Icarus

A few times in the past blogs, I’ve mentioned how it feels as though I’ve been walking through a bad dream. As though any moment, I would wake up and things would be back to normal, my whole world wouldn’t be torn apart.

Funny how in an instant, all of that can change.

I spent nine months in mourning. Nine months of being depressed, trying to hide away, searching for peace, comfort, anything to relieve what felt like perpetual torment (and yes, that is a nod to my inherently dramatic flair). Leading up to my graduation, I had two years of total and complete bliss, well actually, more like three. After I left my ex-husband, I found a new freedom and joy I hadn’t known. I discovered new parts of me and started to enjoy life all over again. Then I fell in love. It was wonderful and everything I had hoped it would be and more. And with a confidence in my step and a young optimistic outlook on life, I headed off to a strange and foreign land with the gleam of knowledge and power in my eye.

I spent two years living off savings, loans, scholarships and my mother, with my only job being homework that never really seemed to be work. I lived in a fabulous city, in a fabulous apartment with a fabulous boyfriend that made me feel all warm and cozy inside. Everything was too good. The world was out there to be gained someday, but for now, I got to languish in the lustfulness of my own existence. I was like Icarus flying too high. And I KNEW it too!!! I knew how blessed I was and still… landing hurt like hell.

I lost the great lifestyle, the boyfriend and the unhinged reality all at once. No wonder I went a little nutty. My ex was the only thing I had left to hold onto, so everything became about him. He was the constant that I thought I could carry with me into the next phase of life.

But alas, everything was changing and I couldn’t stop it. I was leaving college behind and I didn’t want to. Real life was not only looming, it was now here and I wasn’t ready to accept it. Everything crumbled in at once. I was no longer the young, carefree person I had become and loved. There had been no pressures, no roots to grow, no decisions to make. Everything was easy and remedied. And my path had always been different than a normal college go’er. I was older and therefore appreciated it more. I knew what the 9-5 looked like and I DIDN’T want to go back. I loved the feeling of being able to hope for anything, but having an excuse to not have to attain it: school. Now it was put up or shut up… I choice option C: cry.

My own little spoiled girl tantrum. Awesome. So I wrapped my spoiled little girl world around an all-too-fallible boy and brought us both down in flames. Granted the timing in my life of everything falling apart at once wasn’t too keen, but still, whether or not something makes sense does nothing to comfort when the consequences are unavoidable.

Basically, in short, I became one giant ball of emotional intensity, completely unaware of how to get out of the hole I had dug. I had made someone too important, my future too scary, and my past too glorious. That tends to be a perfect mixture for complete and total dysfunction. I wasn’t going to go down without some sort of fight, so I reasoned escaping the pain and the reality was completely and totally justified. This in turn, warped into an over exaggeration, trying to prove to myself, and everyone else I was still going to make something of this hodge-podge life. I was moving back to DC! So, in typical Sara fashion, I MADE that a reality. I didn’t think, I didn’t ponder, I just did. I had to try something, anything to get out of this funk. I had to prove there was hope, life and something more. God wasn’t providing it in the time frame and way I wanted, so I did. I was grasping at straws and straws were what I got.

The moment I stepped off the plane, I started to cry… and I didn’t stop for five days. It was the same feeling I had the morning after my wedding night: Oh shit. I just made a HUGE decision, and I know it wasn’t for the right reasons. I had carried more than my luggage across the country. I had carried my own baggage and funny, the shock of it not dropping off somewhere between SFO and DCA airports. I had said for the week leading up to the move, “I was happy there once…”

I can’t go near Foggy Bottom. I can’t go near Georgetown. Too many memories, it hurts too much to remember how great I once felt and how scared and alone and inadequate I feel now. I was confident, satisfied and at peace when I lived there. Now I feel as though I walk around with some sort of sign that says “I’m a failure, stare at me and mock.” Ironically enough, the demon I was trying to run from was the demon I ran straight towards. As I sat in tears (as usual) on Sunday with a wonderful friend, she looked at me and asked “If you could have what you wanted anywhere in the world, where would it be?” Immediately, “home” flew out of my mouth. She said, then you go home, because starting your life is going to be hard anywhere. That’s something you take with you. It’s not something you get to leave behind. She was right. I wasn’t going to be able to recapture ancient history. It was going to have to be something completely new, and that’s what scared the hell out of me..

My ex once told me I wasn’t good at letting go. He’s right. I remember when I was a child and my parents would put me to bed, I would hear them laughing with their friends, or listen to their TV playing and I would be so upset I couldn’t be a part of it. Those happy amazing moments when the whole family is gathered round and we are having a good time, love and joy and happiness spilling from every face, I would hope and pray no one would have to go to the bathroom or get up for a moment because I knew, I knew if something changed, it would all change, and the moment would end.

