Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Cha- cha- cha- changes!

I feel surrounded by – no, encompassed by? or more like “chased down the street and beaten with a stick” by – changes. And this is coming from someone who used to LOVE change, surf it like a wave and do little dances as it was happening, thrilled by the newness of whatever was happening. Right now, though? I’d give anything to keep just one solid square of the security of my current/former life under my feet right now.

In no particular order:

  • Ky is coming home for the summer. Freshman year of college under his belt, and my Freshman year of empty nesting coming to an end. How did it go by so FAST? I feel like I’ve just learned how to live alone again and be a good “phone mom” and “occasional weekend mom” and now my chick is flapping back to the nest. Huh.

  • The biggest of my two jobs has ended. The career I’m transitioning away from has left the building. The career I’m transitioning TO? Not here yet. It must be late. I’m like 99% sure I haven’t been left at the career altar. 90% sure, minimum. Like 89.5%. Whatever – it’s like they say: “Out with the old… then stand there awkwardly and watch ‘the old’ get smaller in the distance and ponder the complexity of the universe as you momentarily contemplate chasing ‘the old’ down and begging it to come back.”

  • The house I’m renting is being sold! And there goes the last legitimate reason for me remaining in the same town and same home I’ve lived in for 10 years. This is the longest I’ve ever lived in one place since childhood. And it no longer makes sense, what with my commute and the cost of living etc etc etc. I’m spending 20% of my waking hours in the car, driving to or from work. I’m spending 10% of my household budget on GAS to do all that driving. This house no longer makes sense. But I love it. And I’ll miss it. And moving right now? Feels terrifying in this sea of change and uncertainty. Not to mention moving is a HUGE pain in the ass.

How am I dealing with all this change, you ask? Why, with yoga, running and deep and healthy meditation. (And by yoga/running/meditation I mean back to back episodes of Orphan Black in bed in my pajamas, way too much Wolavers India Pale Ale and frantic calls to my mother asking if she’d like to buy the building I live in and become my new landlord).

In other words, taking it like an adult.


…in an old book, my attic, my house.


To have something wonderful by creating nothing

To put your spirit into your life, to your now

To concentration on the important things

To pay attention to yourself

To exist.

To be beautiful. Ugly. Haunted. Innocent.

I do love you. Fucked up.


“I was so frustrated to miss you on Thursday. I know you said it was no problem, but to me it was a big deal, since there isn’t an old friend or hang out I’d rather have seen than to spend time with you. In consolation, I spent 3 hours swimming in the Gulf. I’d forgotten how warm and salty it is, how organic it smells, how it’s constantly in motion. How buoyant and safe you feel in the waves. So much more nurturing than the water I swim in now.

I get really attached to bodies of water in a way I never seem to attach to the places I live, and I kind of have an intense personal relationship with the Gulf in that it has absorbed a countless number of my most intense emotions over the years. I’ve poured so many thoughts, ideas, hope, pain and plans into it. It’s like we have an intimate relationship now. And swimming in it makes me feel so safe and at peace.

…which is also how I felt with you Tuesday. I said “natural” and you said “at peace” and to those I’d add “safe” because that’s really what it was. Not that swimming in the Gulf is a perfect substitute for being with you, but if I had to miss you on Thursday, it was a good place to be. And anyway, the water is a good thinking place for me.

You were fantastic about communicating everything you were thinking and feeling while I was there. And I think I was so overwhelmed at times that I couldn’t immediately tell you what it meant to me. Sometimes I need to walk away and think before things sort themselves out in my heart.

I need to know if you are happy in your life.

Is this what you wanted? You said so often that I wouldn’t like the person you’ve become. Do you like that person? Is it what you want for yourself? I’m stronger inside than I look. I think about love, and it’s easiest for me to relate things to Sarah – there is not an avenue she could choose, or a person she could “turn into” that I would not accept and love. Since I want her to be happy, some personas and choices would be harder to understand and accept, and I would always encourage her in directions that make her feel good about herself, and her life, abut accept them and love her I would.

Likewise, though I don’t know the details of your life, I do know that had I been given a chance, I would have felt the same for you.

I told you, you and Sarah are all I know of that kind of love. I’ve never gotten to develop it with you, but I do know what I’m capable of, and it’s a lot more than I expected of myself back then. If I’ve gotten to know you on a different level than ‘everyday’, then I’m proud of that, and if the kinder and gentler side makes you happy, then this is what I hope you cultivate. If you’re happy in the rest of your life, then I can’t think how I’d not want that for you.

And what about the person I’ve become? you’re also seeing a much different side of me. I don’t use the word “love” in my relationships, I’m not especially warm, I take independence to a new level and I’m constantly told I’m “missing something” inside – which of course I am.

I’m amazed and touched at how closely you’ve followed my life. I wish I could do the same – and I’d love to – but you seem so uncomfortable with me seeing your real life, and nevermind that it’s not as easy to trace as my life is. Also, there’s nothing you’d see about me that could hurt you.

It’s amazing how similar our experiences were when we parted all those years ago. I knew you cared, I knew you must have hurt too, but I thought that the excitement and newness of your marriage would have made up for any regrets you felt over me. I never imagined you felt as much sadness and yearning as I did. I contacted you again a few years ago because it had been so many years, and yet I was still having dreams about you that were vivid, and sad.

I tried to put it behind me. That note on the Chinese food bag I saved all those years went into a winter solstice bonfire in 1999.  I kept wondering when I could move on. Not that I constantly thought about you – after a while I really didn’t – but you were certainly the monster under the bed in all of my relationships. 

I told you that I never really talked about you to my friends – and I didn’t – but just recently on a cruise a good friend was really hurt by a woman he loved who left him to marry someone else. I could practically feel the exact emotion he was feeling. And I did tell him a bt about us, how I felt with you, how I felt when you left. I told him that I could still feel the love in such a way that I could practically trace its shape and location in my body. And I could also still feel the size and shape of the pain, too. And that if it’s real, it just becomes a part of you and that’s as close to the other person as you will get again.

Well, this was a year ago – not knowing ----“