“Travel far enough, you meet yourself.” – David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas
If I had more sense, I would take the advice of friends as if it were the word of God, Holy Grail, or something of equal eminence. I have a few in particular who are brutally honest and consistently call me out on my bullshit. Admittedly, I need people in my life to do just that. Admittedly, I have tried to scrape by in life settling for what I have thought I deserve in life, which isn’t much – because I thought nothing good or whole was warranted and happiness just wasn’t in store for me. Of course, I wouldn’t even admit to myself that these were the beliefs at work on some level of consciousness, forming what took place in my waking life.
On Friday I was out with a friend from England. She loves to meet with me to catch up on life – particularly mine – because from an outsider’s perspective it’s blatantly ridiculous and unnecessarily chaotic. She kept prying about this older man from California who obviously wanted to reestablish some form of a relationship with me. Her response to every answer I provided was this: It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.
She asked me about my visit with Mr. California. I told her about the stress of that week, of the wedding officiating, of the time with the older man and how we had conversations we needed to have a long time ago, but were only having now. I told her that he reminded me of just how heartbroken I was at a young age – he recalled a memory of me being slumped over the steering wheel of my car, balling my eyes out and inconsolable. I was barely 19. The hurt that I had forgotten suddenly felt very real and raw at that present moment. I told her of his reasons for doing it: another woman (it sounded like it could have been a few) who threw herself into his life. He didn’t think I could understand such things at such a young age, so he told me nothing at the time.
Apparently the concept was far too advanced for my young, tiny brain.
My friend asked where I stood with Mr. California. He and I were still talking. He was planning another visit. One thing that struck me as odd during his visit was that he asked me about a guy several times over the span of a week. I’m not sure what to call him at the moment, but said guy in question and I had tried a relationship not just once, but twice. I didn’t think I was in it for the right reasons the second time, and I told him as much. He was more understanding that any guy would be; and, as I knew it now, happy in a long term relationship. This is the account I gave Mr. California several times. Mr. California’s comment was that he thought said guy was ‘The One’.
As I’m giving my friend these events shaping in my life, wondering why Mr. California would ask me so much about one person in particular, she stops me in the middle of my fragmented melodramatic tale and asks me point blank how I feel about Mr. California. I pause for a moment. I don’t have an answer. She tells me it’s simple: I either do or I don’t – and the fact that I don’t know is yet another tactic I’m using to convince myself. She asks me to tell her about The One. I tell her how Mr. California’s questioning caused me to think of The One so much that the idea of him was in my head and wouldn’t leave. I tell her that I reached out to him because my dreams were flooded with his presence and he was my first thought every morning. I told her how happy I was that he and I were talking because I’d missed him so much. She looks me straight in the eye. That is a real emotion, was her reply.
Shit's about to get real
Indeed, it was a real emotion. I soon learned that The One wasn’t in a happy relationship like I had thought. I hate to admit I did a small victory dance we he told me they were no longer together. I didn’t want to admit how much I envied her for having someone so wonderful in her life. I didn’t want to admit that I had missed him as badly as I did . . . I didn’t want to admit that life wasn’t the same without him and I knew life would never be the same without his presence to some capacity.
“ . . We cross, crisscross, and recross our old tracks like figure skaters.” David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas
We've done this dance - this routine before. It's not unfamiliar.
So he and I started talking. I’m not sure he and I could possibly stay away from one another even if we wanted to. Not everyone gets a second chance in life, let alone a third. I am counting this as one of the most precious blessings life has given me and I wonder how I even survived without him. Recounting the last few years, it’s obvious that he is one of the few people that understands me and one of even the lesser few that keep me grounded. Every moment without him was mostly empty and meaningless.
Mr. California was planning another visit to see me over the weekend. Last night I told him I didn’t want him to come. I should mention that I tried to back out of that, using the excuse that I’d left a voicemail and will follow up with an online message. The One was with me to give support . . . and also to make sure I handled things like a grown adult. What I really wanted to do was to throw my phone off of a bridge; or underneath a moving semi so that it was crushed into a thousand pieces. I wanted to change my number, move to a new zip code, and live my life under an assumed alias. I did what I needed to do – because I had The One’s support and he knew I had it in me.
I sometimes wonder if we truly had a choice in the matter . . . has the story already been written for us?
I recently wondered aloud to him if the time apart was necessary. From my end, it was brutal, but probably needed. We both needed to grow separately. We needed to overcome insecurities, egos, and other unnecessary traits. I can’t speak for him, but I’m certain this is it for me. There are, nor could there ever be, anyone else in my life. His voice is one of my favorite sounds. He knows me at my core and accepts it; I’ve never had to be anything other than my true self when I’m with him . . . and what exists between us is something I have yet to find words for.
That would explain why, as he said, 'We've been at this for 6 years and we're in our 30's now'. It certainly hasn't been a linear path. I'm grateful for each opportunity we had.
“Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.” - David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas
No comments:
Post a Comment