(no subject)
I realize that not that long ago, I left everyone here hanging. No word, no update and although most of us have long moved on to facebook, I'm sure I'm not the only one who finds this the far superior place for 'blog' type things. So here are some updates, from summer on, to let you all know what the heck I've been up too. Starting with the most recent and heading backwards, for your edification and entertainment:
What makes us keep moving forward, after we feel as though we've lost everything? When the world as we know it has crashed down around our unsuspecting ears like a noisy house of destructive cards, what keeps us breathing? What makes us take that next step, and the one that comes after that?
When the darkness has shown no signs of lifting on it's own, what keeps us going?
The only answer I have is hope. Hope, as Emily Dickison described it, is a thing with feathers-and like most things with feathers, it will fly. Hope that we will be happy again, hope that after awhile, it won't hurt this much.
When it seems like we are completely alone, and forsaken by the universe, that part of us that is still childlike, the part that remembers how to believe in happily-ever-afters and knights on white horses and Santa Claus on Christmas morning-that part knows that even in the midst of pain, there is hope.
Everday I wake up, everyday I move forward, every time I smile, or laugh, or cry, that's hope. As human beings, when we're ultimately forced to deal with the pain we try to avoid, we fight it. But I'm beginning to believe that we need pain, that secretly, in the darker recesses of our souls, we crave it. We need that pain to prove that we're alive. Because once we realize we're alive, what we're left with, inexplicably, is hope.
On 9/10/09 my best friend and brother Logan took his life. I will miss him every day, if not every minute. It came as a shock and a blow to the soul that I didn't see coming. The details aren't really important, what matters is that a truly loving and warm person is gone from the world because of a short sighted decision.
I am realizing the repercussions of his choice a little more every day. I started cosmetology school on Monday and I keep wanting to call and talk to him about it- he was my secret keeper and the person I shared absolutely everything with and now all of a sudden, there are these empty, broken spaces in my day where I reach to pick up the phone and call him and I realize that I can't. Because he isn't there anymore.
I've been amazed by the response of the people in my life, friends and family who've stepped up to remind me that I'm loved. Everyone has been amazing, and even though I may not be able to show it right now, I am so grateful and touched that I have them. There's more to say, but I'm not sure how to say it all
So I've been working two nights a week from 11 pm to 7 am, which is possibly the longest shift in human history, but it means I don't have to see anyone or interact with anyone expect for about 20 minutes at the beginning of my shifts. I've been making good use of these ridiculous nights by talking to friends on the West coast, catching up at hours when no one is busy, and for this purpose these overnights are perfect. I was having one such conversation with one of my oldest friends M, talking all about a new man she's seeing, the issues this presents with the man she used to see and M shared several interesting tidbits with me.
1. Matt, the new man, grew up in our town and is our age-he in fact grew up in my neighborhood, but I have never heard of him. For anyone who grew up in a small town, you will understand how unusual this would be. Anyways, M is talking to Matt, comparing people they know, and of course my name comes up and he says... "I don't think I ever met her, but she used to date Jeff, right?"
Now for those who don't know, Jeff is my ex-fiance. We were together for almost 3 years. Dating Jeff was like dating a local celebrity- he was older, cooler and threw the best parties, so I spent 3 years running into people who said things like "Dude (it's California people)- I know Jeff! He's awesome" or, my personal favorite "Oh, you're Gretchen! You're Jeff's girl, right?" Yes, I was that girl. Since it's been about 2 years since Jeff and I broke up, it's been awhile since someone used him as a yard stick by which to measure me.
M paused after delivering the blow, clearly believing she's dealt me a sucker punch I wouldn't recover from. But I laughed it off, it no longer hurts the way it would have once, and I could feel her relief through the phone. Jeff and I rode our rodeo until we burned it down and I nursed the burns and bruises longer than maybe I should have, but the last year or so it's faded the way that these things do.
