Sailing the Wind

"I didn't pick the wind; that was imposed by a power far greater than myself. But I had to sail the wind -- against it, with it, sideways to it; I had to wait it out with the patience of Job when it didn't blow -- if I wanted to move myself from where I was to where I wanted to go." -- Richard Bode, First You Have to Row a Little Boat

I've allowed this blog to slip in recent weeks while dealing with the emotional aftermath of losing my relationship with Theo. I haven't felt much like writing, although my head was fairly bursting with thoughts. I needed private time to bring closure to that chapter.

Theo and I were together for just about 10 mostly good years until circumstances (touched upon in an earlier post) parted us. I spent the past 18 months attempting to rectify the damage. I transformed my entire life; moved out on my own; got a new job; went back to school; established new goals; worked my way toward a career in health care; established new priorities of what was and was not important; and took up daily meditation to combat depression. With the exception of moving out of the house we had shared -- which wasn't my idea, but in hindsight proved not only necessary, but hugely beneficial -- I did these things mostly for myself, to rebuild a shattered life. But, if I am being honest, I also did them in part to prove to Theo that I could stand independently, to be the man that she needed me to be; an equal, a partner in the truest sense of the word.

I loved her, and no matter what the future holds, or what direction my life may take, part of me always will. At one time I considered her my soulmate and remained convinced that despite all that had transpired we would be together again. I did not date, did not meet anyone. I worked on my life.

My efforts were for nothing. Just after the start of the New Year I informed Theo of the progress I had attained and suggested a reconciliation; not all at once, but slowly; dating. For reasons of her own -- too long and unnecessary to my point to go into here -- she said no.

In the space of a breath, my world collapsed; my hopes vanished. It was like being gut-punched. In the space of a breath, I felt hollow, as if I had wasted an entire year and a half of my life, time that I would never recover. I felt stupid for doing so, all the while knowing that I shouldn't; I had only done what I believed to be correct at the time.

The death of a love is sometimes worse than physical death. In physical death the body is gone, commited to the earth or to ash, and we are left with our memories. When a deep, abiding love dies, though, we are left with a living, breathing daily reminder of what might have been. The wound in the heart never fully closes. We bear witness to the other person growing, loving, moving on without us. In this case, the effect was doubled; Theo and I were so close -- even after the initial separation -- that not only had I lost the possibility of reconciling with my girlfriend, but I had lost my friend as well.

I did not ask for this wind, but the choice was abundantly clear: sail with it, or resist it and be torn apart. It took more than a few days to wrap my head around certain harsh realities, to realize that no matter how desperately I wished things were different, they never again would be.

It isn't ever easy to cope with an unexpected loss, but one can never really stand still; in life, one either moves forward or slides back. Life simply doesn't give a shit whether you like or dislike the situation you are in -- only you do. Life doesn't give a shit whether you experience joy or pain, whether you are happy or miserable -- only you do. Life just "is."

With any such loss there remain many questions: "Where did it go?", "What exactly became of the 'us' we once spoke of?", "What was 'us'?", "How do you let go?"

That last question, especially, burrowed deep and squirming into my head. How does one erase, reduce, or replace ten years shared with another? The answer is: You don't; trying to do that is like resisting the wind.

And so I took a few days to cry, to hurt, to be with myself, to think, to breathe, and ultimately to begin letting go. I'd like to think that Theo and I could still be friends. But that is not up to me. It may happen one day. Or it may not. And that is OK.

Life goes on. This past Sunday I had dinner with my dear friend Suzi Tuzinski (see her blog http://suzituzi.blogspot.com/) and her husband Andy; they introduced me to their friend Shirley. I didn't think I was ready to meet anyone new, and I was such a nervous wreck that I almost backed out at the last minute. I am glad I didn't. I have no idea what is yet to come, but Shirley is a wonderful and interesting woman. And the worst that could happen is that I make a new friend.

I am learning to sail the wind.