Yesterday morning, while trimming my beard, there was an incident with the scissors. The beard had gotten a little unruly, and I was trying to trim it back to something more orderly, less like an aspiring Mountain Man. The first pass went smoothly, stray whiskers were brought into the fold. The second pass went just as well, as I mimicked the motions that I've seen hair stylists make when trimming what little hair I have left up top. I should have left well enough alone, but no, I decided to go big. I moved a little closer to my chin and tried it again, and was shocked to discover on the third pass that the hair on my chin was much, much more sparsely arrayed than I had thought. That thin spot had been hiding behind the surrounding whiskers as camouflage. With a single *snick* of the scissors, I undid a years worth of growth, and kicked a hole in the thin plaster veneer that I had been erecting in the mirror.
The goatee had become a mask. Originally started to appease someone else, the more it grew in, the less I felt that I looked like the old me. The me that had wasted so many years, that had neglected so much, that had been so foolish. The childish me, and not the new man. "Fake it til you make it!" they say, and the goatee had been helping me, I thought, fake "it". Granted, it wasn't some magical, all powerful totem that symbolized my increasing good looks, but it was, I thought, a good look for me, and hid alot of things that I didn't like. It symbolized my distance from the man that I was.
The initial damage done, I had to plow ahead and finish the job. The beard went, followed by the mustache. The amount of hair in the sink was shocking. And there I was, weak chin framed by a double chin. Weak lips in a pouty mouth, too small for the wide face that it had been planted in. Hair cut too short to effectively frame my head. There was nothing there that I found pleasant to see, and I spent the rest of my day brooding on it. I skipped lunch, determined to punish myself for not having come further, for not being more. I took stock of who I was, and found so many reasons to be so disappointed in myself.
Over dinner, after a movie, I poured my insecurities out to Dawn. I spoke of my fear, that my constant fear of failing in my life would become a self fulfilling prophecy. I shared my doubts over my ability to become the man that I should be. And found, after a series of insightful questions, that I don't really even know who that man is. I can't define what it is that I hate about myself. I just know that I'm not who I should be, when compared with other people of better station at my age. I should be doing more, showing more evidence of growth, demonstrating my value. If I'm not succeeding, I'm failing. Instead of acknowledging that I could be set out on the right path, that I could be worthy of something good in my life, I raise the bar of my self expectations higher until I find a place in which I'm lacking, and then flagellate myself over it. I set myself up for failure by allowing myself no room for error, no room for growth.
All of this, triggered because I took away the mask that I had been hiding behind. Well, not really. That implies that these issues were ever far from the surface even when I had the goatee. They were always preying on my mind, but now I felt that my deficiencies were out in the open, on display for all to see. That everyone who saw me would be as disgusted with me as I have been in myself. That I would be "found out", exposed for the unworthy man that I am. We talked about all of this, over some really good food that I had initially been reluctant to order. It was, I'm sure you can imagine, a pretty emotional conversation. I felt as though I were releasing some bitter poison, lancing a boil and venting to this wonderful woman who has been so amazing to me. She then, methodically, rationally, logically dismantled my self loathing. Cut through it with insight sharp as a scalpel, dissecting the root of my fears, and showing me where the reality diverged from my expectations. With the strength of her belief in me, her unconditional love for me, she reinforced how lucky I am. She is committed to me, and to seeing me become as happy as I can be with the man that I am.
