Remember the time you were sorting through all of those online profiles and you clicked on mine because you appreciated the southern-ness of my username?
Then you were immediately captured by my frequent references to pop culture, sarcasm, and not-so-contradictory authentic love of people, relationships, and service.
You thought, "Oh, yeah, I love to help others, too, not just in an immediate way, but in a way that creates independence and sustainability." You have very specific and eloquent thoughts, by the way.
It warmed your heart to know that I love animals, try to pet every puppy I see, and have a playful 1-year-old female orange tabby named Puck. You also laughed because you know what her names implies.
You eagerly scrolled down to read about my idealistic desire to make the world a little better than I found it by working with young children as a preschool teacher and a literacy advocate for Americorps national service. By that point, you were thinking of emailing me.
A word caught your eye as you continued to read: wheelchair. You had plenty of questions about my Cerebral Palsy, and you were honestly a bit concerned, because you didn't know what to expect physically and mentally. But your fears were soon quieted when you realized I was so easygoing and willing to talk about your questions. After you met me, you realized the only thing I couldn't do was drive, which wasn't an issue anyway thanks to the Metro.
Over time, we talked about our love of the outdoors and camping, accessible trails, music, kids, theology, our plans to improve the world. You played music for me, and I wrote poetry and lyrics for you. We took pictures often and marveled at the beauty that surrounded us.
Remember that? Oh...it hasn't happened yet. Well, one of us should do something about that...
I am silly, idealistic, and romantic