Fidelity | On Breaking Engagements

I’ve been engaged twice, basically. Technically once, with a ring and a dress, but basically twice, and I didn’t marry either one of those men. I don’t say that to brag or flaunt my heart-breaking; I say it because it’s good. And that is clear now.

Some of you may actually know and love the men I write about. I love them too. They are good men, and this isn’t actually about them. This is and was about me. I was not supposed to marry them. Not in a weird, mystical, “I was made for one specific person in this whole wide world” sort of way; I don’t believe in that. But marrying them would not have been in the best interest of them or me.

The first time I was engaged, I was very young — 21. In my opinion (now), that is too young to be deciding who you will spend the rest of your life with. It works out for a lot of people. It didn’t work out for me. I made a decision wise beyond my years, and I walked away—with plenty of pain, depression, and anger to follow—from a relationship that wasn’t healthy, sweet, or anywhere near as good as either of us deserved. And I am so thankful I did.

The next (almost) engagement was when I was much older. Old enough to know what I thought marriage should be and how I wanted to be treated. Still immature in a lot of ways, but again, I had the sense—maybe the knowledge deep in my soul—that I shouldn’t do this. I am now so  thankful and relieved that I did not promise my remaining years and life to this wonderful man, because although he had many fine qualities, together we weren’t ideal.

Why am I delving into my somewhat controversial relationship history? Over the past 10 years, I have been critiqued many times on my relationship choices. Some have been upset at my fickleness. However, if they knew the turmoil I went through making these difficult decisions and the hurt I brought on myself, they might not call it careless. And looking at my life now, they would likely agree that I was right. It’s not just my life—It’s his, too, and I guarantee you that both men would thank me and say they are profoundly grateful for the women they are married to. And they're not me. And that’s ok—we all made it through.

The dress was sold, the rings bought back, explanations were made, and eventually, hearts were mended.

I struggle when I listen to women talking about relationships like they don’t have any say in them. Waiting and hoping for your guy to ask you marry him, unhappy with how you’re treated but scared this might be your “last shot.” You’re in love (maybe madly), but the other side of that can often be very dark and lonely.

There is no reason—not one—that you should marry him if you know that it’s not right. Or if you think it’s not right. Or if you suspect it’s not right…. I didn’t end up marrying until I was one week shy of 32. I got all the standard pressure about my age, my “ticking baby clock,” all of it! And I chose not to succumb to that ridiculous, oppressive way of thinking. I waited—not for the “right one to come along”—but for something good, mature, deep, caring, and invested.

I waited until I was in a relationship with someone whom I wanted to marry more than I wanted my singleness—and that was quite a trade off. Marriage isn’t necessarily the next step or even on the staircase of many women’s lives. Believing it is and pressuring yourself to “find someone” or trying to be “so lost in God that a man has to seek Him to find you” all puts the end goal of your life in a man—a broken, human man. And it’s only going to let you down. Every single time.

So, marriage is great and beautiful, and I believe in it way more than I did a year ago (husband sighs in relief), but it’s not the end. It’s not the culmination of a life well lived. It’s a wonderful part of many people’s lives, a horrible part of many people’s lives, and not a part at all of many others’.

When I taught high school, I would always encourage my kids to wait, to grow up, live a little, think for themselves, and make solid decisions, not decisions based on fear, money, invitations sent, or someone else’s heart. Those aren’t noble things. In the end, you’re saving his heart as well as your own.

Fashion | Eyebrows: Fill 'em in, Fake it, or Shake what your Mama gave ya?

I grew up blind to make-up, fashion, and my appearance in general. I remember the first time my mother plucked my eyebrows when I was in high school. She came into my room, sat on my bed with tweezers and a cold, wet wash cloth in hand. I hesitantly laid my head in her lap as she proceeded to pluck one tiny, misplaced hair out - I then shrieked in agony, and she waited while I held the damp cloth on my brow bone for as long as it took for the horrific pain to subside. Then she'd pluck another hair. My sweet mother was painfully teaching me the value of well maintained body hair - a well coiffed brow. a manicured face. a closely mowed eye lawn.

Eventually, I became better at this process and started to do my own plucking. It probably had something to do with the fact that my beautiful big sister complimented my brows one day, saying they had the “best arch" and she "wished hers were more like MINE."

That was it. My obsession with eyebrows had begun.

The love affair continued through college. Until one day, I was getting a pedicure with a friend. The nail tech began talking to us about eyebrows; he wanted to wax them. My friend said she didn't really want to get hers waxed, and I confidently boasted that I "did" my own.

To which the man frankly replied, "Oh...that's what happened…."

Years of self-assurance in my eyebrows' natural aesthetics--as well as my own ability to groom them--was gone with one offhanded but honest comment.

Thanks to some positive thinking and self-actualization, I recovered from that - and now, years later, I am much less concerned with my brows. But I have moved to Nashville, and this town has something serious going on with its eyebrows. It seems to be the en vogue thing to pluck them (I assume) and then draw them back on in a much darker, richer color, in a more dramatic (less realistic) shape. I have found this odd yet strangely appealing. I was not privy to the fact that people even "filled in" their eyebrows until about a year ago. Since then, I have dabbled with a little filling in - making them darker and fuller around that "killer arch" of mine. A few times I have gone too far and made them very black (which doesn’t match my "brown with auburn hues" hair) and then gone somewhere in public knowing I don't look quite right and being assured of it by the puzzled stares I receive.

Nonetheless, seeing all of these brave Nashville women who have dared to remove facial hair that plays a surprisingly large part in what they look like, I have become very interested in people's experiences with their brows. It's so much more vast than a careful plucking or a good waxing these days - some of you people are creating art in place of your brows!

What’s going on with eyebrows? What are you doing (or not doing) with yours? What’s happening in your town? Whatever happened to Grace Jones - and do you think she started this eyebrow craziness?