worthy enough for someone’s sincere appreciation and love. And when I finally set the bar high enough, in to my life walked the person who was tall enough to reach it. So, Mark buddy, if you’re out there, I’m sorry to tell you that limiting yourself is not always a bad thing. In fact, you may want to give that method a go yourself sometime.
Happy Valentines Day, my sweetheart. Thank you for being you, and for being the “marriage material” I didn’t know I was looking for.
Matt & Meg, Baltimore 2005
Matt & Meg, Rochester, 2009
November 15, 2009
Is it just me or does turning the calendar page over to November suddenly start making everything go by in turbo speed? Maybe it’s the combination of more random things on the to do list (“must! put! up! Christmas! decor! NOW!) and more actual events on the calendar, but I swear there’s something about this time of year that just makes me feel busy. In a good way, but in a “where did the week go?” kind of way. Some highlights from this week:
Wednesday evening was Bunko nights with the ladies, which has quickly turned into Wine Drinking Night, since the dice hasn’t really made an appearance the last few weeks. No one seems to be complaining. We agreed we’d continue to call it Bunko night for the sake of our husband’s. (Hi, husband. I doubt you’re surprised.) Jamie, this week’s hostess, is a Southern woman if there ever is one and hosted an excellent get together. Not only was her house as sparkling as the cider in her fridge, but she had gotten together the ingredients to make caramel apples. It was the perfect fall evening activity, and of course culminated in one of my other favorite activities: eating. (Forgot to bring my good camera, so these come a la cell phone cam.)
Thursday was my wonderful hubby’s 28th birthday!. He had the day off, and I had a break in my schedule that afforded us the chance to go on a lunch date to our favorite restaurant, Village Tavern. (See, I told you that EM resident schedule had it’s perks!) VT has been our go-to for everything special in our relationship – everything from our first date to where we got engaged – so it was fitting that we were able to have a little birthday celebration there too. I always laugh to myself when the waiters ask “Is this your first time visiting us?” Once Matt and I counted out how many VT trips we had… and we estimated it to be in the 50s. I would estimate I have gotten the grilled chicken salad 47 of those times. Birthday boy had convinced me to give him his b-day present about 10 days earlier, but fortunately my mom had sent a package of cookies so there was still something to open on the official day. Both parents went in together to get him a storm door, which I believe is due to arrive any day. Yes, we’ve officially reached the age where Home Improvement gift requests top the list. Happy Birthday, honey!
Friday was kind of a random day, as most Friday’s tend to be for me. I woke up early and coached one of my private clients before starting my Wake day and coaching two more research participants. I had a small break, in which I scurried over to WFU and got my swine flu shot. Then I had four more Wake calls, and I did each one in a different place: one in Benson before deciding that was too loud (and weird; flashbacks galore), then retreated to the quiet but sunny patio to do the 2nd. Then I realized I had to be across town at Starbucks to meet my coaching client at the exact time my 4th call would be ending so I did the 3rd call in my car. That one ended early and I realized I was starving, so I dashed into Fresh Market and grabbed the most gorgeous Honeycrisp Apple and a this fruit and nut bar for lunch. I did my 4th call in the call, and then walked into Starbucks a minute before I was due to meet my client. Whew!
Fridays = Phone Call Days.
Friday’s Lunch. I felt compelled to snap it, no big surprise there.
Friday night we had a dinner for the emergency medicine department. Like any event where you know approximately 1.5 people, it was a little bit awkward but I must say, I liked having faces to go with the names of the many attendings and other residents Matt talks about. I always find it strange that I have no mental picture in my head of what Matt’s day is like for 8-10 hours every day. My mom always talks about what a good feeling it is to visit us in all the various apartments, dorm rooms, homes we’ve had so that when we talk on the phone, she can picture where we are. I feel a little bit that way about Matt’s life – I wish I could be a fly on the wall at work for just one day. At the very least, getting to meet some of the people he works with and hearing the department’s updates (via PowerPoint, ohhhh academia…) was nice. The dinner was hosted at Millennium in the Courtroom, which was a little bizarre since the last time I was there was our Chi Omega formal in the spring of 2002. Guess who my date was?
