To Infinity and Beyond

Infinity noun \in-ˈfi-nə-tē\ :the quality of having no limits or end: the quality of being infinite: a space, amount, or period of time that has no limits or end: a very great number or amount

As I sat in Chili's today, chowing down on a mushroom-swiss burger and discussing life with my boyfriend between bites, I noticed something: my guy and I are pretty comfortable in each other's presence. I know this by how we behave around each other. There are things that we just do because we know the other person well enough by now that we anticipate the other's needs and behaviors. I know that he is going to order water, not because he's cheap, but because he stays away from sugary drinks. He knows that, no matter what a restaurant has to offer, I'll probably order a burger or chicken and he will give me this look that tells me that I am predictable without ever having to actually say it to me. When our food arrived, I unconsciously turned my plate's fry side toward him because my man really likes fries and he'd end up taking them off my plate, and this is fine because I rarely eat all of my fries anyway. I don't know how many times tomatoes from his plate have ended up on mine because I love them and he isn't a fan. I'm sitting there in Chili's listening to a story about Santa Claus's sons, watching my fries disappear from my plate, and then I observe my beloved reach for the ketchup bottle and replenish the supply on my plate as if the plate were his. I sat observing this only because I was too full to sample his enchiladas.

You have to be pretty comfortable around another person to eat off of their plate. I do, at least.* This plate exchange method has happened over the course of nearly two years. As a couple we've learned what to share and when. This absolutely applies to more than just food. The more time you spend with a person, the better you know them. I would expound on this point more, but I don't really feel like I need to because it's such an obvious thing. Anything I add would feel cliche.

This evenings plate-sharing observations bring to mind something my mother said to me years ago. I can't remember what the conversation was about, but I can see my mom sitting near me in the living room of my parents's home telling me that no matter how long you spend with a person you never truly know them. There are always going to be things you don't know. She said she was still learning things about my dad and they'd been married for many years. There were things she didn't know about him. When she told me this, I was inwardly freaking out. How could you be married to someone for over 25 years and not know them? The thought had my mind spinning and feeling like every novel I'd read had lied to me. Something must have shown on my face because she smiled at me and told me in a voice of complete certainty that not knowing everything was okay. It wasn't that either one of my parents was keeping secrets from the other or not being honest about who they are as individuals, it only meant that people are complicated and don't have themselves figured out most of the time. To me, that is the beauty and tragedy of love: you are trusting someone you can never know completely with your heart and they are trusting you without knowing you completely. Love, in all its facets, is not a noun. It's an action verb. It is something you do. It is a commitment. Jason Mraz describes it in his song Life is Wonderful like this: "It takes no time to fall in love/ but it takes you years to know what love is/ it takes some fear to make you trust/ it takes those tears to make it rust/ it takes the dust to have it polished."

In John Green's book "The Fault in our Stars"**, the main character, Hazel, observes that there are infinite numbers between 0 and 1 (0.0001, 0.025, 0.3, etc.). Our time on Earth and with the people in it is limited, but there is an infinity in that time you have. Some infinities are longer than others. And so it is in my life. I have had almost 31 years of experience with my parents. I know them well and they know me, which explains how my mother knows when to explain herself with a simple look from me. I've had nearly 31 years to learn that my father will drop everything and come running any time I need him and to learn that my mother will automatically know when something is wrong with any of her children. I know the fierceness of my parents's love. I have had over 27 years with my younger brother. Time enough to know when he's upset or when he's about to bring out his guitar and make up songs for me (this often occurs when I am in no mood for entertainment). I've had just over 18 years of educating myself on the art of talking to my youngest brother, who is so laid back he almost needs a mood ring to tell if he's excited. I've had five (I think) years to take classes in the mystery that is my best friend, and less than two to figure out the enigma that is my boyfriend. Yet, I love them all. No matter what. For better of worse. Yada, yada, yada. I don't love any of them any more or less than the others. It's just that some infinities are longer than others.

As I was bidding my paramour adieu for the evening, we laughed over the memory of our first date. It was a typical hot, humid July day. I was late because I had a fender-bender with a truck in the parking lot. We watched the newest Batman movie, went to a coffee shop and drank Izzies, and I went home sweaty with my hair all messy. When deary was done laughing at my misfortune and his joke about how he made me look a mess without even touching me, I told him that it was impossible that the date had occurred nearly two years ago; it felt like yesterday to me. He smiled and said that, despite how short a time it felt, somehow it seemed we've known each other for much longer than that. I remarked that time worked funny.

Some infinities are longer than others. I am going to make it a point to enjoy all of my infinities.


*If you are okay with eating off of the plates of people you have limited (or no) interaction with, please refrain from partaking of my food. I find it a tad rude.

**Fault is an amazing book. Read it. First, buy tissues. Then read.