Somewhere in the world, there is a birthday candle being lit marking--perhaps with a little too much fanfare--the 300th post of this little blog.
This anniversary, however trite, has had me thinking this week about what I'm exactly it is I'm writing for. "A man worth writing for." I began this blog back in 2008 with (let's face it) brazen statements of singlehood. Absorbing the men I date into the blogging fray.
Sorry, not sorry.
As my friend Kandea says, I was only attempting to "let my stubbornness work for me rather than against me." I was just going to write, and use my single-me-time productively until I met Mr. Right.
I'm not saying there's no hope. But...within the last few years my girlfriends and I have been approached by two stand-out "gentlemen." One, clad in a red Santa Claus hat, (P.S. not even Christmastime) passing out business cards. His business, you ask? Bailouts.
And not cute Monopoly bailouts, either. Actual-get-you-out-of-jail bail.
Then there was the time my roommate and I were approached by a man in a bar wearing a clown nose. I think he asked us to "patch-his-Adam." To this day, I'm still not completely sure what that means, but I'm pretty sure whatever it was, wasn't something either of us wanted to do.
And maybe this is just a testament to the fact that men worth writing for are not found in bars. Duh, Brett.
Sorry Santa and Patch, time to move on.
(I feel like I need to be perfectly clear, there was nothing remotely involving even speaking the word "French" with these guys. Just to clear that up for the record...)
But, while searching for the "man worth writing for," I've been led down a road of Frenching frogs. Good frogs. Sometimes even Christian frogs.
I know there's an adage that says you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet your prince. But, actually, you don't have to. Not even a little bit. My new friend Renee, at Devotional Diva talks about this in her ebook, Loves Me Not, that I can't wait for y'all to read (get excited, it comes out on May 6th). She's totally right, Frenching frogs is a waste of time, and a strain on your heart.
You can actually leave the frogs hopping on the ground for a while. Besides, who really wants to be in the business of Frenching frogs? (You know they use their tongues to catch flies, right?)
All of this to say: in the midst of Frenching frogs, why would I expect to find a man worth waiting for?
But, I'm finding that there is joy in writing for just the sake of writing. There's freedom in living for a God worth writing for. And as each day passes in this new season, I'm growing more comfortable with the idea of foregoing the chase for the MWWF.
Not surrendering. But, re-purposing my thoughts and words. Letting things like faith and art be the chase; not frogs or elusive men. Ladies, I want to do this Godfather style: leaving the frogs and taking the art.