Saturday morning we got up early and headed over to tailgate with our friends Anne and Locke. We had mimosas and Midtown pancakes and marveled at the fact that it was nearly 80 out in November. I didn’t have plans to go to the game; Matt had tickets so at noon we parted separate ways. I came home and put the game on TV and rolled up my sleeves for an epic house cleaning. Our house had gotten to “Broken Windows” stage … a term we use to describe that point when things are so messy you stop trying to pick up. You know how it goes… if there’s one T-shirt on the floor, what’s one more? There was so much Buddy fur in the corners you could have knit a sweater with it and I can’t even speak about the state of our shower. So I got to work cleaning and catching up on laundry. Five hours later (five!!!), the house was scoured, scrubbed and shining. I was proud. And exhausted. And there was six loads of laundry I had just dumped on the bed. Sigh. Really? I debated leaving it there and taking a break, but decided the best thing to do was just get it over with. I dove in, put a book on tape on on my ipod and folded…and folded and folded.. for another hour. Then and only then did I declare myself DUNZO, and curled up with my reward: a DVR-ed episode of Glee (such guilty pleasure) and asparagus frittata. I know it sounds like kind of a lame Saturday night, but looking around my house, I just felt such a sense of satisfaction. (Jamie, I know at least you will understand.)
After: Om-Inducing Kitchen.
Sunday morning I woke up feeling well-rested, with the buzz of sniffing household cleaners the satisfaction of my productive night still looming over me. My November newsletter is bordering on overdue, but I’ve been procrastinating writing the articles for it. As I’ve mentioned before, I love writing first thing in the morning. I took advantage of knowing Matt would be sleeping late (having worked til 1 am) and cracked open Live Writer. Not only did I crank out the two articles, but I wrote five others ones that I had been sitting on – blogs for MegEats that I had taken the pictures for and just not updated. I always notice a jump in my blog view stats after my newsletter rolls out, but the work to get it out usually results in me not posting again until, well sometimes, the next newsletter. I’m psyched to be sitting on some drafts now. The rest of the day passed in a blur of other lingering to do lists items: getting my Christmas decorations organized, posting a few things on Ebay, editing and backing up the last few months of photos, walking the Spudster and my first run in over 2 months. (It was bad. Really, really bad. You know that whole “use it or lose it?” Yea.) All I have left hanging out on my to do list is editing a PowerPoint for tomorrow, and then there’s a bath tub and a book with my name on it. That seems like a pretty perfect way to end a busy, but productive weekend.
August 11, 2009
Four years ago, my husband asked me to date him. More specifically, he asked me to stay in North Carolina and not go back to Baltimore. We had known each other for 4 years at that point, having dated for a few months beginning our sophomore year. As college ended, we found ourselves getting reacquainted, running up cell phone minutes and staying way too late chatting on instant messenger. My grad school friends were perplexed that I spent all this time talking to and talking about this guy, even declaring that I would marry a guy “just like Matt” but yet, I wasn’t dating Matt. It was a natural progression for us to begin dating, but yet, when he first posed the question – “stay here?” – I felt almost as much fear as I did excitement.
I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle dating someone who lived 600 miles away. (Leaving Baltimore was not quite an option yet, unless I wanted to quit grad school a mere 40% completed.) I was afraid that once it was official, and he was my boyfriend, that missing him would hit me so hard I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I was afraid that he WAS the guy I was going to marry, and how could I possibly know that at 23? I was afraid that I couldn’t handle dating someone, or ultimately being married to, someone in medicine. I was afraid I wasn’t mature enough or good enough for the person I had spent the last 4 years declaring to everyone else was the model of my Mr. Right.
I went back to Baltimore, unsure of what to do. I was scared I might lose him, but I was scared to move forward.
Moving forward in the face of fear has always resulted in the most amazing things in my life. A week after Matt asked me to date him, I was walking back from Camden Yards after a Red Sox-Orioles game. It was a sunny afternoon, everyone around me was raucous and exuberant after a Red Sox win (I kid you not that there were more Ortiz fans than Tejada fans at most O’s games.). We were all traipsing back through Fed Hill on this gloriously sunny April afternoon, but my heart didn’t feel right. I went back home, and I was sitting on my front steps when my phone rang. “So……,” he asked, again.
I said yes.
A year later I said yes when he asked me to marry him.
Tonight we celebrated our 2nd anniversary. It is amazing how quickly two years have gone by. Whenever I think about my husband, there is just an overwhelming sense of calmness, happiness, and gratitude that floods me. Floors me. He is mine? Forever? For keeps?
I used to drive around belting out the lyrics to a Rascal Flatt song called “Everyday Love.” This song always resonated with me, and I think it’s because I knew that this was the kind of love I was already looking to have. Simple, uncomplicated, trustworthy, yet so marvelous.
It’s easy to take for granted the simple things in life, and I am absolutely positive that this is true of a good marriage. My intention for my marriage is to always let my husband know how thankful I am that he is there. That he was worth moving through the fear for, and that I found the most wonderful life on the other side of that fear. Thanks for asking me to be your wife, and happy 2 years to us.
It’s ordinary plain and simple
Typical, this everyday love
Same ol’, same ol’ keeping it new
Emotional, so familiar
Nothing about it too peculiar
Oh, but I can’t get enough
Of this everyday love
May 23, 2009
It’s amazing that 4 years of medical school have come to an end. From my perspective, they flew by. However, I did not take even one night of overnight call, study one day for boards, take one lecture on the Krebs cycle, go on one residency interview or tolerate one pimp session from an attending.