2. And the second little tidbit was that Dan, someone I introduced M to a few years ago and someone I introduced C to around the same time, has been hearing from him this entire time. He is not nearly so inaccessible as I had once believed.
And for those who were waiting for the epiphany- here it is. Men by nature are bridge builders. When they want something, when they love someone, they will move mountains, shift oceans to get to them. And he hasn't done either of those things. He hasn't even reached out as the friend I hoped he'd always be.
So in light of these things I am letting go. The conversation with M made me face things I've known or suspected all along, things I didn't say to myself, because I wanted to believe that 8 years of friendship would mean more.
The truth of the matter is I am ok. I can feel the 'wounds' to my heart beginning to scab over, a little more everyday. I wonder if this makes me cold, callous. Isn't it supposed to hurt more than it does? It's the end of an era in a real way, and while the 16 year old girl in me cries her tears for the past and her dreams, the woman she's grown into pragmatically washes her hands and moves forward. I refuse to make the mistake I made before, holding on to something long since over because that's what I think I'm supposed to do.
Because some love stories are novels, others are short stories, and this one has reached it's natural conclusion. It hit all the right notes- it was reckless and wild, nuturing and honest, bitter and sweet. And in the end, our protagonists put their copies aside, with their childhood toys, to be taken out and remembered in the rosy golden glow that time and love lend those sorts of souvenirs.
I know two things for sure. I have loved, truly and as best I could, two wonderful men who taught me a lot about myself. And in their own ways, they loved me.
And he is still out there. The man I will love more than I can even imagine now, the man who will move mountains to be with me is still out there. I haven't met him yet, but I'll know it when I do.
It's been raining the proverbial cats and dogs the last two days, which sucks because that means no kayaking for me. But I got a couple of really perfect days in, and while I wait out the weather, there's always the gym. I've actually had the kayak in the back of my truck for about a week-for easy access on my days off. Because really, who wants to put it in the truck and take it back out and put it back in 80 times a week? Not moi.
Now however, due to the aforementioned rain storms, I've taken to saying I'm leaving it in there in case of ridiculous flooding-so I may paddle to safety. : ) Some days it's good to be in my brain.
It's also been raining tourists lately-crazed, sale-seeking, sanity-stealing, soul-decimating reminders of why I fled to the mountains in the first place.
These are the people who see fit to drive 5 miles an hour slower than the posted speed limits-in two lanes no less- and then honk and flip you off when you have the audacity to pass them. And cut you off in traffic, oblivious to safety regulations like signalling or using rearview mirrors. Who consider tailgating and bumper-riding more fun than sex and chocolate, and just as addictive. In self defense I admit to occasionally making use of my own horn in response, my own lovely middle fingers (there's one on each hand you see, so as to optimise the bird-flipping ability), and falling back on the dirty mind and gutter mouth no one believes me capable of possessing until they hear me let loose.
These are the people who make it impossible to get to my much needed caffiene fix at the Bucks, and my favorite Barista at the Met, my loverly friend D. They impair my ability to get gas, or a quick lunch on the way to work. They have even invaded my newest bastion of peace- the gym. Is NOTHING sacred to these people?!?! I just about spontaniously birthed kittens when just the other day I pulled into the parking lot of our local, non-chain, non-commercial gym (which is connected to a ski/rec facility but has Clearly seperate parking areas) and there were no less then 3 cars from out of state. 3. WHY? Why must they hound me? Am I nothing but a fox before the chase?
Am I over reacting? Perhaps. But when you want nothing to do with anyone, when you simply wish to travel from here to there, in a pre-workout, post-caffinated, bliss-like state; when you wish to arrive at the gym and work out in general anonymity, it feels like you're being hunted.
And the worst part of it? They pile into our tiny town, but when you go out, are there any cute single guys in the clubs? No. There are not. The hot ones are married (much like our own population) and the singles are schmucks-overgrown frat boys with little class and less taste in women then in their mouths. It's enough to make a girl fairly meshugeneh.