I've decided to start a program of some kind, and am looking into options, so that I can learn to begin seeing the man in me that everyone else sees. I'm still growing the goatee back, though. Now I know why it's a favorite look for chubby guys with double chins.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
One Year
Tomorrow marks a year passed since my leaving. I have known, in that year, more beauty and more sadness than I ever have before. I have seen things that I had never thought that I would see, heard things that I had never thought that I would hear, done things that I had never thought that I would do. I have lost love, found it again, lost it again, and found warmth, safety, and comfort. I have never known that I could be so happy, and never imagined that I would feel so alone again. I have been blessed with the love of a woman who has been very, very good to me. I have struggled with questions of my worth as a man, and as a father. Struggled with how to gauge the worth of my word, and the weight of what it means to make, break, and keep my promises. Struggled with the reality of the consequences of my decisions. More importantly, I have put my children through life altering changes. Changes that I hope, through the positive example of what I will become, they will learn from. A year ago, I would never have imagined myself where I am. It was all supposed to go so differently. I am an incredibly fortunate man, to have been given so much.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
What Is
It occurs to me that I've spent a good deal of energy talking about what once was, and not enough energy talking about what is. One night last week, in the wee hours of the morning, I held a wonderful woman and whispered words of love and encouragement into her hair while she wept. She wept because she fears that she will never be able to live up to the spectre of what I once had. I have written at length on the qualities in Jen that I love, on the memories that I will hold with me for the rest of my life, and the doubt, the regret that I will have over losing her again. In putting these thoughts to record, I have fleshed out just how high a pedestal I've put her on. In putting her on so high a pedestal, I've guaranteed that the shadow she casts is long. It's no wonder that someone trying to stand by me would have insecurities and fears.
The first time that I met Dawn, I told her everything about my situation. I tried, purposely, to scare her away with the enormity of my emotional burdens. She wept for me then, a stranger across the tiny table of a coffee shop in a bookstore, because I was, as she puts it, "so sad". She became my friend, my companion. Eventually, as I went for days, then weeks without hearing from Jen, she became a part of my daily life, reassuring me that regardless of how I chose to interpret the silence, I was a worthy man. A good man. She began to take note of the little things, and found joy in bringing me joy.
My family loved her from the beginning, because she was so obviously taken with me, and so incredibly good to me. She engages everyone in my family on a very personal level, and has no fear of speaking her mind, no aversion to disagreement. She thinks of them in the littlest ways, just like she does me, and has adopted them as her own because they are mine. "They're important to you" she says "and so they're important to me, too." She makes no effort to hide her love for me from them, or anyone else. I am important to her, and everyone in my life that she interacts with can tell.
We took a good bit of time debating whether and when to introduce her to my kids. She read books on the subject, looked for guidance, and when she decided to meet them, she was as nervous as I've ever seen her. They took to her right away. Cailee, my sweet little Cailee, with so many quirks and funny little rules about physical interaction, asked her for a hug on the first night that they met. It moved her. She understood and communicated with the kids on a level that they couldn't resist. She worries about them, asks about them, helps to provide for them, plays on the floor with them, talks to them like real people, and loves them. She puts them first, which is something that noone else in my life has done before.
She keeps me honest, reinforcing the man in me who wants to do the right thing. She lends me the benefit of her wisdom, her life experience, her generosity, her nurturing nature, and her desire to see us both become the best human beings that we can be. She loves me unconditionally, corrects me with humility, disagrees with me when necessary, and puts herself at my side, to support me, to encourage me, to help me, and to enlighten me. She understands and respects my need for honest, direct communication. She makes sure that I know that I am not alone, that she wants to help me. Her strength, her courage, her joy and her love for me radiate from her like the light of the sun when she is with me, and if any light could have the strength to banish the shadow of what I have put between us, it would be hers.
This is what I have. This is what reminds me on a daily basis of just how incredibly fortunate I am. This love, blossoming from the roots of friendship, has come to sustain me, and to nourish my soul. While letting go of the past has been, and always will be hard, Dawn has committed herself to a life with me. I will do all that I can to keep her from regretting that decision, and to give back as much good to her life as she has to mine. In that spirit, and to ease what insecurity I have it in my power to, I will put no more words to page about what once was. I will give over my energy to nourishing and extolling the depth and beauty of what I am incredibly fortunate enough to have in my life right now. The love and respect of an amazing woman.
