It happens so slowly that I don’t know if it’s truly even possible for us to see it. Or maybe I should “me?” I probably shouldn’t assume this is a universal thing…
Anyway, it seems to me, when we’re in a relationship we often lose sight of ourselves as individuals – what makes us happy or laugh, how we want to spend our time, and what we want from, and bring to, being part of a couple. The wonder of getting to know another’s heart and soul, and what you are together as a unit, often nudges aside your own sense of who you are on your own.
When it’s a long-term relationship things you begin to accept as normal may work to dull your other senses. Your judgement falls victim to another’s manipulation of the truth and there’s no one you can really talk to about it because your last gasp of logical thinking reminds you that you can’t share all with your friends. They
may not won’t be quite as generous as you are about swallowing some of the explanations, or accepting how far you’ve lowered your expectations.
Every once in a while you have a moment when you think to yourself – who am I and why am I tolerating this? Not only is the situation not what you want, but you yourself are becoming a person you don’t really know, much less want to be. Instead of feeling joyful and confident you start to feel brittle, sucked dry until at last you remember that being independent doesn’t mean being alone and that the most valuable thing you possess is your time and you’ve already burned through enough of that in this situation.
Finally, you get it together enough – the disappointment, the hurt, the anger and the refusal to settle for another day, much less another year, all come together and combine to create a parachute from the anchor they had previously been. You close your heart to that person and, with lots of head shaking, open your eyes and firmly direct them forward.
You won’t forget (at least not the same way), who you are, what you want and what you won’t accept again.
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
J is for…
- June and what an unexpectedly fantastic month it turned out to be.
- Joy and the way it comes back into your life when you let go of what’s been taking it’s place for far too long.
- Jarred by how hard it is to get your feet back under yourself after learning that not everything is what you believed, but more importantly, that sometimes surprises can be an unexpected delight, instead of a disappointment.
- Jaded a bit, but committed to putting the focus on what’s ahead rather than what has been left behind.
- Just thrilled to be looking ahead to July and another month of hot days, bike rides, concerts, meals with friends, hours on a paddle board and cold wine.
Filed under biking, drinking, Eating, Events, favorites, friends, love, musings, Observations, relationships, secrets, Summer, Uncategorized, vacation, Wine
When my marriage ended, I wrote a lot about how I felt. It helped me to clarify and deal with the end of the longest relationship of my life and I felt entitled to that process. It was what I needed to do.
Afterwards, though, I felt guilty about some of what I wrote. I questioned whether I had been fair and if I should have been so honest about the pain I was in. I attempted to compensate for my regret by expressing the positive things that had come from the relationship. I began to shift my thinking to consider the possibility that the end of my marriage came because of needs not being met, not as a result of actions directed at or by either of us. I learned.
Or so I hoped.
My life is pretty public. Secrets aren’t something I personally feel the need to own, preferring direct honesty above polite bullshit, but it really is unfair of me to share my own disappointments at the expense of another. It isn’t kind and doesn’t serve a positive purpose. I don’t believe it’s necessary to tear down someone who once brought you tremendous happiness to make yourself feel better. It’s wrong and I’m sorry about doing it.
Sometimes things just don’t work out the way we planned or hoped. Maybe we’re told things that may or may not be true. Perhaps there are struggles beyond the circle the two of you have created, issues that need to be addressed that simply can’t be resolved as a unit. It’s hard to say and I probably shouldn’t even attempt it.
Suffice it to say that having one’s needs met and being loved the way we want and need to be loved is ultimately the purpose, I think, in having a relationship. When that’s not happening, it’s time to accept the situation and move forward. No need for scarlet letters at all.
Somehow I’ve always thought that phrase was an invitation for someone to unburden themselves by being honest, but recently I’ve begun to interpret it in a new way – the truth can also release a person from a situation in which they’ve been lied to repeatedly and consistently. Learning the truth about something, or someone, can be the key to finally closing and locking a door that has remained open for far too long.
Relationships between two people are hard, but when there are more than two people involved that degree of difficulty increases exponentially. While I will never attempt to present myself as a 100% innocent person, I can say without reservation that I work really hard to express myself with honesty and integrity. To not have that courtesy reciprocated is painful, to say the least, but what it won’t be is devastating. My life is too precious to be destroyed and I’ve got too much good stuff in my life to allow any individual to drag me down permanently.
It’s a funny thing with this blog. When I’m sad and working through emotional stuff, my stats go through the roof. Maybe I’m wrong,* but I really don’t believe it’s due to the fact that readers love my misery. Instead I think the reason for increased readership during the exceptional times is because the things I share are universal – life and love are challenging experiences and sometimes they kick our ass.
But, life goes on.
I’ll continue to be proud of the partner I was to someone who apparently knew better than I did that he didn’t deserve me. My exterior will continue to reflect who I am on the inside – a woman who has lots of love, along with uncountable other positive and healthy attributes, and is perhaps willing to share all of that with a man who is worthy of those gifts. Freely.
*it obviously wouldn’t be the first time.