This concludes my kvetching for the day. Between the rain and the tourists, the little Jewish girl in me has really taken over, no?
What makes us keep moving forward, after we feel as though we've lost everything? When the world as we know it has crashed down around our unsuspecting ears like a noisy house of destructive cards, what keeps us breathing? What makes us take that next step, and the one that comes after that?
When the darkness has shown no signs of lifting on it's own, what keeps us going?
The only answer I have is hope. Hope, as Emily Dickison described it, is a thing with feathers-and like most things with feathers, it will fly. Hope that we will be happy again, hope that after awhile, it won't hurt this much.
When it seems like we are completely alone, and forsaken by the universe, that part of us that is still childlike, the part that remembers how to believe in happily-ever-afters and knights on white horses and Santa Claus on Christmas morning-that part knows that even in the midst of pain, there is hope.
Everday I wake up, everyday I move forward, every time I smile, or laugh, or cry, that's hope. As human beings, when we're ultimately forced to deal with the pain we try to avoid, we fight it. But I'm beginning to believe that we need pain, that secretly, in the darker recesses of our souls, we crave it. We need that pain to prove that we're alive. Because once we realize we're alive, what we're left with, inexplicably, is hope.
On 9/10/09 my best friend and brother Logan took his life. I will miss him every day, if not every minute. It came as a shock and a blow to the soul that I didn't see coming. The details aren't really important, what matters is that a truly loving and warm person is gone from the world because of a short sighted decision.
I am realizing the repercussions of his choice a little more every day. I started cosmetology school on Monday and I keep wanting to call and talk to him about it- he was my secret keeper and the person I shared absolutely everything with and now all of a sudden, there are these empty, broken spaces in my day where I reach to pick up the phone and call him and I realize that I can't. Because he isn't there anymore.
I've been amazed by the response of the people in my life, friends and family who've stepped up to remind me that I'm loved. Everyone has been amazing, and even though I may not be able to show it right now, I am so grateful and touched that I have them. There's more to say, but I'm not sure how to say it all
So I've been working two nights a week from 11 pm to 7 am, which is possibly the longest shift in human history, but it means I don't have to see anyone or interact with anyone expect for about 20 minutes at the beginning of my shifts. I've been making good use of these ridiculous nights by talking to friends on the West coast, catching up at hours when no one is busy, and for this purpose these overnights are perfect. I was having one such conversation with one of my oldest friends M, talking all about a new man she's seeing, the issues this presents with the man she used to see and M shared several interesting tidbits with me.
1. Matt, the new man, grew up in our town and is our age-he in fact grew up in my neighborhood, but I have never heard of him. For anyone who grew up in a small town, you will understand how unusual this would be. Anyways, M is talking to Matt, comparing people they know, and of course my name comes up and he says... "I don't think I ever met her, but she used to date Jeff, right?"
Now for those who don't know, Jeff is my ex-fiance. We were together for almost 3 years. Dating Jeff was like dating a local celebrity- he was older, cooler and threw the best parties, so I spent 3 years running into people who said things like "Dude (it's California people)- I know Jeff! He's awesome" or, my personal favorite "Oh, you're Gretchen! You're Jeff's girl, right?" Yes, I was that girl. Since it's been about 2 years since Jeff and I broke up, it's been awhile since someone used him as a yard stick by which to measure me.
M paused after delivering the blow, clearly believing she's dealt me a sucker punch I wouldn't recover from. But I laughed it off, it no longer hurts the way it would have once, and I could feel her relief through the phone. Jeff and I rode our rodeo until we burned it down and I nursed the burns and bruises longer than maybe I should have, but the last year or so it's faded the way that these things do.
2. And the second little tidbit was that Dan, someone I introduced M to a few years ago and someone I introduced C to around the same time, has been hearing from him this entire time. He is not nearly so inaccessible as I had once believed.