The first time that I met Dawn, I told her everything about my situation. I tried, purposely, to scare her away with the enormity of my emotional burdens. She wept for me then, a stranger across the tiny table of a coffee shop in a bookstore, because I was, as she puts it, "so sad". She became my friend, my companion. Eventually, as I went for days, then weeks without hearing from Jen, she became a part of my daily life, reassuring me that regardless of how I chose to interpret the silence, I was a worthy man. A good man. She began to take note of the little things, and found joy in bringing me joy.
My family loved her from the beginning, because she was so obviously taken with me, and so incredibly good to me. She engages everyone in my family on a very personal level, and has no fear of speaking her mind, no aversion to disagreement. She thinks of them in the littlest ways, just like she does me, and has adopted them as her own because they are mine. "They're important to you" she says "and so they're important to me, too." She makes no effort to hide her love for me from them, or anyone else. I am important to her, and everyone in my life that she interacts with can tell.
We took a good bit of time debating whether and when to introduce her to my kids. She read books on the subject, looked for guidance, and when she decided to meet them, she was as nervous as I've ever seen her. They took to her right away. Cailee, my sweet little Cailee, with so many quirks and funny little rules about physical interaction, asked her for a hug on the first night that they met. It moved her. She understood and communicated with the kids on a level that they couldn't resist. She worries about them, asks about them, helps to provide for them, plays on the floor with them, talks to them like real people, and loves them. She puts them first, which is something that noone else in my life has done before.
She keeps me honest, reinforcing the man in me who wants to do the right thing. She lends me the benefit of her wisdom, her life experience, her generosity, her nurturing nature, and her desire to see us both become the best human beings that we can be. She loves me unconditionally, corrects me with humility, disagrees with me when necessary, and puts herself at my side, to support me, to encourage me, to help me, and to enlighten me. She understands and respects my need for honest, direct communication. She makes sure that I know that I am not alone, that she wants to help me. Her strength, her courage, her joy and her love for me radiate from her like the light of the sun when she is with me, and if any light could have the strength to banish the shadow of what I have put between us, it would be hers.
This is what I have. This is what reminds me on a daily basis of just how incredibly fortunate I am. This love, blossoming from the roots of friendship, has come to sustain me, and to nourish my soul. While letting go of the past has been, and always will be hard, Dawn has committed herself to a life with me. I will do all that I can to keep her from regretting that decision, and to give back as much good to her life as she has to mine. In that spirit, and to ease what insecurity I have it in my power to, I will put no more words to page about what once was. I will give over my energy to nourishing and extolling the depth and beauty of what I am incredibly fortunate enough to have in my life right now. The love and respect of an amazing woman.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Time keeps on slippin....
The last year has seen more change than any other in my life. I ended a toxic relationship that produced my wonderful children. I had no more trust left in me, and she had no real desire to become someone that I could trust. Our partnership was broken, I couldn't fix it on my own, and she saw nothing in it that was in need of fixing. The decision itself was easy to make. It had made itself long ago, I think, and another lie to break the camels back set it in motion. The aftermath was hard, and still is to some degree. I worry a great deal about what kind of effect that decision will have on my children, but my train of thought in that regard leads me to believe that a happier, healthier Dad will help them learn to make difficult choices and take ownership of their own happiness. It's what I hope for, at least.
I reconnected with the first woman that I genuinely believed that I was going to marry, only to see her fade out of my life once again. The euphoria of what a life started over could be was dashed against reality. I became another demand, instead of a release, and when something had to give, I felt the foundation that I had built with every one of our shared promises fall away beneath me. I had given my happiness over into the hands of someone who wasn't ready or able to take on the mantle of that responsibility, and learned the hard way that while we may mean every promise that we make, keeping them may not always be possible.
We shared the most beautiful day of my life, and at the end, I hadn't heard from her in weeks, although she was keeping up her "Facebook face". The last time that I heard from her, she wished me well in my new found love, and said that she would leave me alone. I'm not sure if she understood that she had already left me alone. I learned then, the hard way, that we all ride currents on the river of life, and that we have no guarantee that those currents will keep us close to those that we love. I hope that she finds peace. I hope that someday she finds the love that she deserves, when she finds herself ready. A part of me will always wish that it could have been me.
