The 2nd time around I'll know better.

So says the poor bloke who stepped into my office to wreak havoc on my peace of mind this afternoon. The man is 44 years old and really believes he has life figured out. Today, he decided he would pass on some of his acquired 'wisdom' to me. This is what I got out of it:

1. You will not marry the one you are with when you are 23 years old.

2. IF you happen to beat the odds and get hitched, don't worry, it won't last.

3. The longer you are alone the better you'll be with someone.

4. We should always take the easy route. Why run 70 miles when you could run 40?

5. Something magical happens when you are 35 - you wake up knowing exactly what you want.

6. Being enamored with someone is a bad thing.

7. If you are a woman under the age of 30, you must be unrealistic, obsessive, and blinded by idealism.

I could go on... and on... but I won't. Clearly, you can see that the man is a genius. He should write a book, or 10 of them, on how to be the ultimate douche bag by preying on young adults to avoid your own insecurities.

I will admit this is a bit of a harsh post, but after being patronized by such a person, I fear I lack the self control to not be affected by it. First, it was frustration and defeat. Then, confident and thankful. Lastly, empathetic and sad. This man was tearing down my ideals, and my belief that I can actually veer away from statistics and be the exception and not the rule. When I get married one day, it will be forever. The plan is to every day be a woman that is deserving of the man who promises himself to me, to respect him, to love and support him, and continue to grow with and invest in that relationship as long as I walk this earth. That is my plan, and there is no plan B, no backup - nothing. If I get married tomorrow, or in 10 years, that plan will not change.

All of that was going through my mind and as soon as he left the office I felt horrible for him. I'm sure he didn't plan to get divorced, and I'm sure that everything in his life is exactly how he would have wanted it because admitting that it wasn't would be far more difficult, far more vulnerable. I am sad that he thinks what he lived has to be the norm and that it can't ever be improved on. I'm sad that he feels like a marriage of 40 years is greater than one that is 70 years because it is easier.

Him and his new wife have 4 kids combined. I sincerely hope that one of them grows up to show him another way, a better one.

To fight or not to fight

I feel alone on the battlefield. If I look behind me I can see that my home trench is so far away there can be no turning back. When I look ahead I see my opposition, ready and waiting. Am I a warrior? I stand with a combination of old and new armor – some areas are thick and others thin. At each connection my flesh shows bare. I have no shield; my defense technique often proves itself lacking polish and precision. I feel paralyzed. I have never been to war.

There was a time, long before now, that I considered myself a fighter, tough, able to remain composed in the face of uncertainty. Today, today I am a little girl who recognizes her small stature and her lack of confidence. It is the same little girl who questions what one should fight for. Principle or relation?

I wonder if there might be a chance for some kind of a truce, before the battle even begins. I’ve watched other wars begin, and end. I’ve seen their devastating effects and wonder how such an outcome could ever be avoided?

Researchers have yet to identify the single event that marked the beginning of the unrest. I myself have pondered at length the many stories in history that have played a part in the dilemma that remains today.

Our mouths are our weapons. Our rhetoric, our ammunition. We protect ourselves with armor made of knowledge, conviction, and truth. Our shields ward off emotional biases and faulty interpretations.

I’m alone. What exactly am I fighting for, or is it fighting against? I am sure of only one thing: I am opposed, if even ever so slightly, from every side. I have found myself straying from every camp. I am free of associations and could possibly only be claimed by the ground occupied by my feet at this very moment.

While I haven’t been trained for such an experience, I have decided that I can’t spend the rest of my life making exceptions or giving excuses. No man’s land is no place to call home and it is certainly not a place to find peace and solace.

So I’ll go forward, knowing full well that I will be pierced where my skin shows bare and that going to war means risking life.