When I was in high school, I had a teacher that would talk to us about personal matters. Among them was the idea of love and how he was struggling with whether, or not, to propose to his girlfriend. I remember him talking about how he didn’t believe that there was one person for each of us. This was an idea that rocked my world as a young, naïve, tender youth. I felt offended for his girlfriend. ‘How could he even be thinking about asking her to marry him if he doesn’t even think of her as the one,’ I thought to myself. Now that I have many more years of life experience, I totally understand him.
Today’s youth would more likely be confused by my adolescent belief that there was “the one” than they would his idea that there are many people with whom he could be happy. For today’s youth, the concept of love and relationships is much more open than it was when I was young. Polyamorousim is accepted as an option, along with many other ways of living that were simply not accepted when I was young. I am very glad for this shift as I have never understood why it matters to anyone who someone else loves, or how anyone else wishes to love or live.
Is it possible to love more than one person at a time? I believe it is.
Is it true that there is one special person for each of us? I don’t think so.
What happens when other people influence major decisions, drastically changing the course of our lives?
Back in the day, when my love for the Christian God…or, perhaps it’s better that I say, when my love for my idea of the Christian God determined every move I made, word I spoke, and step I took, the direction of my life was decided by the belief that I needed to do as He willed and wanted.
This made me extremely susceptible to influence from others; mortals, who had no further insight into me, to “God,” or to what should have been than I did. In truth, if I had been more independent and less brainwashed, it would be fair to say that they had less insight into myself and my life than I did. Unfortunately, this is not how I viewed things then. I believed that they had greater insight, and I was silly, sinful even, to not listen to them and follow their leadership.
This led me to some wonderful places, to be true, but it also led me to even more harmful places that I never should have been. I have worked hard through the years to restore what they broke; to find beauty in the ugliness and hope in the despair that they wrought on my life.
One of these huge moments had me packing up my life and moving across the country, and then an entire ocean, to a completely different hemisphere, to follow what I was told was God’s plan for my life. But it was not an easy thing to do. In fact, I was terrified and sickened by the idea the entire time. I remember speaking to my friends, pleading with them to convince me to stay; to tell me it was the wrong thing to do. To save me.
No one did.
They all just…let me go.
I left terrified, heartbroken, scared, and unsure of everything; especially myself.
I remember when my best friend brought me to the airport I sobbed; I sobbed and begged to stay. It was beyond her.
That day when we were scrap booking together, were you spending time with me because you just wanted to be with me, to spend time with me?
When we listened to Ryan Adams sing “Come Pick Me Up,” were you trying to send me a message?
Do you realize that it is me that you wrote that song about? I was the one who told you that the stars don’t shine in the city. You were walking me home after we watched “A Beautiful Mind” together. I was missing my country home, where the stars were endless and felt as though you could reach-out and touch.
And that time in the magical snowfall; I was sure there was an intensity of feeling that wanted me to stay, wishing that we were alone together.
Am I making all of this up? I was so unsure of myself back then, I barely knew how to think for myself. I did know, however, that I disagreed with many of the decisions that were being made at the expense of people’s lives. Decisions that hurt and wounded people. I did speak up when I really believed differently than what was being done, but each time I was dismissed, implanting further the idea that I couldn’t trust myself.
I remember you saying once that this leader “wasn’t always right” and “didn’t know everything.” I shrugged it off and figured you were just having a moment.
I always say that I have no regrets in life but, sometimes I do wish that I could go back and live those days knowing then what I know now – about myself. I wish I could do it again as the self-assured, self-aware person that I am now. I wonder how different life would be.
But we can’t go back. We can’t do it again, no matter how much we might wish to be able to do so. Maybe that is for the best.
Despite this, I want you to know that I loved you, I love you still, and I will probably always love you. Maybe you loved me too. Maybe I’ll never know, and that’s okay.
Ghosts of who we are, who we were, and who we should have been haunt me every day.
Intimate moments shared with people who longed for me, and people for whom I longed, replay in my mind throughout the day.
What seems like several lifetimes of moments, memories, adventures, and experiences that refuse to rest. Speaking to me, warning me, encouraging me, and crying out to be released.
