I met someone.
Before you starting thinking this is a sappy love story, or
worse, a crap breakup story, it is neither.
Not that I wouldn't write about either of those here (It is my blog
after all, and well, if you have ever read it you know that I write what ever I
am feeling with no apologies) but this is not that. This is about gratitude that I wasn't even expecting.
I divorced a little over five years ago. And having never actually been legally
married in the state of California to my children’s father, this was a rather
easy process. I packed up all my shit,
with the help of overly organized friends, and several pitchers of watermelon
margaritas, and just got shit done. My
whole house, with everything that I considered mine or my kids’, accumulated
and scattered, now neatly packed in boxes and ready to carry out to the truck.
That giant wall of cardboard really was the beginning a
larger internal wall I created. Not
just created, but cultivated. I would
even say proud of because all that heartache and loneliness that came with the
end of my decade long marriage was barricaded.
All that emotion could stay there, and I could just go on with my life,
empty though it was, in relative peace.
I could be strong and compotent.
I could be reliable and steady.
I could be heartless and distant, all in the name of never feeling
hurt. I had had enough hurt to last me
until the day after forever (read the other blogs, you will know this) and this
would be no different. It was familiar territory.
A few months ago, at an event I wasn't even planning to be
at, something changed. To back up a
bit, and to be fair to the other people who have wandered into my life, I HAVE
been able to “feel” something a few times, and even tentatively try to move
something forward. All with limited
success, which I take full responsibility for because I don’t think I was all
in, and my fear based attempts kept any of them (read that as men) from
actually getting to know me. My
previous models had taught me that you hide your true self, only ask questions
you already know the answers to, wait and give only what has been deemed proper
for the situation. In my case that has
ranged the gambit from going camping (I hate camping), to eating out at places
I did not enjoy, watching movies that I thought were stupid, to sex, and lots
of that, without bothering to ask for anything.
That may seem strange to those of you reading who are well
adjusted, not depressed, and functioning in the healthy world. But in my head,
how could I possibly ask for anything?
I wasn't worthy of things. I
don’t deserve them, because, well, you only get things when you are beautiful,
and strong, and loved, and as a complete failure at that, proven by the end of
my first marriage, the end of my relationship with my children’s father, and
the death of my son, I did not deserve it.
Yes, all that stuff still spins in my head. It is complex and simple at the same time. Logical and insane, both.
So back to the event.
I was there, having a great time with people I had not seen in a very
long time, and one person connects. I
was not ready for it, but I didn't fight it either. That was new. It was
easy. Granted, there was alcohol
involved, and since none of the people in the room are in my same everyday
circles, I could be whomever I wanted, and no matter what that was, didn't
matter. I could have been the ruler of
Nigeria and a Nobel Prize winner, and it would have been the same. That kind of energy is periodically
wonderful, until that one person presented as real and genuine and, without
even knowing how it happened, I was doing the same. The real me was there.
The laughter and the happiness was real. The conversation was delightful and witty and charming, and
before I knew it, the evening was over, and I was missing it already.
Missing it? Missing
what? My big old wall up around me,
sealed with a history of abuse and insecurity and pain, there to protect me
from feeling anything that could hurt, was no where to be found. It wasn't there. I was a big vulnerable dork, doomed it seemed, to figure this out
without any walls at all.
So I did. I admitted
to the man that I had been thinking about him.
I admitted I wanted to spend time with him. I asked for times just to
get to know more about him. I listened
very very carefully to everything he said.
I was paying attention, looking for all the good things, and not being
my usual doubtful fearful self. The
self that finds ALL of the reasons why something won’t work before anyone with
a sledgehammer comes anywhere near my wall.
Scared, and out of my comfort zone. There was no wall.
To his defense, he could not have possibly known any of
this. He could not possibly have known
that his presence in my world came with old, old memories of someone he and I
both love, and a story about him I (still) badly wanted to share. He could not possibly have known that when I
was asking him questions about himself and his world, I truly wanted to know, and not just as superficial
conversation. He could not possibly have known that my persistence at wanting to see him was just excitement and
happiness that for the first time in a really long time I felt safe enough to
not hide. He could not have known that I had been screaming from the other side
of the wall, and that an unexpected whisper was what made the wall
evaporate. He probably thought I was
needy and insane, when nothing is further from the truth. I was confident and happy and letting whatever I was feeling and thinking just be. It is disconcertingly calming, making being in my everyday world happier. No fear. and that should have scared me, but weirdly, didn't.
I am sure he is just a regular guy, with no extraordinary
powers or God-given insight into healing hearts. I am sure he is nursing his own wounds (I was paying attention,
remember) and just living his life. So really, this wall being gone is not
about him at all. The small cynical
side of me that says I know better than to think that connection like this happens
as a two way street, is fully aware that he was not asking questions and
listening to me the way I was to him.
The small cynical side of me knows that I was making all the effort, and
that he was just being polite to respond at all. The small cynical side of me knows that he could not possibly
have kept up with, or even understood, how I could sustain the excitement,
because this was ME, tearing down my own wall.
I let him just be a catalyst, and the small cynical side of me has no
doubt that he has no idea, (any more than the person we both love has any idea
just what kind of importance he played, decades ago) in me figuring out a
tiny portion of love for myself. If he
does read this, I hope he recognizes himself as important and loved, even if I
am not part of his world.
So yeah, I am feeling a little wounded, but mostly I feel
grateful. Yep, that’s what I said,
grateful. It means that that wall
hasn't taken over completely. That I am
not so damaged that there is not truth and possibility, and love. I am grateful that I am being kind and good
to myself, and could recognize that kindness in someone else, even
un-reciprocated. It means that I get to allow hope back into my world with out
feeling like I am going to die if the wall has any cracks. I am not saying that the wall isn't back
up. It fully is, without a doubt. I just know now that it doesn't have to
always be there, and that I am just as strong on this side.
Maybe instead of a wall next time, I will just find wings. It isn't about meeting someone after all.
