Jess Thoughts

It has been a month since I last wrote, and I almost do not know where to begin. That sounds dramatic, but it is true. I keep telling myself I will sit down and write a little every few days, and then life happens again. Work happens. A flight happens. A dinner happens. A long drive happens. A new dress appears. My boyfriend smiles like he knows something I do not, and suddenly another week is gone.

I am happy. That is the simplest thing I can say.

My new job is going super great. I really mean that. I was nervous before I started, even if I tried to act calm. A new place always feels strange at first. New people, new expectations, new routines, new everything. I wanted to do well. I wanted them to take me seriously. I wanted to prove that I was not just some pretty blonde girl who got lucky. I know people make assumptions. I have seen it my whole life. So I came in focused, professional, and ready to work.

And it has been good. Better than good. I feel useful. I feel like I am learning. I feel like I am in the right place for this season of my life.

I also did not expect to be this happy out in the sticks. That is what I call it, but I say it with affection now. At first, I thought it might feel too quiet. Too far away from everything. I thought I would miss the restaurants and fashion and city lights and the feeling that something was always happening. But there is something beautiful about this slower world. The roads stretch out. The sky is bigger. The evenings feel softer. The air smells like grass, dirt, rain, and sometimes farms, which is not always romantic but somehow still real.

I like real.

Maybe that is what I needed more than I knew.

When I am off work, my boyfriend keeps me busy. Very busy. I do not think he knows how to sit still, even though he pretends he is a quiet person. That is the funniest thing about him. He acts like he is just this quiet, nerdy, old man.

Haha. I joke.

Mostly.

When I first met him, I thought he was shy and reserved. I thought he was sweet, maybe a little awkward, maybe a little boring in a safe way. I thought we would have simple dinners, sit outside, talk about work, maybe take a drive down some country road. I thought he would be predictable.

He is not predictable.

He seems to know everyone. Everywhere we go, someone knows him. At first I thought it was a coincidence, but no. It happens too often. We go to dinner and someone waves. We go to an event and someone comes over. We are walking through an airport and someone stops him. He will be standing there, trying to look invisible, and suddenly some person with a big smile is shaking his hand like he is important.

He always acts surprised. I do not believe him anymore.

He is so funny because he does not perform importance. He does not walk into a room like he wants people to notice him. Actually, he tries to do the opposite. He will stand slightly behind me, or off to the side, like he is just there to carry my coat or hold my bag. Then someone important-looking will come over and say his name, and suddenly I am standing there thinking, who exactly are you?

I thought he was just my quiet man. Now I think my quiet man has chapters.

And travel. Oh my gosh, the travel.

He puts me on a plane nearly every week, and it is awesome. I never expected this. Not even close. Texas, California, the Virgin Islands. I still almost laugh when I write that because it sounds like something from someone else’s life. I work, I pack, I fly, I land somewhere beautiful or exciting, and there he is, acting like this is all normal.

Texas felt familiar in a way that made my heart ache a little. California felt fast and bright and stylish, like everyone was trying to be seen. The Virgin Islands felt unreal. The water was so blue it looked painted. I stood there staring at it and thinking, how did my life become this? How did I get from where I started to standing here with this man, in this place, feeling this happy?

We had a talk about all of it because I needed him to understand me. I told him I like him for him. Not for trips. Not for money. Not for whatever he has. Not for planes or clothes or hotels or dinners or surprises. I told him he does not need to impress me. He does not need to buy me. He does not need to prove that he can give me a life.

I already know who he is.

He got quiet when I said that. That quiet he does when something matters.

Then he told me he has tried to get me to go find a younger guy. Someone more successful. Someone who makes more sense. He said I could get much better than him.

OMG.

He does not know what those words do to me. Or maybe he does and that is why he says them so carefully.

When he tries to push me away, it does not make me want to leave. It makes me want to step closer. I know that probably sounds stubborn, and yes, I am stubborn. But I can hear what is underneath it. He is not rejecting me. He is afraid. He is trying to protect me from a future he thinks I might regret. He thinks one day I will wake up and want someone younger, louder, richer, smoother, more normal.