Relationships that could have been more – should have been more; requited and unrequited; passion and longing; connection and meaning; dark desire and innocent touch.
Crisp walks in the nighttime snow; breath upon breath and hearts beating wildly. Wanting to be safe and keep distant, longing to embrace and to be free to love one another.
Forehead kisses filled with lust. Hot breath, soft lips, and strong hands. Holding my head as if holding the world. Moments wherein dreams of another reality drift down like dew on our hearts.
Muscular forearms, promising protection and power. To be safe; loved; adored; coveted and claimed.
Another woman’s belongings. These are things that should not be in your life. Everything is out of place. Where is the lingerie and lace? The enthusiasm and excitement? I can see our things together – sharing space – a beautiful mess. It just feels right.
You have always been the one.
This is how it should have been.
We should have been together.
Years have been lost. Years of passion. Years of excitement. Years of bodies tangled and twisted in bliss – a level of completion that only we can accomplish. Together. As it was always meant to be.
My wish for you is that as you enter the next world, it is I who will be there with you – breathing warmly over you; kissing your lips tenderly; digging my fingers into your back; pulling you down. Closer. Deeper. Harder. Stronger. Louder. Forever. Ecstasy. Tenderness.
Forever together. Forever apart.
Let me in and lie with me awhile. We are together now. We can be free. Nothing need hold us back. Nothing can stand in our way. We are together. We are one.
We will enter eternity together – our energies forever fused, inseparable, entwined, twisted, coiled, and warped. For better or worse, you have changed my life just as I have changed yours.
I am glad I was able to contribute to some degree in your growth . . . although I must apologize for failing badly in other ways.
With an abuser – when he died it brought everything right back up like it had happened yesterday.
I had to go through it all again – processing every bit that had happened – while mourning the loss of life, I was now also mourning the loss of a part of my life – my story.
“River Street” – has died. I mourn for it, for the loss of a significant part of my life, while also processing all that it meant to me, good & bad.
I need to put those things in their rightful places, say my final goodbyes and move on.
Mourning.
Anger.
Angry for what he had done to me. Now he was gone and was free of it, but I still had to live with it.
“Act like” it never happened – but, it did, and it was wrong, and while you are “free” of it, I have had to suffer for years. Now you are becoming dead to me, I need you to die/to be dead to me, I am angry because you take a piece of my story with you- an ugly piece that is your fault and you should have no right to take with you and act like it’s all okay, and move on – you should suffer too.
But, you can’t now/you won’t.
That’s not fair.
Look at what you’ve done to me. How can you get away with this? This is why I resent your sick, smiling, successful faces. You make me want to puke.
But, I miss you.
I wish I still had the intimacy I had with you – the excitement – the heart racing, swooning feelings – the sense of importance – the sense of doing something, being someone, that matters – making a difference. The heat of the moment – the fire/heat of life/living.
I frequently have dreams that place me in various times and places of my “previous lives” with people I haven’t seen for years.
There was, what is now, a short period of my life that has had an enormous impact on me. By the amount of emotional and mental baggage it has left, you would think it spanned more than 15 years, when, in reality, it was around 5.
Spanning the years between (roughly) 2001-2007, I lived an incredibly exhilarating and intense life that left me feeling burnt-out, beat-down, and deflated. Though, not right away. Some of this settled-in over the years as I reflected on the life that I have lived, the experiences I had, and how horribly underprepared and unqualified I was for so many moments I found myself living.
I’m going to attempt to unravel this time of my life that has kept me tied in knots for over 15 years now.
This is me just putting it out there and starting the process for myself.
Sometimes I get lost in nostalgia. Today is one of those days.
I lived in Toronto for 11 years in two different time periods. There was pre-New Zealand and post-New Zealand and the experiences are vastly different from one another.
This morning I find myself in deep reflection, once again, on my time there pre-New Zealand. This was an intense time full of deep relationships, friendships, emotions, highs, lows, struggles and heart aches.