For some reason I have spent my whole life fearing a great moment ending as if another one wouldn’t follow. That would be there very last one and if I didn’t capture it and repeat it forever, if something changed, it would all disappear and nothing good would ever happen again.

Telling me that good moments will come again, or that letting a best friend go knowing I will find another, or being okay with one good thing ending because another one would begin somewhere else… it’s like speaking Chinese. It just doesn’t compute. So I wrap myself around people, places and things, hoping they will never change. But then, they do. And then I cry.

I have yet to learn that one good thing ending is just the opportunity for another to begin. Maybe that’s what I have to learn now.

I’m going back to CA. Not because I can’t make it work here, I know I can make it work anywhere. I’m going home because that’s where I feel called and where I know I want to be. It won’t be easy, the economy isn’t great, I’m going to have to work harder than I ever have to accomplish what I want in life, and I’m going to have to learn a whole new way of being. But in the mix-up of my learning, I made some huge errors. I hurt some friends, watched my pride fall to the ground like shattered glass and felt the sting of a friend telling me I was basically a basket case and she had never known me to be happy. Ouch. My drama-queen mentality just came back and bit me in the ass… and to top it off, I would have told you I wasn’t a drama queen. Even worse, I really don’t want to be one. I guess the goal is to not talk about it, but rather “be about it” as I have heard before. Easier said than done though, right? Nothing will sober me faster though, than having to face the mess I made… and having to clean it up.

Nothing is going to be peachy anywhere, but searching for happiness in a geographical location certainly isn’t the answer. And back in CA, things aren’t even close to what I want them to be. My ex and I are in a grey sort of area, knowing we love each other, but we are both a mess and can’t make promises; my parents are about to fall apart; I don’t have a job (but I am applying everyday for about 10 and I know I will have one soon), and I’m not sure I know what I want my life to look like. It’s all very grey and I love black and white and thus, I hate it more than I can say, but I know it’s necessary. At some point the training wheels have to come off, the tears have to stop and I have to put on my big-girl face, and try to grow up a little. And I may be a late bloomer, but I’m getting there.

Nothing has to be decided now. For now, I just need to settle down, find some of that long lost unique Sara-confidence, shake off the doom and gloom, and ask God to help me learn that not every change is bad, every ending awful and there are always great moments ahead. I can be thankful for what He gave me, trusting He will provide again. Joy and peace are not part of the equation of circumstances, but rather, sit above them. They are something that comes from facing demons, making mistakes, and learning the hard way emotions aren’t the truth, no one is responsible for me, but me, and I can’t let anything determine me, besides, well me. As spoiled, irresponsible, irrational, hopeful, heartfelt, authentic, and everything else I may be, at the end of the day, I answer to me. I have to be okay with my decisions, my actions, my choices and I have to own up to them when they fail to be the right ones.

No matter how close I got to the sun, I was always going to fall. Things weren’t always going to be that perfect and life wasn’t always going to be that easy. And as I move along in life, I will gain and lose many things, but if I take with me a self-respect born of ownership and character, if I allow God to humble me, teach me and have immeasurable love and grace for me, if I return that love to Him and others knowing it will never be returned void, then no matter what I do or where I go, I can walk in peace and confidence. It will be less about the circumstances and more about who I am in them, and who I want to be. I haven’t handled everything right, but I am trying. And to me, and I know to the Lord, for now, that’s enough.

Circular Thinking

Have you ever come to the end of a journey and feel as though all you did was circle back around?

I spent the evening walking around downtown DC. I had come back from looking at an apartment in Alexandria and basically had a panic attack. I couldn't figure out why. What was wrong with me? Why wasn't I jumping for joy?

I called my dad and started crying. Immediately. I can't explain it, but sometimes life feels as though you are forcing a square peg into a round hole and at this moment, that is EXACTLY how I feel.

I'm 26 years old. That not necessarily young, but it's also not old, but it does however, make excuses no longer applicable. I realized part of me was crying because the dream and idealism of youth was dying. I no longer have the privilege of walking around free and clear feeling as though there are no responsibilities, no decisions necessary. The world is no longer out on the horizon, but rather I'm living it and no longer on someone else's dime. What I truly want out of life, what truly matters, what I truly want to invest in, that's what is starting to count now. I feel it. I feel it deep in my heart. I feel the urge, the need, the pressure to no longer waste time on frivolous motives, but instead, settle into a life that is doing what I actually want, or at least pursuing it.

The hard part is, of course, finding what that is. I moved out to DC thinking this position would be the answer. This place, recapturing some of that illusive freedom and excitement would bring me the peace, the optimism, the hope for something more. Then I got here and I realized... I don't want more.