While I waited through those weeks of silence, shifting between a stoic acceptance of the situation and a pathetic need for attention, a friend stood by my side and waited. Waited for me to come around, to realize that every quality that I was waiting for was already beside me. Waited for me to realize that I couldn't make someone choose me, that I was worthy of being chosen, that I had already been chosen. Waited for me to open my eyes and see that a good woman was devoting her time to watching me agonize over someone who would spare no time, and yet for whom I was willing to give everything. She waited patiently, until I finally let go of the hopeless situation that I was putting myself in, and devoted my energy to building a new life.
While I've known for some time now that I'm a lucky man, I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm a worthy man. Worthy of my own respect, at the very least. This is the year that I begin to claim what I'm worth, the year that I stop wallowing and start moving, the year that I begin to make this new life into what it should be, and stop waiting for it to become what I hope it could be. This is the year, my friends, that I begin to live, to love, to laugh, to breathe, to focus, and to center myself in gratitude for what I have, hunger for what I want, and to test myself in order to maintain the former and move forward toward the latter. I will be no less than who I am, and do all that I can to give those who love me every reason to be proud, without reason to be disappointed or ashamed.
This is my year.
I reconnected with the first woman that I genuinely believed that I was going to marry, only to see her fade out of my life once again. The euphoria of what a life started over could be was dashed against reality. I became another demand, instead of a release, and when something had to give, I felt the foundation that I had built with every one of our shared promises fall away beneath me. I had given my happiness over into the hands of someone who wasn't ready or able to take on the mantle of that responsibility, and learned the hard way that while we may mean every promise that we make, keeping them may not always be possible.
We shared the most beautiful day of my life, and at the end, I hadn't heard from her in weeks, although she was keeping up her "Facebook face". The last time that I heard from her, she wished me well in my new found love, and said that she would leave me alone. I'm not sure if she understood that she had already left me alone. I learned then, the hard way, that we all ride currents on the river of life, and that we have no guarantee that those currents will keep us close to those that we love. I hope that she finds peace. I hope that someday she finds the love that she deserves, when she finds herself ready. A part of me will always wish that it could have been me.
While I waited through those weeks of silence, shifting between a stoic acceptance of the situation and a pathetic need for attention, a friend stood by my side and waited. Waited for me to come around, to realize that every quality that I was waiting for was already beside me. Waited for me to realize that I couldn't make someone choose me, that I was worthy of being chosen, that I had already been chosen. Waited for me to open my eyes and see that a good woman was devoting her time to watching me agonize over someone who would spare no time, and yet for whom I was willing to give everything. She waited patiently, until I finally let go of the hopeless situation that I was putting myself in, and devoted my energy to building a new life.
While I've known for some time now that I'm a lucky man, I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm a worthy man. Worthy of my own respect, at the very least. This is the year that I begin to claim what I'm worth, the year that I stop wallowing and start moving, the year that I begin to make this new life into what it should be, and stop waiting for it to become what I hope it could be. This is the year, my friends, that I begin to live, to love, to laugh, to breathe, to focus, and to center myself in gratitude for what I have, hunger for what I want, and to test myself in order to maintain the former and move forward toward the latter. I will be no less than who I am, and do all that I can to give those who love me every reason to be proud, without reason to be disappointed or ashamed.
This is my year.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Weariness, closure, and renewal
We spoke again, after the goodbye exchange. She doesn't have the energy to put into returning the love that I have for her. She needs to find her own path, her own joy, for her. She will always love the fact that I will always love her, that I will always be here for her. I helped her to see that she wasn't the cause of the unhappiness in her life, that she is worthy of being loved. It felt alot like the first time that we went through this. And, while I can't say that it made it easier, I felt as though I attained closure. She will never belong to me. The time that we had together was borrowed, and never guaranteed. I can look these facts in the face, and accept them.
