I found myself frantically digging through my drawers and closets last night, feeding an ever-growing pile destined for craigslist, freecycle and goodwill. I was living simply, but I guess not simply enough. The urge to pare down and get rid of runs deep. It's clearly fall, but it feels like spring.
I've followed my breadcrumbs back to 2004, and found Capitol Hill still waiting for me with open arms, as though it knew I would one day return. My little apartment with 20 feet of windows overlooking misty pine trees on the corner of Aloha -- just me and Princess Nevadelia, a teddybear couch, bamboo in glass jars, and the delicious still silence that wraps me warmly when I come home. Not a sound but the steady click of my clock, an occasional siren outside that makes me feel safe inside these walls. Sprawling hours of quiet reflection, gluttonous uninterrupted writing, and bone-white nothingness. Red tea and green apples for dinner, a pitch black queen-size womb for sleeping. Startling dreams. Technicolor walks through the mad, mad neighborhood.
I ended my three-year relationship a few weeks ago as August became September and I returned to the neighborhood that felt like home the moment I arrived. Ending a relationship, not because it was bad but because it wasn't good enough, was the hardest thing I've ever done. Saying, "I'm worth more than this," goes against everything I've been conditioned to believe about myself, and about relationships.
It comes back to the fact that since a very young age, I have always sought out solitude. I have been happiest alone, and my one woman army has accommodated significant others only as breaks in the status quo. This was a particularly long break -- because I slowly came to believe that I wasn't worth the dreams tumbling in my head. That I should take what I could get and be grateful for it, and shut my mouth while I'm at it. It's bizarre to behold that idea out of context -- how could I ever believe that was my truth? How did I let that happen?
In any case, I've been working with the details of the relationship, processing it. Mulling and meditating on it, writing, praying for clarity. I believe the same situations happen over and over until you learn the intended lesson from them. I'd prefer to not repeat this experience. This week I felt a change, while meditating, something broke loose -- broke free. I gained a small amount of insight. A small amount of pain subsided.
And then today I learned that, bed still warm, he has moved on and is seeing someone else. I am speechless, dumbfounded. I cannot wrap my head around it. A cascade of emotions pounds my head and heart. Foolish girl, still crying in the grocery store over potting soil and microwave popcorn.
Saturday I worked at Cat City and this woman came in looking for an adult male orange tabby. We happened to have one. She gazed at him through red-rimmed eyes and made her decision. As I talked to her, she revealed she had just euthanized her cat the previous day. In the throes of grief, she was grasping for something to fill the void. My heart ached for her. I spoke with her at length, trying to help her ask herself the difficult questions -- whether she was ready to bring home another cat. That perhaps by seeking another adult orange male tabby, she had not fully embraced the life of her lost friend, or processed his death. That losses need to be appropriately mourned.
Today, I feel that situation echo in my own life. Except in the end, the woman at the shelter decided to wait until after the holidays to begin the search for a replacement companion.
Lots of things are drawing to a close for me right now. For the past three months at work, I have been supporting a group of consultants, in addition to my regular obligations. It hasn't been easy. My workload was literally doubled during that time. But I got through it fine, hair intact. They said goodbye last week and I was thrilled to find my to-do list shrink 50%. I actually took a lunch break today! But the fellows I had been supporting returned this afternoon to bring me an enormous bouquet of flowers - autumn sunflowers and gerbera daisies - to express their gratitude. They said they truly appreciated all my help, and that even in the face of immanent disaster and hair-raising deadlines, I stayed calm and smiling. My eyes welled up and I choked out a thank-you. I'm always grumbling that no one appreciates me. It was a spiritually fitting end to this tumultuous day.
Think I'll leave it on a good note.
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