During this time I led a reflection activity for a group of young people using Billy Joel’s song “This is the Time,” encouraging them to make the most of their young days because they would not last forever. I didn’t realize how true these lyrics would become for me. I truly thought that this was a time that would last forever; at least for me.
As I sit here writing this, listening to these lyrics again, I am almost surprised by how much things have changed. I was certain that my life was going to continue-on in the same manner, that I would be surrounded by the same people, doing the same things, for the rest of my days.
But, everything has changed.
There are beliefs, lifestyles, locations and people long-gone that I thought I would never leave, or leave behind.
Despite the fact that I was encouraging a group of young people to be mindful of their current situation, that it would not last forever, I did not seem to grasp this reality for myself.
There is one truth I know in life – things will change. I miss my friends, I miss the city and sometimes I even miss some of the experiences. I never thought I would be sitting here, miles away, having not spoken to most of these friends for many years, worlds apart from one another, living completely different lives.
In-between us now sits the large ocean called “Life,” and it seems impossible to cross.
She knelt down at the bench that was drenched with the tears and prayers of all those who had come before her. This was a seat that was not meant for resting, but for wrestling. Sinners came to this bench to confess, to plead, to repent and to rise in salvation.
The black shoes she had been wearing restricted her from attaching herself to the bench in the manner she thought necessary to get close to God, and as she twisted-around to remove them, her black uniform skirt got caught on the sleeve of her tunic, revealing more of her regulation nightshade pantyhose than modesty would approve.
She did not know that he was watching her.
He was always watching.
She went about her business, preaching and teaching the word of God, leading the people in praise and worship of the creator she loved so very much. She was just doing what she had been called to do, the best way she could.
In her twenty-one years of life she believed she had a firm grasp on the world, and was wise and mature to its ways.
When he came to her and confessed his love, she found herself spinning and dizzy, unable to find her bearings and questioning what she had believed to be the safest place.
“My wife knows about you,” he confessed. She felt sick to her stomach and wanted to turn from him and run. Unable to speak, he continued, “I’ve been talking to my therapist about you.”
Was she, honestly, hearing him correctly? It seemed as though she had been thrust into another world, like a twisted version of what one might find beyond the wardrobe.
How could she have let this happen? What had she done to lead him on?
She stared back at him, in shock and disbelief and noticed for the first time how many wrinkles his face held and the glisten of his silvery white hair.
He was in his 50’s and had kind, but lost, eyes. She had always appreciated his gentleness, but now she felt like he was a predator. He was no longer a sheep, but a wolf in sheeps clothing.
“I love you,” he made his confession plainly.
She tugged at her white blouse nervously, suddenly feeling naked and exposed. In her mind she was pleading with him to stop looking at her. She felt undressed by his stare.
“What am I going to do?” he asked.
She said nothing. Frozen to the ground, unable to move, the world rang in her ears and she remembered what it felt like to want to disappear.
It is so strange to be back here. Back where it all began for me. This little town that formed so much of who I am, good and bad. Where I experienced so much joy, sadness, fear, shame, hurt, hope and love.
Each street breathes distant memories, rising up from the pavement and from walls of old buildings like dust being stirred by a strange wind. Sometimes the dust that rises is so thick I feel as though I cannot breathe.
I often ask myself how I will manage being surrounded by these oppressive memories, images and feelings. Will I ever manage to bring some stillness to this never-ending reel of embarrassments and moments of shame that I long to forget? Can I find joy here as well? Can memories that have long been stained and despised be redeemed?
I see a ghost of myself on every street, in corners, down ally’s, in buildings, and in the absence of buildings. She cries-out, asking to be found, to be rescued, to be safe, to be loved and to be free.
I search for ways to mend what was broken, picking up a piece of me that was left here, and a shard of me that was abandoned over there, and I attempt to find a way of putting them together that brings peace and makes me feel whole.
I ask myself if the town itself is oppressive, or if it’s just me – my own mind. I have no answer yet.
What can a person do, but keep pushing-forward, attempting to make things right, to find healing and peace and be better today than yesterday.
I know I have been extremely slack in writing. This will be no surprise to anyone who was followed or known me for any length of time. I have a history of writing faithfully for bursts of time, followed by not writing for a length of time, only to pick it up and start again. On and on the cycle goes.
