Expect Love & Bad Advice.

They told me I’d meet my husband when I least expected it. “They” were all the people. All the married, older, younger, hopeful, yearning-for-me-to-meet-him people. 

I found over the years that ‘least expecting' the person you want to meet the most is a horrible mind game to play. Getting dressed in your best to “put yourself out there” and simultaneously trick yourself into apathy: please. 

Please just stop. 

I’m not going to 'least expect' anything of the sort. Nor am I going to go to every party, outing, or grocery store shopping trip expecting it to be the night I meet my soulmate. Enough. 

Single people, can I get an amen? 

It’s such weird advice that is usually accompanied by “When I met my husband at the age of 19 1/2 I’d been waiting so long, and I just wasn’t sure I’d ever...” 

And then I met my husband on a Tuesday night when I was living my life in jeans and a ratty sweatshirt with 2nd-day old hair. 

Before you croon at me with a “seeee I told youuuu…” let me assert to you the reality of things that were going on inside of my head.

True. I was not expecting to meet him that night. I was planning on having happy hour with Tim Jones. My wonderful friend. And that’s what I did, and then I also met a hunky, engaging, fascinating, you-feel-like-my-people Indian man named David Christie. 

It sounds like I'm proving your old wive’s tales by just mentioning this—but do you know what I think? 

Rather than not caring or looking or pretending to look-but-not-care in a grand inauthentic mind game: I was living. 

Fully. Deeply. Abundantly. Contentedly.

I’d taken a long road trip by myself to the tip top of California a few months earlier. I drove through redwood trees listening to Morten Lauridsen choral music and Joni Mitchell and Ray Lamontagne (In that order and on repeat. It would’ve made you nuts.) I literally let my hair down, wore an orange sundress and took photos of rivers with my camera. Lots and lots of rivers and trees. One afternoon I looked up at the sky somewhere between Eurkea and Sonoma and surrendered all my angst about being single to God. I made some peace with my truth. If I could script out a conversation with God and how I imagine him to have answered me in English: 

“Hey, God, I want to get married someday. But it feels like...” 

“Yup, I know. You’ve been quite clear on this one...” 

“Sweet. Glad we’re clear. Do what you can. I know the world is screwed up, including the people--including me, so I get it. Seriously. Thank you for everything. I’ll be okay no matter what.”

“I got you. No matter what.”

“Cool. Let’s drive.” 

And like a child in a big backyard of wonder, I started savoring every bit of my life. 

In the worrying about things and whether I was good enough, I had lost track of freedom.

I experienced my life become vibrant again from the inside out. I made up a word for this: re-vibrant. Revibrant. It's like revival and vibrant smooshed together. If you like it, you can use it, too. 

Instead of continuing to believe that finding someone to love was a problem of scarcity, I began considering that life was abundant and so were all the possibilities. 

I also stopped pretending: I wanted to meet a man that I could marry. No shame in that. No more "least expecting" for the good love I wanted for my life.

I was inspired by this thought that crossed my mind a few weeks before I met David: 

If human beings are the most exquisite and creative beings on this planet—then two humans coming together and creating a life together was one of the most creative things I could imagine. I began growing curious about who I might build my life with. Not if, when, specifically who, or where——but in a philosophical sense I began to dream about what two lives together could be. Not perfection, fantasy, or fiction—but the real thing of love.

I wasn’t looking "for a husband.” I began looking for David. I was seeing him, not a role he could fill—a vacant job description I had open in my life. One is honoring; the other can be objectifying. 

And when my feet stood before him a few weeks later on our first dates, I feared I had found the most creative, vibrant, wide-eyed adventure I was invited to live. That adventure is a life together. Not just marriage—but our lives, our uniqueness intertwined to be something full and brimming with potential. And if you’re like me at all—newness is both thrilling and terrifying.

But bravely, after some prayer and pondering, we stepped forward into life together.

Least expected? Yes. After dating for what felt like longer than hoped for, I stopped assuming I’d get married. I stopped hoping, dreaming, or expecting at all.

And so whether it’s a job, a calling, a spouse, a child, a friend, or a place to live—I know this: FEAR steals our HOPE, but LOVE gives us LIFE. And the source of all LOVE invites us to revive the vibrancy that has gotten lost along the way in all the pain and broken promises. We are created for LOVE. Whatever vessel or container love comes to you---savor it. Sit across the table, look into the eyes of a friend, a lover, a child, a stranger and connect to the most creative art on this earth: a human soul.

And I think THEY are full of you-know-what: it's just fine to expect love to come. You're worthy, so you don't have to feel desperate at all.