I know now, that it wasn't me. There was nothing more that I could have done, nothing that I could have done differently. Thinking of her smile, remembering her voice, while they still hurt, hurt less. The promises, the commitments that both of us made are still bouncing around in my head, and those hurt significantly more. I don't understand it at all, but I've started taking the memories and putting them away, like keepsakes in a box. Through her, I experienced some of the happiest moments of my life, and I will always appreciate that. I found the good man in myself, in part because of her.
For over a month now, I have been growing close to and confiding in a very sweet, very kind, very understanding woman. My family loves her. She takes me to places in the city that I would never have thought of going to on my own, introduces me to culinary experiences that I wouldn't have tried, exposes me to hobbies that I wouldn't have given much thought to in the past. We don't read the same books. We don't listen to the same music (although I've been introducing her to genres that she's never experienced). We don't have a track record of enjoying the same movies (although she's been remarkably patient with my attempts to transform her into a sci-fi geek). We don't have what I would call a traditional "spark".
But she's patient. She's kind. She's sat and listened to me pour out my soul about another woman. She's listened to me profess undying love, devotion, and commitment to someone who has, for all that I know, walked out of my life forever, and she hasn't given up on me. She makes me acknowledge my successes, talks me out of beating myself up over my failures, and puts time and energy into me. She's available to me, knows that she wants to be by my side, and puts herself there. She really has been amazing to me. I don't know what my path forward holds, but I know that she's traveling it with me.
But how, you might ask, can you go from declaring undying love and devotion to someone in one part of your narrative, and then speak of being with someone else in just a few short paragraphs? How can you speak of love as an absolute in the past, assuring us that you don't cut and run, and then just a few weeks later introduce us to a new player in your life as though it were trivial?
Because it's not trivial. Because it took me weeks to acknowledge to myself that it was the right thing to do. Because I gave Jen space, and time, and love, all of me, and she closed the door to her life in my face. Because I deserve to be happy, and because I deserve to know where the person that I love wants to be in my life, where they want me to be in their lives. Because she had no energy left to spare for me, for my happiness, and that's okay. She has to make the choices necessary to make herself happy, and somewhere, somehow, I became a part of the problem, and no longer a part of the solution.
And because I'm not speaking words of love to anyone else right now. And may never, if it means going through this kind of thing again. Right now, I'm spending time with someone who wants to see me happy, and who is willing to put time and energy into bringing me back to that place. I've found in the last week, while beginning the process of letting go, that loving someone with that amount of energy, when it isn't returned with the same amount of energy, is exhausting. I don't know if I can bring myself to ever commit like that again. I don't believe that I will ever find love like that again, and I'm coming to terms with that. Maybe we aren't meant to. Maybe loving like that isn't healthy. Maybe all of my expectations, all of my hopes were unrealistic. Maybe giddy, irrational happiness like that is destined by nature to be short lived. I don't know. I just know that I'm tired, and for the first time in a long time, I have a shoulder to rest my head upon. That might be silly, but it's all that I've wanted for months. I'm finding peace. Finding rest. Finding closure.
I know now, that it wasn't me. There was nothing more that I could have done, nothing that I could have done differently. Thinking of her smile, remembering her voice, while they still hurt, hurt less. The promises, the commitments that both of us made are still bouncing around in my head, and those hurt significantly more. I don't understand it at all, but I've started taking the memories and putting them away, like keepsakes in a box. Through her, I experienced some of the happiest moments of my life, and I will always appreciate that. I found the good man in myself, in part because of her.
For over a month now, I have been growing close to and confiding in a very sweet, very kind, very understanding woman. My family loves her. She takes me to places in the city that I would never have thought of going to on my own, introduces me to culinary experiences that I wouldn't have tried, exposes me to hobbies that I wouldn't have given much thought to in the past. We don't read the same books. We don't listen to the same music (although I've been introducing her to genres that she's never experienced). We don't have a track record of enjoying the same movies (although she's been remarkably patient with my attempts to transform her into a sci-fi geek). We don't have what I would call a traditional "spark".
