Ready

He was coming over today, not yesterday. I would have been ready for him today. I would have primped and preened and put away the laundry. I'd have been my 'best' me. But instead, suddenly, he wanted to come yesterday. He was tired and poorly. He was worried he wouldn't be very good company. I was just on my way back from a busy day out. My outfit was very unmatchy. I hadn't shaved. My back was hurting.

I fretted. I nearly said no. I wanted to be ready for him and I wasn't.

And then I realised I was being crazy - all I really wanted was to see him. The rest was details; it didn't matter. So I relented. He would surely feel the same, I thought: it doesn't matter - it's just details. He won't mind that I'm not ready.

But I continued to fret a little anyway.

We arrived on different buses at the same time. I went to meet him and we came across one another at the edge of the park. As I saw him wander out of the darkness, my heart did a little jump of excitement and nervousness. We kissed, tired but familiar and still oh so good. A good decision, I concluded. It doesn't matter that I'm not ready.

'With us suddenly meeting up tonight I didn't have time to get ready,' he said. 'I haven't shaved,' he added.

I stroked the stubble on his face, contemplating how little I cared that he wasn't ready.

It sounds small, superficial, petty, I know - but it feels big. It's at moments like these that I realise the weight of conditioning that we carry around with us, the shadow of I'm-not-good-enough that trails behind us whispering in our ear, distracting us from the things that matter.

I think I'm ready to start showing myself a little more as I really am.