these-greatexpectations
yolesoteldo:

Dear Cutie-Pie,
Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on Google. Halfway through entering the question, Google returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Perched at the top of the list was “How to keep him interested.”
It startled me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer versus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.
And I got angry.
Little One, it is not, has never been, and never will be your job to “keep him interested.”
Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul—in that unshakeable place that isn’t rattled by rejection and loss and ego—that you are worthy of interest. (If you can remember that everyone else is worthy of interest also, the battle of your life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)
If you can trust your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will attract a boy who is both capable of interest and who wants to spend his one life investing all of his interest in you.
Little One, I want to tell you about the boy who doesn’t need to be keptinterested, because he knows you are interesting:
I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table—as long as he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches when you smile. And then can’t stop looking.
I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me—as long as he can play with the children you give him and revel in all the glorious and frustrating ways they are just like you.
I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet—as long as he follows his heart and it always leads him back to you.
I don’t care if he is strong—as long as he gives you the space to exercise the strength that is in your heart.
I couldn’t care less how he votes—as long as he wakes up every morning and daily elects you to a place of honor in your home and a place of reverence in his heart.
I don’t care about the color of his skin—as long as he paints the canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.
I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or no religion—as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred.
In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:
You.
Because in the end, Little One, the only thing you should have to do to “keep him interested” is to be you.
Your eternally interested guy,
Daddy
Happy International Women’s Day

yolesoteldo:

Dear Cutie-Pie,

Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on Google. Halfway through entering the question, Google returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Perched at the top of the list was “How to keep him interested.”

It startled me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer versus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.

And I got angry.

Little One, it is not, has never been, and never will be your job to “keep him interested.”

Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul—in that unshakeable place that isn’t rattled by rejection and loss and ego—that you are worthy of interest. (If you can remember that everyone else is worthy of interest also, the battle of your life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)

If you can trust your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will attract a boy who is both capable of interest and who wants to spend his one life investing all of his interest in you.

Little One, I want to tell you about the boy who doesn’t need to be keptinterested, because he knows you are interesting:

I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table—as long as he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches when you smile. And then can’t stop looking.

I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me—as long as he can play with the children you give him and revel in all the glorious and frustrating ways they are just like you.

I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet—as long as he follows his heart and it always leads him back to you.

I don’t care if he is strong—as long as he gives you the space to exercise the strength that is in your heart.

I couldn’t care less how he votes—as long as he wakes up every morning and daily elects you to a place of honor in your home and a place of reverence in his heart.

I don’t care about the color of his skin—as long as he paints the canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.

I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or no religion—as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred.

In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:

You.

Because in the end, Little One, the only thing you should have to do to “keep him interested” is to be you.

Your eternally interested guy,

Daddy

Happy International Women’s Day

these-greatexpectations
always-anddd-forever:

snotbutt:

popcourn:

throwglitterintheirface:

popcourn:

"It scares me to death to think that one day I might look back into my life and realize that I lived it painfully ordinary."

I scrolled for ten minutes after reading this and had to scroll all the way back, ‘cause damn. 

this made me happy ^


wow

What goes through my mind alllll the damn time.

always-anddd-forever:

snotbutt:

popcourn:

throwglitterintheirface:

popcourn:

"It scares me to death to think that one day I might look back into my life and realize that I lived it painfully ordinary."

I scrolled for ten minutes after reading this and had to scroll all the way back, ‘cause damn. 

this made me happy ^

wow

What goes through my mind alllll the damn time.

these-greatexpectations


Trust me, I don’t miss you anymore. At least that’s what I tell myself just to stay sane. I hate myself for letting you manipulate me because all I feel is this void I can’t fill. I try to distract myself in every way possible but somehow I keep letting you back in even though you’re already gone. I would have loved you forever, but you cut that short. You were all I ever knew. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew you at all. Maybe one day we’ll be able to talk about it but I feel like I’ll crumble to the sound of your voice the same way I used to before. The bitterness I feel burns holes in my insides and all I feel is numb. After so long I would expect myself to forget you—to not even flinch at the sound of your name, but I’m still weak. Remembering you feels like a dream. A dream that I struggle to remember over sips of coffee that I wish could wash away the faded memories of you. Sometimes I forget that I miss you, but when I finally do, it hits me like a fucking train. But honestly, I don’t miss you. I can’t even look at you the same way I used to. I only miss my idea of you. The picture I painted in my head that I convinced myself was true. I lied to myself the entire time. But somehow I’m still in love with that same picture. It’s all I have left of you. I guess that’s why I’m still not over you.
The only way I can bring myself closure is to be my own fucking anchor since you let my ship sink. Unfortunately I still look for you in everything and it kills me. Did I really make it that easy for you to walk away? To find someone else? I wonder if you tell them the same things you used to tell me. I crave to know if you do all the things for them that I used to do for you yet you never did for me because I’m sitting here spilling my heart on paper when I wish I was spilling my heart out to you.

Trust me, I don’t miss you anymore. At least that’s what I tell myself just to stay sane. I hate myself for letting you manipulate me because all I feel is this void I can’t fill. I try to distract myself in every way possible but somehow I keep letting you back in even though you’re already gone. I would have loved you forever, but you cut that short. You were all I ever knew. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew you at all. Maybe one day we’ll be able to talk about it but I feel like I’ll crumble to the sound of your voice the same way I used to before. The bitterness I feel burns holes in my insides and all I feel is numb. After so long I would expect myself to forget you—to not even flinch at the sound of your name, but I’m still weak. Remembering you feels like a dream. A dream that I struggle to remember over sips of coffee that I wish could wash away the faded memories of you. Sometimes I forget that I miss you, but when I finally do, it hits me like a fucking train. But honestly, I don’t miss you. I can’t even look at you the same way I used to. I only miss my idea of you. The picture I painted in my head that I convinced myself was true. I lied to myself the entire time. But somehow I’m still in love with that same picture. It’s all I have left of you. I guess that’s why I’m still not over you.

The only way I can bring myself closure is to be my own fucking anchor since you let my ship sink. Unfortunately I still look for you in everything and it kills me. Did I really make it that easy for you to walk away? To find someone else? I wonder if you tell them the same things you used to tell me. I crave to know if you do all the things for them that I used to do for you yet you never did for me because I’m sitting here spilling my heart on paper when I wish I was spilling my heart out to you.