It would be safe to say that I fell apart this summer. And I’m not sure I even have an answer as to why? There is no real reflection, no words to describe it, and no logical explanation other than my heart hurt. I was stuck in the fog and stuck in a fog. I had time on my hands to sit still with my thoughts which provided zero motivation or inspiration to do anything productive other than cry, write, and jump a lot of rope.
But now it is time for fall. And fall in San Francisco is when the fog lifts and the sun shows up. The weather gets warm and friends come out to play. You can wear a cute sleeveless dress and a pair of sandals with a cashmere scarf and dark lipstick. You can chill on the rooftop while eating fruit salad and drinking a vodka soda without a care or a jacket. The days get shorter and the air feels crisp. When the sun sets it leaves a trace of gold that lights up the sky and it so magical you can’t help but feel like you’re going to “fall” in love all over again. And maybe you do fall in love again. With yourself or with the city or with the same person you can’t stop dreaming about. Who knows? Everything just feels new again because it is.
“A season of loneliness and isolation is when the caterpillar gets their wings. Remember that the next time you feel alone.”
Toward the end of each semester I start to get reallllly bored of things being so serious. I just want to talk about The Real Housewives and boys and shopping and anything superficial. Well now I have found I am so sick of talking about love and relationships and connections and why why “why is he/she doing this wahhh!” Ugh! If I have to sit and analyze any more of this bullshit, I am going to go insane. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe boredom is the solution to moving on for real. Because now I find I can’t wait for intellectual stimulation which is a good place to be in right before school is about to start. Yes, please feed my brain, it is starving! Bombard me with HBR and CSR and NPR. Send me a subscription of The Economist and take away my Us Weekly! Sigh. Why is life so complicated?
I am grieving the end of a relationship that means a great deal to me and it hurts so fucking bad. Even if it makes logical sense in my head, my heart is totally broken. It’s weird. The mornings seem to be the hardest. But interestingly enough I was going through some writing samples and found a piece from 2011. It was about an “ex” and after reading a few sentences it made me throw up. Like for real throw up. So despite what I am going through now, I have come a long way and I am grateful for that. I appreciate this pain because it is real. A piece of my heart is not just missing, it has died. And I am grieving that death. To have loved someone so much that a part of you feels dead when they are gone is oddly a gift. Even if it hurts so much it just compounds everything else; makes you hate your hair, makes you want to shop, makes you think everything sucks. It’s so stupid. But it’s love. And that’s life. And that’s just wonderful.
“So I placed my heart under lock and key. To take some time, and take care of me. But I turn around and you’re standing here.”
People will try to tell you what they think is best for you or try to deter you from following your heart. But you have to listen to yourself first. Trust your instinct. Trust yourself. Just trust.
Facebook is interesting. It truly reconnects you to your past and makes you reflect; a platform to remind you of many things including your first heartbreak. The one that was gut-wrenching and devastating and completely changed who you were as a person. The one that made you think you would be alone forever because you didn’t believe in love anymore. And somehow 10 years go by and you look back and realize the person you were once closest to is someone you don’t even know anymore and probably wouldn’t even recognize on the street and you consider yourself ridiculously lucky that the life you are seeing while snooping around on that Facebook page isn’t the life you are leading today. It makes you feel good about the desperation you showed when you tried to force it to work yet they didn’t want you anymore and it makes you appreciate the fact that it took a really long time to recover from the rejection of it all. Never in a million years did I think I would be happy for the fucker or tremendously grateful for the pain he caused or the wisdom I gained from the experience. In other words, life really does go on. You do get over it and love, incredibly, mind-blowing, can’t be without each other, I love you forever, soulmate love, does come around again. Which makes you appreciate the shit even more.
Having the opportunity to come down to the beach and sit in the same place I sat with him and just write brings me a great deal of peace. Of course I can’t help but to think of him while I am here. I believe subconsciously I come here simply because it is a place that makes me feel the closest to him when missing him the most.
And there’s something so cleansing about the beach. It’s a good place to be. It makes people happy. It soothes the soul and calms the mind. But I need let go of him and I need to release myself. Set myself free. I need to just get up off of this sand, dust myself off and walk away. Walk toward a new direction.