But she's patient. She's kind. She's sat and listened to me pour out my soul about another woman. She's listened to me profess undying love, devotion, and commitment to someone who has, for all that I know, walked out of my life forever, and she hasn't given up on me. She makes me acknowledge my successes, talks me out of beating myself up over my failures, and puts time and energy into me. She's available to me, knows that she wants to be by my side, and puts herself there. She really has been amazing to me. I don't know what my path forward holds, but I know that she's traveling it with me.
But how, you might ask, can you go from declaring undying love and devotion to someone in one part of your narrative, and then speak of being with someone else in just a few short paragraphs? How can you speak of love as an absolute in the past, assuring us that you don't cut and run, and then just a few weeks later introduce us to a new player in your life as though it were trivial?
Because it's not trivial. Because it took me weeks to acknowledge to myself that it was the right thing to do. Because I gave Jen space, and time, and love, all of me, and she closed the door to her life in my face. Because I deserve to be happy, and because I deserve to know where the person that I love wants to be in my life, where they want me to be in their lives. Because she had no energy left to spare for me, for my happiness, and that's okay. She has to make the choices necessary to make herself happy, and somewhere, somehow, I became a part of the problem, and no longer a part of the solution.
And because I'm not speaking words of love to anyone else right now. And may never, if it means going through this kind of thing again. Right now, I'm spending time with someone who wants to see me happy, and who is willing to put time and energy into bringing me back to that place. I've found in the last week, while beginning the process of letting go, that loving someone with that amount of energy, when it isn't returned with the same amount of energy, is exhausting. I don't know if I can bring myself to ever commit like that again. I don't believe that I will ever find love like that again, and I'm coming to terms with that. Maybe we aren't meant to. Maybe loving like that isn't healthy. Maybe all of my expectations, all of my hopes were unrealistic. Maybe giddy, irrational happiness like that is destined by nature to be short lived. I don't know. I just know that I'm tired, and for the first time in a long time, I have a shoulder to rest my head upon. That might be silly, but it's all that I've wanted for months. I'm finding peace. Finding rest. Finding closure.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Goodbyes
I let go today. I said goodbye. By necessity it was via email. She hasn't had the time to talk to me on the phone in quite a while. I tried to call, but it went to voicemail, as I had expected it to. I had prepared myself for it to be hard, and it was harder than I had imagined that it would be. Love is patient, and I will love her for the rest of my life. I can't, however, keep living a life in which I allow myself to be relegated to the lowest priority in her life. I can't keep living a life in which I have to beg for the least amounts of attention. I won't pretend to be a healthy, whole individual, but even I finally came to the conclusion that it was unhealthy.
I will most likely never hear from her again. I'm not okay with that yet, but she seems to be, I can't tell. She's psyched about the possibility of the Rangers making it to the World Series, according to her last Facebook status. I deactivated my Facebook. I honestly have no desire to be around people for quite some time, and I don't have the ability to maintain what she calls a "Facebook Face".
It will also most likely be some time before I update this record. While I recognize that I truly am a lucky man, I have to take some time to internalize this, and move through it. I had never expected to lose her again. I had never expected, from the conversations that we had, the moments that we shared, that she would walk away. I had believed that we completed each other, and committed myself fully to the promise of a life with her. It was supposed to work this time. I don't understand what I could have done differently.
I will most likely never hear from her again. I'm not okay with that yet, but she seems to be, I can't tell. She's psyched about the possibility of the Rangers making it to the World Series, according to her last Facebook status. I deactivated my Facebook. I honestly have no desire to be around people for quite some time, and I don't have the ability to maintain what she calls a "Facebook Face".
It will also most likely be some time before I update this record. While I recognize that I truly am a lucky man, I have to take some time to internalize this, and move through it. I had never expected to lose her again. I had never expected, from the conversations that we had, the moments that we shared, that she would walk away. I had believed that we completed each other, and committed myself fully to the promise of a life with her. It was supposed to work this time. I don't understand what I could have done differently.