It's hard to realize I don't actually care about how much potential I have. I have spent my whole life hearing people say, "You are going to do such great things!" I don't know why people have decided to say those things to me, or whether or not it's something everyone hears and I just took it to heart, but for some reason, this phrase, this sentiment, this belief, has somehow burrowed it's way into my head and heart giving me a sense of failure if I decide that chasing the great rainbow of fame, fortune or power is somehow living a less than life.

Can I be honest for a moment? Before I left on Monday, the happiest time I have had in the last year, was sitting at home after my dad bBQ'd with two of my best friends, my family and my ex. We talked, laughed and drank wine for hours. We were more entertained by each other, than we were by anything else. Music wasn't needed, atmosphere wasn't needed, nothing was needed besides the ingredients of love and laughter. My heart was so full, my head so happy, my greatest desires so satisfied. There was not one event, not one moment of great historical significance that could compare. It was pure heaven for me. And I left it.

I won't lie, there is a piece of me that worries the sudden appearance of my ex has something to do with the way I feel. And maybe it does, but not in the way I or anyone else really would think. The sudden reemergence of him brought back something more than just my love for him, it brought back the reminder of what really makes me tick.

My heart is most satisfied when it is engaged in relationship. I am most happy, satisfied and fulfilled when I am loving those near me. I may not always do it perfectly, I may not always be the best at it, but at the root of who I am, that is what brings me the greatest sense of significance, hope, meaning and satisfaction. Yeah, it's true, apparently the one thing I fought against the most, is the one I now feel most desirous of: I actually want to be a soccer mom. The only world I want to change, is mine. Holy shit. Yes, I said it. And I meant it. And if you know me, you know how weird that is to hear from my mouth... or hand. In truth, it's sort of hard to admit, but it's also freeing. Who I am has been something I have been fighting, and I think it took me coming back out here to face it.

DC was great, when I was younger and needed a chance to find myself again. This isn't home though. This is a great place where I started to find myself. The other part of me I think I always knew was there, but didn't feel as though I could admit. There is almost a sense of shame attached to letting go of dreams of grandeur, especially when you know they could have been fulfilled. But I guess, that's all in the perspective. Maybe to me, what is grandeur to some, is something different to me.

I want a honda, or maybe my 2006 Acura. I don't need a mercedes, or a Lexus. I want a warm home, where people want to laugh, love each other or cry when needed. Not a $1.5 million row house in Georgetown. I want a warn in couch with a TV that is set to record House, not a finely upholstered setee with a channel always tuned to CNN.

Yes, I have energy, I have passion, I have drive, but when those are what I listen to, when those are what is being utilized while my heart is on the back burner, they fizzle, fade and send me circling down the drain of sadness and loss of wonder. To me, beauty is found in the faces of those I love, coffee with a friend, a late night conversation with my mom, talking to my nephew about girls. My heart soars when I sit down at my computer, log on and spill my heart to a few people I know read and somehow, it touches them.

When my ex and I broke up, I watched myself circle the drain because I thought much of me went with him. Loving him woke up something in me that changed the course of my life. Whether I like it or not, the great love I had/have for him made me realize that whatever career or vocation I chase, I would never be satisfied without using the most important part of me: my heart. My priorities changed, my direction was shifted and my desires more defined than ever. Whatever he is to me now, or will be in the future, loving him forever changed me. For that I will always be grateful.

And to be even more honest, I have to admit, the decision to leave CA had a lot to do with wanting that to not be true. I wanted to believe that if I couldn't have the life I discovered I really wanted (family, community, kids, a home), than I could find a way to be satisfied with something else, career, vocation, politics. I had no idea how wrong I would be. I got here and immediately felt the hole in my heart gape even wider. Trying to fit myself into the youthful ideals I once held just doesn't fit anymore. It's too late. I've already been tainted, I hate it hear. Not because it's awful, but because I don't want to settle here. I wouldn't mind this being temporary, but I find myself having panic attacks thinking of setting down roots. I won't sign a lease, I won't bring out my car (even though it's packed and ready), I won't even accept a new phone number for my blackberry. It's just not home here. I'm sure I could make it home, I just don't know if that's what I really want.

So now, the question is, what do I do from here? Do I just shove my crap back in my bag and hop on the next plane home? Why not? Because I don't want to make another rash decision. Or maybe because I'm afraid of pissing off my current boss, or maybe it's because I don't want to admit defeat (although I don't know what defeat really is) or maybe it's because I'm afraid to go back to not having a job, or maybe because I also don't know what I want to do if I go home. Don't get me wrong, I want to go home. Badly, but now, I just watched myself make a bad decision rashly. Is that what I want to do again?