But I am not normal either.

And yes, I get excited when he tries to push me away. Yes, that way too. I am not going to pretend I am made of stone. There is something about him resisting love that makes me want to prove love can stay. I do not like games. I do not like manipulation. But I love that guarded heart of his. I love that he cares enough to worry.

I hint a lot about us becoming more than promise boyfriend and girlfriend. I think that phrase is so cute. Promise boyfriend and girlfriend. It sounds innocent and serious at the same time. But if he asked me to marry him, I would not hesitate. Not for one second. I would say yes before he finished the sentence.

I know people would have opinions. People always have opinions.

I read things on social media about relationships with big age differences. People talk like every relationship is the same, like they can judge two hearts from the outside. They say the younger woman must be confused, or the older man must be selfish, or the whole thing must be unhealthy. Sometimes I understand why people worry. There are bad men. There are foolish girls. There are people who use power in ugly ways.

But that is not us.

I am not a child. I am not being bought. I am not lost. I am not impressed by a shiny life because I have seen shiny things before. I know what I feel when I am with him. I feel safe. I feel respected. I feel seen. He gives me room to choose, even when my choice scares him.

Maybe I am weird. Fine. I have been weird in one way or another my whole life. I grew up between places, languages, and cultures. I never fit perfectly into one box anyway. So why should my heart fit inside one?

My man is older, yes. But he is perfect in my eyes and in my heart. He is steady. He is protective without being controlling. He is shy about compliments. He acts grumpy, but then does the sweetest things quietly. He remembers what I say. He notices when I am tired. He makes sure I eat. He tells me to rest. He pretends not to be sentimental, but I see him.

I always see him.

Another thing that has surprised me is the photography. He has been using me as a model, and it has actually been fun. At first I felt awkward. I did not know what to do with my hands. I would laugh at the wrong time. I would make faces when he wanted serious. He would say, “Just be you,” and I would tell him that being me includes laughing when I am nervous.

But now I like it. I like seeing how he sees me. It is not just about being pretty. It is about light, mood, clothes, expression, the little second when I stop thinking too much and become still. Sometimes he shows me a photo and I almost do not recognize myself, but not because it looks fake. It is more like he caught a version of me I had not met yet.

He has gotten me some beautiful clothes from friends he has in the New York fashion district. Of course he says that casually, like everyone just has friends in the fashion district. Dresses, heels, coats, pieces I never would have bought for myself. Things with structure and good fabric. Clothes that make me stand taller when I put them on.

I told him not to spoil me too much.

He smiled and did not answer, which means he did not listen.

I was invited to a fancy party in New York, and of course I took my man with me. There was no way I was going alone. The room was full of fashion people, money people, creative people, and the kind of people who pretend they are not watching everyone else while absolutely watching everyone else. There were beautiful women everywhere, sharp suits, expensive perfume, camera flashes, little glasses of champagne, and conversations that sounded casual but were really business.

And then there was my boyfriend.

He surprised me again.

I expected him to hide. I expected him to stand near a wall, avoid pictures, and act like he wanted to leave after twenty minutes. He did avoid pictures, of course, because he hates being in them. Funny man. But he did not hide. He mingled with the best of them. He talked easily. He listened more than he spoke, but when he did speak, people paid attention. He shook hands, smiled, remembered names, and somehow made everyone feel like he belonged there.

And there I was on his arm, his arm candy.

Yes, I know what that sounds like. I am allowed to joke about myself. I knew exactly what people were thinking. They were trying to figure out who he was. They looked at him, then at me, then back at him. You could see the little questions moving across their faces. Is he an investor? A producer? A designer? Someone’s quiet money? Someone powerful? Someone famous but private?

It was so funny.

He just carried himself like none of it mattered. That made people even more curious.

