An Open Letter to All the Men Who Have Merely Visited My Life

So I was going through my saved draft posts this week because I could not think of words to write this week (I am still going to write a post, but I am just not sure what about) and I found this post I wrote but never posted before I left for Spain.

I think it wasn’t the correct time in my life and I wasn’t ready to share it with the world. But, today, as I sit and am currently playing the “Spanish men” field here, I still feel this way. Deciding to come to Spain without connections has been my best decision still. Contrary to everyone’s belief before coming to Spain, I don’t have the Spanish boyfriend or the Scandinavian boyfriend (Sorry, Colin) that you all wanted me to have. Instead, I am living my life and loving my life.

However, I still found this post comical, especially since I did end up stashing the Clay Matthews jersey in my luggage!

I hope you laugh at this post, it was meant to be comical. I appreciate all the people in my life and even the visitors, you are great as well! So here it is:

You poor poor souls.

There are not too many of you to count, but plenty of  loving, funny, frustrating and cringe worthy stories to pack up in my luggage and carry with me on my way to Spain. Unfortunately, I only have one free checked bag and rather than spend $50 for an additional bag, I think I am ready to leave behind some of you with my old sweatshirts. I have a floppy hat to pack.

To the men who have merely visited my life in the past few years, I do want to say that regardless of how brief or catastrophic your visit, you have etched yourself on my life which has lead me here…and I’m happy here. Over the years, some of you outstayed your welcome and some left too quick that I barely had a chance to tell you all my good jokes (your loss buddy). Either way, I have always felt this need to apologize to you all. I have wanted to apologize for the crazy, erratic blonde/brunette (it was a phase) woman you met and came to know, but now as I am ready to move across a big ocean, I’ve decided…I’m not sorry.

I’m not sorry, not because I am now the secretary of the “She-Man Men Hating Club,”(#littlerascalsreference) but rather that “crazy” woman still lives in my soul and she’s not going anywhere. I’m not afraid to admit that I have some crazy tendencies that might come out once I open my mouth…for all of you men or women who don’t know the “crazy” I speak of, just know that my grandma refers to me as “spirited.” But the point is, I am spirited. I have a ton of energy and I am extremely passionate about a lot of things. But, that is what I love about myself.

Now, I know that is not everyone’s cup of tea and I am by no means shaming you for not sticking around, but I’m done holding the responsibility for why it didn’t work out. For years I always thought that I was the problem and I kept apologizing for the things that made me me. I’m sorry I’m too hyper, I’m sorry that I am too interested, I’m sorry that I sound too smart, I’m sorry that I sound too dumb….the list went on and on. It was like I was living the cliche statement, “it’s not you, it’s me” and actually believing it is me instead of just saying that to assuage your heart.  But the thing is, I don’t want to apologize anymore; it wasn’t me or you. It just wasn’t us.

Some of you fine men that know me well today, would roll your eyes at that statement and I would laugh with you too. But it is true and it has taken me a week before my twenty-third birthday to understand that sometimes it just isn’t meant to be and it is not anyone’s fault. Some didn’t want to stick around because I move too fast (yes, my family is the best and I want you to meet them), some of you didn’t want to stick around because my dream is to travel (which means leaving you), and some of you didn’t want to stick around because I exhaust you (I’m hyper!) Whatever the excuse you gave me, whatever the reason for your check-out, I want you to know that it’s ok. But, I don’t want to tote you along anymore. Stop waiting around in the lobby, just leave.

My intent is not to yell at you and tell you how much I hate you, because that would be a lie and dramatic. I still care about each of you (or majority of you), but I want you to know that I am leaving that responsibility of our demise at home with my Clay Matthews jersey (I am sincerely upset I cannot bring it, trust me). And even though I cannot predict the future and I hate absolutes, I have to say, I don’t want to try you on in the fall when I return home like my Matthews jersey. I want you to move on, I want to move on, and I want you gone.

As I finish out this letter that took me about two weeks to actually complete, I want you to know that this is hard. As silly as it sounds, leaving the life that I have grown to love (even you and your drama) is terrifying. But, through that fear, I feel free. I am living out my dream and I am not allowing you to come with me; I cannot afford any more baggage.

I wish each of you crazy fools the utmost of happiness wherever your life takes you.


All the best,






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