Exposed Humanity
"The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that that situation is over, you cannot move forward." -Steve Maraboli
There were a few months that were really bad. I remember walking the short 3 block stretch from the bus to my front doorstep and it wasn't necessarily a bad day, and nothing necessarily had gone wrong, but I wanted to just stop. in. the. middle. of. the. sidewalk. The surrendering overwhelming feeling coupled with an inability to go on welled up inside and it was all I could do to swallow. That sorrow is quieter now, but I'm still finding it hard to let go. The thing is, is that if forgiving is moving forward, I'm learning that I am not good at it. I knew when I was in the middle of ending it, that it felt beyond repair. However, knowing that then, and remembering this now, are two different things. Forgiving in all nuances of the word, for myself, for the situation, for time, is actually really hard to do.
There's a girl in New York* who wrote about heartache. "The best and worst and truest and saddest thing that no one ever really talks about--there's always someone else. There will always be someone else--even if the best love we've ever known somehow, in some way--inexplicably falls apart."
"The best and worst and truest and saddest." Dispute almost occurred between a friend and I as we discussed the optimism in knowing that there is always someone else and the cheapness of the reality of a replacement. She said, "Because if the love you have works out, if it stays love, you'll never know about that someone else..." There is a forgotten part of me that believed in knowing there is someone else. There is also a realistic part of me that knows "if it stays love" is a story we tell ourselves. I think that LOVE, in the commitment\relationship\marriage sense of the word, takes consistent care and practice and basically, for it to exist, it takes what we are willing to give; We don't like to talk about it that way because it sounds less romantic. (Even Ben Affleck got in trouble for admitting this at the Oscars.) The kind of LOVE that is truly meaningful is a choice coupled with action. It is this way because there will always be someone else. Let love fade, someone else will slip in, look better, seem easier to be with and seem more appealing. It scares me almost more than anything has ever scared me that this is reality. To admit that love can be broken hurts terribly and this simple acknowledgement brings back the unfairness and complexity of things that shouldn't be true but are. I never wanted to be the kind of woman who can fall in (and subsequently) out of love. I don't want to admit that this is an action I may be capable of. But that is the terrifying, calming, suffocating and freeing truth.
That same New Yorker* goes on to say: "I don't know how to get over heartache other than to really feel it--and let it run its course. We don't get to hurry it along. But getting over it. Or not. Well, that's not the point. Continuing on, that is the point."
This is where I am. I tried to hurry it along, and I failed. I keep trying to do so, and I keep failing. There is part of me that knows that all will get better as I and time continue on, however knowing this and living this are different. It's important to remember that there is no there. There is already enough to do with keeping up with my resolutions and meditating on truth. Reminders of beauty and potential are also helpful. There is so much to be happy about and thankful for. Yet patience is a thing I lack. I wanted to write this because I have a tendency to diminish how I feel, but in keeping with the things I am trying hard to remember - I won't apologize for this one. This is my humanity and it doesn't help to wish it away. (Even though sometimes it would be nice to do so.)
Despite all my efforts to become and change and grow, I remain inherently me and really, that isn't such a terrible thing. Besides, if life has taught me one thing repetitively, it is that with every profoundly meaningful experience, I have changed, and I have learned, and I have probably (this may not be safe to say) even improved. So, even though it may not feel like it all the time, "it's going to be ok." I promise.
There's a girl in New York* who wrote about heartache. "The best and worst and truest and saddest thing that no one ever really talks about--there's always someone else. There will always be someone else--even if the best love we've ever known somehow, in some way--inexplicably falls apart."
"The best and worst and truest and saddest." Dispute almost occurred between a friend and I as we discussed the optimism in knowing that there is always someone else and the cheapness of the reality of a replacement. She said, "Because if the love you have works out, if it stays love, you'll never know about that someone else..." There is a forgotten part of me that believed in knowing there is someone else. There is also a realistic part of me that knows "if it stays love" is a story we tell ourselves. I think that LOVE, in the commitment\relationship\marriage sense of the word, takes consistent care and practice and basically, for it to exist, it takes what we are willing to give; We don't like to talk about it that way because it sounds less romantic. (Even Ben Affleck got in trouble for admitting this at the Oscars.) The kind of LOVE that is truly meaningful is a choice coupled with action. It is this way because there will always be someone else. Let love fade, someone else will slip in, look better, seem easier to be with and seem more appealing. It scares me almost more than anything has ever scared me that this is reality. To admit that love can be broken hurts terribly and this simple acknowledgement brings back the unfairness and complexity of things that shouldn't be true but are. I never wanted to be the kind of woman who can fall in (and subsequently) out of love. I don't want to admit that this is an action I may be capable of. But that is the terrifying, calming, suffocating and freeing truth.
That same New Yorker* goes on to say: "I don't know how to get over heartache other than to really feel it--and let it run its course. We don't get to hurry it along. But getting over it. Or not. Well, that's not the point. Continuing on, that is the point."
This is where I am. I tried to hurry it along, and I failed. I keep trying to do so, and I keep failing. There is part of me that knows that all will get better as I and time continue on, however knowing this and living this are different. It's important to remember that there is no there. There is already enough to do with keeping up with my resolutions and meditating on truth. Reminders of beauty and potential are also helpful. There is so much to be happy about and thankful for. Yet patience is a thing I lack. I wanted to write this because I have a tendency to diminish how I feel, but in keeping with the things I am trying hard to remember - I won't apologize for this one. This is my humanity and it doesn't help to wish it away. (Even though sometimes it would be nice to do so.)
Despite all my efforts to become and change and grow, I remain inherently me and really, that isn't such a terrible thing. Besides, if life has taught me one thing repetitively, it is that with every profoundly meaningful experience, I have changed, and I have learned, and I have probably (this may not be safe to say) even improved. So, even though it may not feel like it all the time, "it's going to be ok." I promise.
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