The main reason for this is that there are many, many, many things I want to write about that involve other people and I am not quite ready to put the stories that include other people (even if I withhold names) out there just yet. But, that doesn’t mean the writing isn’t happening. I still have to go through the process of writing about what’s in my mind. I just can’t share it yet.
These stories invade my mind and I still have to allow myself the time to go through them and let the stories work themselves out before I can move on to something else.
This often includes a process of revisiting the past and sometimes even reaching-out to a long, lost, friend or just trying to come to terms with how an old relationship ended.
There has been a lot of this for me in the past 6 months as our move back home has brought-up many memories and experiences with which I still needed to process and come to terms.
I have also become a full-time university student, via distance ed., working towards a degree. This has been a dream of mine ever since I left High School, when depression and anxiety held me back from being able to attend university. It has been something I had always missed-out on and, being someone who loves school and loves to learn, had always dreamed I would be able to do.
Now I’m doing it and it feels great!
I am also continually improving my health and nutrition and constantly striving to treat myself well.
It’s not where I grew up, where I spent years of learning, maturing, laughing, crying, working and resting.
It is not where I rolled on the ground with the dogs, flung hay around for the cows’ lunch, learned to drive, or spent endless hours in my bedroom dreaming and pining for the kind of romantic adventures I had read about. It’s not where I fought with my brother, or where we spent hours recording ourselves on cassette tapes as we played Mario Bros. or watched Degrassi.
My brother thought the tapes would be worth money one day.
It is not where I used to sing opera at the top of my lungs in the hay loft, or dance around the calf stalls singing “16 Going on 17” when I was supposed to be cleaning.
No, it is not the home I grew-up in; still, it is home.
It is where my parents live and now, so do we.
Myself, my husband and our 3 year old son. Five of us under one roof. I am glad that we have our own space upstairs and will be much more glad when our things arrive and we have our space filled with our things. We have always been 3. The trinity. A perfect triangle. The 3 Amigos.
There has been an adjustment period as we have expanded our triangle into a pentagon. The 5 Amigos. Or, as my son likes to point-out, the perfect finger family.
I get impatient with adjustment periods. I want to be settled NOW. I am hard on myself when I feel like I should be doing better, I should be feeling better, I should be more settled, I should have everything set-up and all the details under control. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s only been 1 week. Well, 1 week and 3 days.
Although it has been, in actuality, a short period of time, it has felt as though we have been suspended in this unusual state for many months. I have gone in and out and around various stages of mourning. In the past few days I have cried over the loss of what had been routine family times, back when it was just the 3 of us.
I have missed coming-downstairs on Sunday morning, after my husband let me sleep-in, to find my boys, sweetly, playing together. I would turn-on classical 96.3 FM and sit at the table with my toast, eggs and tea and just soak-in the sweetness of our trinity.
These moments are gone. They have become memories that feel terribly distant and teasingly close all at the same time.
But, new moments and new memories are already beginning to establish themselves like the first green buds that poke out of the ground after a forest fire. New life full of new stories and sweet memories are already springing-up. My husband and I have shared many of these while watching our son with his grandparents; when he goes to help Nana feed the birds or bursts out laughing and says “You’re funny, Grampa!” in response to almost anything Grampa says.
And this evening I had a moment of pure perfection while bathing my son. I sat on the little, white stool that he uses to climb up onto the toilet or stands on at the sink to brush his teeth and watched him playing in the tub. As I watched him, the sweet smell of lavender baby wash circled around me and the song “Don’t Grow Up So Fast” by Train played quietly behind me, I realized that life couldn’t get any better than that moment.
Perfection. 100% pure perfection.
I wanted to seize on it, to tie it down, to capture it forever.
In an attempt to trap the moment as long as I possibly could, I hit repeat on my phone. I sat there soaking in the sweetness, trying desperately to ensure that it was securely planted deep within my mind, somewhere it would never be lost.
I did this another 4 times.
And I thought the thought that I have had many times since arriving here:
seeking life now 