As my last blog post indicated, the list format helped me overcome some writers block that I've been encountering over the last week or so. Amazing, really---I'd come to depend on the writing to get me through whatever situation I was facing for the day, the week, and suddenly, I did a bit of dealing with it on my own; without testing out the feelings here, first, and I felt..a bit better. Not in the sense that my writing wasn't helping me; unload, renew, take another look at; but just in the sense that when I wrote it out, I would deposit it into the blog, like money at a bank, and not give it too much thought afterward, until I re-read it again, with some perspective.
And I did, I have, I continue to do. I continue to heal. Thrive? No, not in this vein right now. Date? Under no circumstances. As one very recent post dealt with, I can't even TALK about relationships without, ok, how do I say this..."going Off". That's what happened tonight, when my sister and I went to meet up with an old friend of hers for a quick drink, and conversation turned, aptly, to his relationship and how it was going (or wasn't). I was short. I was blunt. I was...in raw description mode, unwilling to indulge him in helping him feed his fantasy about how things are gonna go in this thing he's in. I didn't get upset (until I was out of his sight) but I did let him know, kindly, keeping in mind my slight bias, that what he was doing was emotionally objectionable in it's most benign form.
But, as always after a conversation/rant like this; I bring it back to me. Is this a mirroring aspect for me? Or am I being tested on my conversational skills to see how well I stack up to a man of my own generation this week, spewing off about relationships, and expecting me to swoon that he's doing the best he can and she's crazy. No dice my friend. No dice.
Back to me. I'm getting out more. I have, just this week, reached my end-August-goal of 25 kms a week, running, today, mid-August, mid-thunderstorm, every cell begging me to turn back, but I finished the run in my best 10 km time today, 48 minutes, limping the last few yards.
I'm back to some restless, night-owl tendencies that very much point back to my happy singleton self peeking back out from behind the curtain, a mischievious smile on my face.
I'm focussing on me, mine, and not that, them. They have receded alot as I sail through my summer, buttressed on all sides by people who seemed determined to engage me in events.
I've made travel plans, solo ones, and feel no trepidation as they approach. I've kicked it a few times at work, where some ideas and energy came at me from somewhere, something, I didn't know I had.
Bad days? Ha. OF COURSE. Last Monday I think I had a lying-on-the-floor moment for a minute when I was trapped in tv land watching a man describe himself, on live tv, as his middle name being "Lying and Deceiving".
But the setbacks bring me to conclusions. No, not ones carved in stone. Rather, conclusions that I arrive at when I face the peace I want to attain. A close friend was over for lunch. We have frank discussions, and it's on the table in our friendship that we are honest with each other, and feel the ability to share private thoughts with each other, no hint of judgment, despite the different lives we leave.
I'm sitting on my gray couch, N across from me, we are each having a nice glass of Saturday afternoon chardonnay, and I say to her, aloud "If I never find anyone, if I do end up by myself, I'm okay with it. I've made it there. I'm at peace with it".
She nods, sagely, says, simply "I know you are". We both nod slowly, we don't need anymore words than that.
At least I don't. The thought came at me, at that moment, across the universe, and I felt it through, beginning, middle, to end. The way I do everything, clumsily, the exact same way.
The thing was, I really meant it. It no longer matters. I've made some discoveries that maybe my emotions and psychology just don't mesh well in romantic situations. I'm not saying I failed, that I have failed, that I may continue to fail--I'm just saying that there is not one shred of me that would concede to someone because he's a man and I should go and get one. Or would give up any opinion, dream, or value of space to let them have what they feel they should get, because somehow, someway, it's still a man's world.
As my aunt says, no bother. You should be so lucky to get to forty, unmarried, (she actually used the word "unshackled") but I digress.
The title of this post is Lost and Found.
And here's what I lost--an unreliable, dishonest, free-loading boyfriend.
My last set of illusions about the world of love.
Some company, mid-level, checked-out emotionally, at the best of times.
My footing, just a bit, at the beginning when I so innocently found it all out.
Here's what I found;
That people are inspired by courage, however whispering and shivering.
I am going to be much more okay on my own.
That God did me a favour;
that they did me a favour;
That I was biding time, waiting for my ring, so I could marry a man who was already
all wrong for me.
I found, myself, my courage, my voice, my living space back, my rational mind, my cohesive self-image.
My dreams are not on hold, they are re-directed to the self of me that has experienced more personal growth in this watershed year than it has in the last five.
In the tarot cards of my head, the key word that resonates is Transformation.
It's a new life, with new rules, and tomorrow is not even on the table.
That's what you get when you are given the opportunity to live another day.
When that is given to you.
Given to you.