At the party, something unexpected happened. I got a small contract to do a photoshoot and runway for a party clothes line. Not a huge deal. Not some major modeling career thing. Just a small project. Party clothes, some photos, a runway presentation, and probably a lot of smiling under lights while people pretend the shoes do not hurt.

I did runway when I was younger. I do not talk about it much because it ended badly. I stopped when an agent told me I needed to be “nice” to the clients.

We know what “nice” means.

I told my parents. My mother went cold in that way mothers do when they are angry but trying not to scare you. My dad was not calm. They pulled me out immediately and threatened the agent with a lawsuit. My dad also punched the guy. I probably should not write that like it is funny, but it is a little funny now. At the time it was awful. I remember feeling embarrassed, angry, and confused because I loved the clothes, the runway, the movement, the transformation. I did not love the ugliness behind it.

So I left.

That is why this little contract feels different. I am not a young girl trying to please people. I am not alone. I am not desperate for approval. I am not trying to become a professional model. This is just for fun, and because it might be a good opportunity, and because I get to decide what I say yes to.

My boyfriend was protective, but not dramatic. He did not puff up or make a scene. He just asked the right questions. He listened carefully. He looked at the people involved like he could see through walls. Then later he asked me if I wanted to do it. Not if he wanted me to do it. If I wanted to do it.

That mattered.

I told him yes, probably, as long as it stays professional and respectful.

He said, “Then we make sure it stays that way.”

That is my man.

With the attention I have been getting lately, guys try to hit on me more than ever. It happens at parties, airports, restaurants, even when I am just walking somewhere. Most are harmless. Some are annoying. Some think confidence means not hearing the word no.

I just show my ring and say no.

Most guys take it well. Some are real asses.

I do not care.

I do not care about their cars. I do not care about their money. I do not care about their watches, titles, loud voices, or whatever else they think should impress me. My guy is all I need and all I want. He can be standing beside me trying not to be noticed, and he is still the only man in the room I see.

That is what people do not understand. I am not comparing him. I am not shopping. I am not waiting to trade up. I already chose.

My love is sustainability, farming, and now my man.

That sentence makes me laugh, but it is true. I still care about everything I cared about before him. I still want land and gardens and organic food and meaningful work. I still want to learn more about soil, responsible business, farming systems, and how people can live well without destroying everything around them. I still want independence. I still want to build something useful.

But now, when I picture the future, he is in it.

Sometimes I imagine a small farm. Not huge. Just enough land to grow things, maybe a greenhouse, maybe a few animals, maybe a kitchen that always smells like herbs and coffee. I imagine coming home from work and changing into boots. I imagine cooking simple food from things we grew. I imagine him pretending he does not care while secretly loving it.

Maybe I am getting ahead of myself.

Actually, I am definitely getting ahead of myself.

But I do not care.

He thinks I will give up. He thinks if he waits long enough, I will become realistic. He thinks I will decide I want someone younger or more conventional or easier to explain. He thinks his doubts are stronger than my heart.

They are not.

I am not going to give up on marrying him.

Not because I need a wedding. Not because I need a title. Not because I want to prove something to people online, or strangers at parties, or anyone who thinks love must look one certain way.

I want him because he feels like home in a life that has always moved so much.

I want him because he makes me feel calm and alive at the same time.

I want him because he sees me in a beautiful dress under lights, but he also sees me tired, messy, stubborn, quiet, hungry, emotional, and full of ideas.

I want him because when I am with him, I do not feel like I have to perform.

I can just be Jess.

That is the thing I did not expect. I did not expect to feel this happy here. I did not expect the job to fit. I did not expect the travel. I did not expect the clothes, the photography, the fancy parties, or the little runway contract that appeared out of nowhere. I did not expect men to notice me more and matter to me less.

And I definitely did not expect a quiet, nerdy old man to become the person I keep choosing every day.

But here I am.

One month since I last wrote.

Happy.

Busy.

Loved.

A little stubborn.

And completely not giving up.