I’ve taken a lot of yoga classes over the years, both locally and while traveling. My favorite classes have been the ones which are a challenge and push me to a new place physically. Thanks to soccer being suspended for the holiday weekend on Saturday, I was able to make it for the first time in weeks to one of my favorite classes, Aaron’s 11:15 Vinyasa, at The Hot Yoga Spot’s Latham location.
Despite managing to get there early and the light attendance, “my” spot on the left side of the room was already taken when I entered the studio. I unrolled my mat as I close as I possibly could to my usual space for a moment before changing my mind. No, I decided, I wasn’t going to force my way to a place where there wasn’t room. I picked up my stuff and moved to the opposite side of the studio. The universe was telling me that I needed a new perspective.
Yoga instructors seem to each have their own philosophies and the language they use can vary quite a bit. One message I’ve heard repeatedly, though, is about how certain poses can stimulate an emotional response, something I had never before experienced. I mean, of course, I’ve felt frustrated or encouraged by my practice, but never before have I felt the way I did Saturday.
The class was hard with lots of core work as well as flows that I found difficult. My chaturanga always feel like it needs work and I couldn’t stick eagle on one side and it was hot and I hadn’t slept very much…and I felt so damn tired of having my time on my mat co-opted by situations outside of the room, outside of my control. We moved into pigeon on the right side and I went into the pose with surprising ease. I bowed low, and rested my forehead on my mat, breathing in and out through my nose, releasing.
The tears came so fast that I didn’t have time to even consider leaving the studio. All I could do was let the fuck go.
I’m not really a cryer, but those tears weren’t going to be denied. As I silently shed hot tears I was powerless to stop, my heart and soul surrendered to sadness. I couldn’t change the circumstances which had caused my sorrow, but I could accept the situation for what it was – a position that I entered willingly which had stretched me to a place I had never before been, but that I had the strength from which to move on. Class over.
Yesterday I wore a sweater which definitely had seen better days. There were more than a couple of small, random holes (moths? burns?) that made it beyond repair. I almost took it off and discarded it, but instead made the decision to wear that sweater one last time, rationalizing that most of the damage would be difficult to detect without closer inspection. I didn’t expect anyone to be too near me anyway.
I paired my sweater with skinny jeans and a pair of flats with oversized bows that make me smile. It was a comfortable outfit that made me feel good and I garnered a couple of nice compliments from friends. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I could see what others had remarked upon – I did look pretty, despite the less than perfect state of my sweater.
At the end of my day, I undressed and looked over the sweater. There was no hope of making the fabric whole again, a fact that I understood and accepted. On the last day that my sweater would ever be worn, it was worn with awareness and appreciation for the way I felt when I was within it. I knew that I would never again wear that particular garment, but was consoled by the knowledge that I had worn the sh*t out of that black sweater for many years. It had rewarded me with a last “hug,” along with a lesson to remember to be appreciative of the now.
Articles of clothing, time spent with loved ones, relationships – if you knew that it was the last time, would you do things differently? Is there a different level of honor that would be present if you were aware that you were never going to experience something ever again? Should there be?
How many times a week do you conclude that your day was one that felt as if you had lived it well? Once? Twice? Maybe more than that?
How do you personally define a day as “well-lived?” Is it measurable in some way? Is there a consistency in the components that come together to combine in a fashion that would satisfy your own criteria for well-lived?
I’ve been struggling. As a person with a pretty firm idea of how long life is (not long enough), my ability to
tolerate accept witness loved ones who can’t seem to recognize and embrace the simple joys, daily miracles and random accomplishments that are present in most of our lives, is limited. Sometimes I just need to separate myself from people who do not appreciate the time they’ve been given.
How do I define a well-lived day? I’ll give you an example – on Saturday I raked up the backyard and filled three bags with leaves and yard debris, swept the deck and finally tossed a bunch of cracked flower pots, roasted some vegetables, took care of a few chores inside the house, played ball with Jeter, prepared and ate dinner with my family, went to work and took care of my guests with as much attention and competence as possible, came home and wound down with an episode of some HGTV show and a little ice cream and was in bed by midnight. To me, that felt like a day well-lived.
Was it exciting? Not particularly. Did I change the world? No, but my yard looks so much better and my deck is ready for sunshine and the plants I pre-ordered from my neighborhood association. Were there moments when I felt stressed or even melancholy? Of course, but my appreciation for the physical strength I possess which enables me to do outdoor and indoor maintenance overshadowed those instances. Would I have liked to simply remain at home or have gone out to socialize rather than go to work? Sure, but I do value the extra income and it provides me with the means to travel, something I absolutely love to do. Plus, I’m not great at going out solo. Believe it or not, I can be a little shy in social situations.
What made the day well-lived, to me, was the sense that I made good use of my time. It wasn’t even necessarily what I did with my minutes and hours, it’s what I didn’t do – I didn’t squander them or spend them doing things that didn’t give me satisfaction. The day in many ways was spent cultivating happiness – it makes me happy to have a tidy yard and a clean house and a fridge stocked with good food and guests who have enjoyed their own evening out because of, in part, my efforts. It was a good day.
How was your weekend? Did you live it well?