Waiting, waiting, waiting...

'Way back in the day, I was a born-again Christian. Hard-core. Went to church three times a week, sang in the choir, sat on the youth group board, certainly talked the talk, tried to walk the walk. For three years of my life, it defined me, my existence, my future. I loved Jesus, went up to the altar every Sunday morning, didn't drink or swear or do drugs or take god's name in vain or have sex before marriage. After all, that could lead to pregnancy or the clap or a broken heart or an irate Jesus.

One of the most tangible pieces of evidence that remain from that time in my life is my chastity ring. Yes, that's right, you read that right, my chastity ring. Not quite a chastity belt, sure--it was 1996, after all, not 1396. They presented the rings (subsidized by my doting, if somewhat misguided, grandparents) to me, during a church ceremony in which I, along with several other earnest young ladies, pledged to remain virgins until our wedding night.

Shortly after I turned 16, I became a "recovering Christian." Slowly, gradually, I fell away from the church as I experienced a crisis of faith, withdrew from my religious activities, and...well, grew up. Opened my eyes. I began to cuss like a sailor. Socially drink, even. The last thing to go was my pledge of chastity, but even that went out the window, a little later than most, when I was 19.

And life carried on. God (if s/he exists) and I left each other alone. I became more secular, more "of the world", and so I remain, to this day. I retained my honesty, my sense of justice, my code of ethics. I retained my sense of self, even as my self changed so vastly from what I once was. But even as I remained constant in some ways, I strayed very far from who I once was in others.

Best example: within the past year, my friend started dating a new guy. They...waited. Or, rather, he wanted to wait. And so they waited. And waited. We debated why. Was he gay? That was just weird, waiting six damned months.

And it's not a complete anomaly. Another friend is seeing a guy--they've been seeing each other for half a year, and they haven't (to borrow an old phrase) "gone all the way". They are both fine with that, and choose for it to be this way.

Baffling. Or so I thought.

See, I am, at heart, a historian. And I have an eye for how things once were. And I know that once, it was considered weird, freakish, inappropriate, abnormal, or at least taboo, to go all the way. People--especially women, mainly women--were ostracized if it was known that they did. Not a good way to live and love. But yet--we've done an about-face in recent decades. Now it's considered weird and freakish if people don't go all the way before marriage, and fairly soon after they meet, too...and somehow, I've internalized this. I got on board, and apparently, I had forgotten my 16-year-old self, in which I said, "If he loves me, he'll wait."

Now it's sexsexsex nownownow, and those who don't do that are not quite right.

Neither extreme is good or right or cool. But less cool is the fact that I bought into both extremes at different times in my life. Neither particularly helped me. Neither guided me down the right path. And I won't say that I've learned my lesson (how trite would that be?)...but I have learned that there is some wisdom in my friends' caution. And not only that there is wisdom, but that it's acceptable. Maybe not socially celebrated, but that caution, that waiting exists. And there are people in my age group who are wise enough--and comfortable enough with themselves--to wait and not need to validate themselves through quick sex.

If I get around to dating again--right now, not particularly high on my list of priorities; it comes right after getting leprosy of the eyeballs--I'm going to wait. A lot. At least six months. And I am only going to go for it if the person and I love each other.

And I am going to know that it's okay.