And for those who were waiting for the epiphany- here it is. Men by nature are bridge builders. When they want something, when they love someone, they will move mountains, shift oceans to get to them. And he hasn't done either of those things. He hasn't even reached out as the friend I hoped he'd always be.
So in light of these things I am letting go. The conversation with M made me face things I've known or suspected all along, things I didn't say to myself, because I wanted to believe that 8 years of friendship would mean more.
The truth of the matter is I am ok. I can feel the 'wounds' to my heart beginning to scab over, a little more everyday. I wonder if this makes me cold, callous. Isn't it supposed to hurt more than it does? It's the end of an era in a real way, and while the 16 year old girl in me cries her tears for the past and her dreams, the woman she's grown into pragmatically washes her hands and moves forward. I refuse to make the mistake I made before, holding on to something long since over because that's what I think I'm supposed to do.
Because some love stories are novels, others are short stories, and this one has reached it's natural conclusion. It hit all the right notes- it was reckless and wild, nuturing and honest, bitter and sweet. And in the end, our protagonists put their copies aside, with their childhood toys, to be taken out and remembered in the rosy golden glow that time and love lend those sorts of souvenirs.
I know two things for sure. I have loved, truly and as best I could, two wonderful men who taught me a lot about myself. And in their own ways, they loved me.
And he is still out there. The man I will love more than I can even imagine now, the man who will move mountains to be with me is still out there. I haven't met him yet, but I'll know it when I do.
It's been raining the proverbial cats and dogs the last two days, which sucks because that means no kayaking for me. But I got a couple of really perfect days in, and while I wait out the weather, there's always the gym. I've actually had the kayak in the back of my truck for about a week-for easy access on my days off. Because really, who wants to put it in the truck and take it back out and put it back in 80 times a week? Not moi.
Now however, due to the aforementioned rain storms, I've taken to saying I'm leaving it in there in case of ridiculous flooding-so I may paddle to safety. : ) Some days it's good to be in my brain.
It's also been raining tourists lately-crazed, sale-seeking, sanity-stealing, soul-decimating reminders of why I fled to the mountains in the first place.
These are the people who see fit to drive 5 miles an hour slower than the posted speed limits-in two lanes no less- and then honk and flip you off when you have the audacity to pass them. And cut you off in traffic, oblivious to safety regulations like signalling or using rearview mirrors. Who consider tailgating and bumper-riding more fun than sex and chocolate, and just as addictive. In self defense I admit to occasionally making use of my own horn in response, my own lovely middle fingers (there's one on each hand you see, so as to optimise the bird-flipping ability), and falling back on the dirty mind and gutter mouth no one believes me capable of possessing until they hear me let loose.
These are the people who make it impossible to get to my much needed caffiene fix at the Bucks, and my favorite Barista at the Met, my loverly friend D. They impair my ability to get gas, or a quick lunch on the way to work. They have even invaded my newest bastion of peace- the gym. Is NOTHING sacred to these people?!?! I just about spontaniously birthed kittens when just the other day I pulled into the parking lot of our local, non-chain, non-commercial gym (which is connected to a ski/rec facility but has Clearly seperate parking areas) and there were no less then 3 cars from out of state. 3. WHY? Why must they hound me? Am I nothing but a fox before the chase?
Am I over reacting? Perhaps. But when you want nothing to do with anyone, when you simply wish to travel from here to there, in a pre-workout, post-caffinated, bliss-like state; when you wish to arrive at the gym and work out in general anonymity, it feels like you're being hunted.
And the worst part of it? They pile into our tiny town, but when you go out, are there any cute single guys in the clubs? No. There are not. The hot ones are married (much like our own population) and the singles are schmucks-overgrown frat boys with little class and less taste in women then in their mouths. It's enough to make a girl fairly meshugeneh.
This concludes my kvetching for the day. Between the rain and the tourists, the little Jewish girl in me has really taken over, no?