Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, as a person who admittedly has issues in the relevant department, I understand that there are a number of things about commitment that are really, really scary. Most people think that commitments are made once and for all. That, I'm afraid, is a misconception. Two misconceptions, actually. "Once" being the first one. Commitments are not made one sunny day and stay that way. They are not a result of one big effort, like platform diving, one big deep breath, and one brave big jump. The trick with any commitment is that you have to keep making it, otherwise it is but an empty promise you made one sunny day. You may think it's daunting; I think it's liberating. For the important things in my life, I want to make the decision consciously and actively as often as I can. The things and the people I believe in, I stand by, I choose. Continuously. The other misunderstanding is that a commitment is "for all". Of course it's s...

Dear future hubster, when you feel like you'll always be an outsider, an intriguing stranger, a passer-by, the person who comes and goes, remember this. Belonging, although it does take time, doesn't depend on time only. It can, and very often it does happen when you least expect it - just like many other great things in life. The sense of belonging comes to you unexpectedly, and in unusual yet ordinary ways. It's not a flag, it's not a title, it's not a passport. It may be a monthly metro card though. Or a barista who remembers that you're the one who drinks almond latte. The yoga teacher who says "I haven't seen you in a while". The fellow runner who finally smiles back at you on a windy Sunday morning. That first time when you greet "your" subway with a relief, because it will take you home. The sense of belonging is a promise. That it's possible. That you, the outsider, can also be included.  It's an expectation too...

Dear future hubster, it seems that of my many personalities, the linguist is the first one to be awake and (somewhat) functioning in the morning.  I may bump into furniture and can't make decisions and stare at my wardrobe for long minutes and have difficulties remembering what day of the week it is, but I can roll out double negatives spiced up with unmarked subjunctive like it's no big deal.

Dear future hubster, although we both know how I feel about dating in general (hint: queasy at best), if I had to pick a favourite, it would be breakfast dates (with skating rinks, amusement parks, rollercoaster rides and bumper cars being in strong competition). I think breakfast dates are beneficial for all involved. I look my best in the morning, my make up is still mostly intact, my hair isn't a whole mess yet, and my pre-coffee brain performs somersaults even I can't follow, thus providing the entertainment of not exactly coherent, but certainly unfiltered thoughts popping up in a somewhat dizzying blur. On the other hand, my just-post-coffee self often acts like a combination of a kid with ADD and a penguin high on bubbly. Glasses may be knocked over, yes. Besides, breakfast dates mean that the day is just starting, and it has equal chances of becoming something gray and boring and miserable, or something uplifting, filled with grace, happy. Or something blissfull...

Dear future hubster,  sometimes I wonder how I/we will be in few years. You are supposed to be in the picture. Maybe kids too? Will we be doing the same things as today, listening to the same music, hanging around with friends, drinking wine and maybe smoking few cigarettes if we feel like?  Or will our Sundays start at dawn, kids screaming in our ears, lots of outdoor activities to get them entertained and tired, and little time for us to chill on the sofa? I guess these two scenarios do not exclude each other, but I wonder if I will still feel free to pour myself an extra glass of wine, if listening to my teenage years' music will still make sense or if it would suddenly feel awkward? Will I be able to explain to our kids that I spent hours trying to guess Losing my religion lyrics? Will I be willing to tell them that sometimes my dark side still runs up that hill with the Placebo? And you, my dear hubster, would you roll up your cigarette in hiding? I wonder if th...