Monday, October 18, 2010
If you love something
In keeping with my recent tendency to examine trite phrases that seem to end up in motivational conversations, I've spent some time thinking about another classic.
If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it was yours. If it doesn't, it never was.
(Okay, so I paraphrased. And inserted things like commas and periods. Google that phrase, and you'll find that it just can't seem to help but come across like it was written by a semi-literate teenage girl.)
Setting something that you love free is incredibly hard. It means letting go. It means understanding that they have their own life to live. Their own choices to make. Their own path to take. Their own challenges. You may be asking too much of them. They may love you, but they just can't be what you want or need them to be. Whatever the case may be, you accept that it's outside of your power to do anything more to change it. In fact, by trying too hard to keep that love in your life, you could suffocate it. In the immortal words of .38 Special, "if you cling too tightly, you're gonna lose control".
If it comes back to you, it doesn't necessarily mean that it was always yours, or that it will stay in your life from that point on. My joy came back to me after 16 years of darkness and loneliness for both of us. And now it's gone. I've found the hard way that things don't happen according to our wishes in life based on the desire that we throw at them. If this were true, we all would have gotten the puppy we wanted for Christmas when we were kids. I've also learned that life isn't anything remotely like a romantic comedy, or a sitcom from the 80's. Telling someone that if they really, really loved you, that they would find a way to be with you doesn't result in a montage of two people crying alone and then inevitably finding their way to each other at the hour of their greatest need. It breaks things.
I am in love, for better or worse, and will be for the rest of my life. At this point, I don't know if I will ever have her in my life again, but I have to let it go. If this love was meant to be, it will. If not, I'm left with memories of the happiest moments in my life, outside of the birth of my children. I was lucky enough to have reached out to the most wonderful woman that I have ever known, to have given her all of the man that I am, and to have been the recipient of her love, for however brief a time. How many people can claim to have been so fortunate? If I should never hear from her again, I was still lucky enough to have had her in my life. Even in this, of all things, I find that I am an incredibly lucky man.
If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it was yours. If it doesn't, it never was.
(Okay, so I paraphrased. And inserted things like commas and periods. Google that phrase, and you'll find that it just can't seem to help but come across like it was written by a semi-literate teenage girl.)
Setting something that you love free is incredibly hard. It means letting go. It means understanding that they have their own life to live. Their own choices to make. Their own path to take. Their own challenges. You may be asking too much of them. They may love you, but they just can't be what you want or need them to be. Whatever the case may be, you accept that it's outside of your power to do anything more to change it. In fact, by trying too hard to keep that love in your life, you could suffocate it. In the immortal words of .38 Special, "if you cling too tightly, you're gonna lose control".
If it comes back to you, it doesn't necessarily mean that it was always yours, or that it will stay in your life from that point on. My joy came back to me after 16 years of darkness and loneliness for both of us. And now it's gone. I've found the hard way that things don't happen according to our wishes in life based on the desire that we throw at them. If this were true, we all would have gotten the puppy we wanted for Christmas when we were kids. I've also learned that life isn't anything remotely like a romantic comedy, or a sitcom from the 80's. Telling someone that if they really, really loved you, that they would find a way to be with you doesn't result in a montage of two people crying alone and then inevitably finding their way to each other at the hour of their greatest need. It breaks things.
I am in love, for better or worse, and will be for the rest of my life. At this point, I don't know if I will ever have her in my life again, but I have to let it go. If this love was meant to be, it will. If not, I'm left with memories of the happiest moments in my life, outside of the birth of my children. I was lucky enough to have reached out to the most wonderful woman that I have ever known, to have given her all of the man that I am, and to have been the recipient of her love, for however brief a time. How many people can claim to have been so fortunate? If I should never hear from her again, I was still lucky enough to have had her in my life. Even in this, of all things, I find that I am an incredibly lucky man.
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