What I will say though is that being a medical school wife was easier than I thought it was going to be. To be honest, I imagined the worst. I imagined a husband who would never be home, would be stressed all the time. I underestimated my own independence, my own patience, the wonderful friends (wives) who would be always be around.
As I write this, my husband is CLEANING THE IRON. (The iron, that is dirty because I melted something on it.) Meanwhile, I write blogs. Not exactly how I imagined being a med school wife would be. I never dreamed we’d go on a road trip nearly every other month. Or that Matt would get to spend as much time on the golf course as he would in the wards 4th year. I never thought I’d come home to find my garage organized and shelves hung. I figured free time would be minimal, patience would be short, and I would have to do everything around the house. That as the “doctor’s wife”, I would always come second to my husband’s career.
This statement is nothing short of laughable.
Don’t get me wrong. There have been challenges. Boards studying sucked. Watching my (then boyfriend) stare into a computer screen for 34 days straight? Quizzing him on pharmacology drugs so frequently that even I started to dream about them? Worrying about what his scores might be, how that might affect residency and where would we end up leaving? Sucked. But, it passed. (He passed.)
OB-GYN rotation. Surgery. Medicine. Early mornings wake ups. Visiting him in the call room that looked the worst Quality Inn you’ve ever visited. Driving 1700 miles in one week to do 4 residency interviews. Sucked. But, it passed. He passed. We passed.
When I look back on medical school, I know I won’t remember the dog-eared copies of the STEP-1 book. I couldn’t tell you the names of any of the attendings who pimped him or what that one rotation was where he had to write the absurdly long SOAP notes. I will remember that during med school we made some wonderful friends. That we created vacations resourcefully – visiting friends, bartering personal training for resorts (see: next week’s vacay), staying in vacant apartments of family members. That we had potluck dinners where one couple brought the margaritas and one couple brought the salad and another couple brought the hamburgers. That we remembered to thank each other for going out of the way to help when one was busy or just simply needed a break. (Thank you for ironing the curtains while I blog.) That we got married and bought a house. That we had fun, more days than I can count. That we made it.
Contrary to the Worst Case Scenario I might have imagined medical school wifery to be, it turns out that when we look back on medical school we may remember them as nothing short of a wonderful way to start a life together. If anyone is surprised by this, it is most of all me. I wonder what I was so scared of?
Happy Graduation to you, and happy completion of a chapter to us.
November 3, 2008
My hubby is home! My hubby is home! What a good weekend.
Friday, I worked from home, starting at 6a and was at the grocery store by 2p getting all his favorites. (NTS: More evidence I am becoming my mom. Food purchases = love.) He got home shortly before I returned from the store and all felt right at Wynbrk again. Within 10 minutes, Sportscenter was on, the nap blanket was out and the big brown couch had it’s favorite occupant in place. Guiltily, I slunk off for my own nap. Nothing like having your wife greet you at the door and then check out for 3 hours. (I am still adjusting to a new work schedule that invovles a 6a start 4 days a week… ouch.) He seemed perfectly content to get caught up with Tony Reali, Tony Kornheiser and Mike Wilbon instead of me though. I made a great steak dinner and we caught up with each other while taking turns passing out Swedish Fish and Sour Patch Kids to Dora the Explorer, ballerinas, pirates, frogs and Go-Go Dancers. (Happy Birthday, Sis!)
Saturday we tailgated with Monica & company. It was surprisingly warm and a perfect day for some beer & football. The game was way too close. The rowdy Duke fan in front of me had way too many oppurtunities to vocally express himself. Fortunately we won, but it was a nailbiter. Afterwards, we walked down the street to Zac and Jamie’s for some burgers and brews and hanging out. Sunday was a typical cleaning/errands day, and I was surprised to find how comforted I was to have the background of NFL Sunday on while I coupon clipped and Lysol’ed my way through the day. There is something about our everyday, domestic, routine life that just makes me oh so content. May I always be so blessed to have such a calm and happy home life.
October 5, 2008
Matt packed up and left for Greenville today. It was a bit of an anticlimatic good-bye as he’ll return for a 4-day weekend on Thursday. So really, his absence this week will be no more different than the 4-day night shift he pulled on his OB rotation or the 3-in-a-row nights he’ll work on a regular basis in the ED. Only difference is rather than being 9 miles away, he’s about 200 miles away. So, here I am watching Red Sox and eating cereal for dinner and waiting for my goodnight call- flashback to 2005, anyone?
Well, since we fell in love with 345 miles separating us, so what’s another month of making the heart grow fonder?