And the real question: What is Jesus asking of me? I know He will support me in whatever I do, but I am chagrin to admit that I am not quite sure I invited Him into this decision, so now I know I need to make Him the decider in this one. I'm praying I'll hear. I'm praying I will get what I need and know what is right. I'm praying the decision I make will be the for good one. The one that doesn't have to keep being repeated. I'm praying for once, I will be settled in my spirit and know I'm following the only one that matters: the Father.

States Go By

I'm sitting in my room, listening to a train roll by. The horn blows with a sort of melancholy whale, almost as if crying out to those that are near, mournfully sighing into the night a sad song of in-necessity. Progression has it's casualties.

I got into town early. I thought I would be in around 8, but was gladly able to catch an earlier flight (thanks to an unknown co-passenger who watched my Ipad dutifully in Salt Lake City and whom my thanks of coffee apparently did not warrant conversation [I think he was engaged to a nice Morman girl]). My plane landed at 4:15. I had been expecting a cold night and the need for warmth, so when I unexpectedly landed in 70 degree weather, my Ugg boots and layers were a more baggage than necessity. Ironically in CA, I left rain and 45 degree's of hell freezing over. Um, why did I leave CA again?....

I was high on adrenaline and power as I got off the plane. I just heard that my one interview had turned into 3 informational meetings, which meant my $550 plane ticket wasn't a complete waste, and the smell of the metro somehow brought me back to my pre-graduate high of opportunity and health. It was intoxicating and I drank it in like an alcoholic on a three day binge. My sponser would be pissed....

The smell of the metro hit me like a Mac truck. I swooned. Yes, I swooned. Who ever knew that the smell of the metro could make someone actually happy? I'm a sick person.

I got on the train happy as a claim, chattering away on the phone like a school girl. Then, like always, the underground metro had it's way. I was cut off. I stared down at my phone incredulously, as if it had personally offended me. What was I supposed to do now? I had no one to share my euphoria with. The train continued it's lurching march toward Potomac Avenue where I would be staying. The sound of the train against the tracks bringing back many a memory. It could have been two years ago, three years ago, Paris, San Francisco, or DC. They melded together for a moment, reminding me blissfully and irresponsibly of the feeling of possibility and youth. For a mere moment I was once again young, beautiful and unhindered.

Then I opened my eyes, stared into my own reflection and felt the age in my bones. I think I literally heard my ovaries crying out as they slowly died, shriveling up into nothing.

But that wasn't the worst part. After a few moments, as expected, the usual high came down. I looked out the window, and my old stop came up. Foggy Bottom. I heard it called out and I remembered in an instant how I would have felt. I would have been excited, exiting the train and rushing towards the exit, breathlessly waiting for that instant when I would receive signal so I could text or call back to my love, hearing his voice, or receiving his words, knowing all the world was right. God I lived for those moments. Amid the hustle and bustle of the most powerful city in the world, working with it's most powerful inhabitants, working in the most powerful place, and yet my heart... my heart was 3,000 miles away, locked and stored in a the arms of a man that couldn't care less what the most recent polls said. God I loved him. Lord... I still do.

My heart folded like the house of cards that it is. I cried the rest of the way. See, in my deepest parts, as much as I love this town, it will always be second best. Crazy, I know, but it will always be second best to one place, anywhere my the other half of my heart is.

I don't know if he ever knew this, but giving up a career for him was never that hard, in fact, it was a choice I made in complete and total happiness. Later, after he rejected me, it became a fairly unbearable, but before that, it was never that hard. It was almost never a question. He was my heart. The heart was always the most important to me, he helped bring it to life, I loved him thus the choosing him was always the best decision. It was never really a question.

See all my life I was looking for that thing. That one special thing that brought me to life. That one special cause, ministry, career that somehow made my life meaningful. For years I chased down God to fill that spot, and He did. More than I can explain. But somehow, my ex, he was apart of that. We had this sort of love that was... indescribable. I used to say it was what love songs were made of. I had never thought they were true until him. We were so... special.

When things got tough and I moved home, it was as if our connection was lost. Something happened. I know he loved me, I know he wanted to make it work, I know how much he believed in us, just like me... but everything got so confused, so messed up. I wish I could explain it now. I wish I could understand it. I wish I could fix it. Mostly because in truth of truth, my heart still belongs to him. Even 3,000 miles away, trying to plan a future without him, I half a person. I feel a piece of me missing, as though something died that I can't bring back to life without him. But what can I do? He's convinced we are not a match, that there was too much pain, that we were too wrong, that we were never even real....

But somehow, the part of me that loves him, the part of me that believes in him more than I believe in Gingerich, or Huckabee, or Palin, it has no place to go. I know who he was, and my heart and can't ignore it. I want to hate him, but will never be able to. I want to be over him and my head says its time, while my heart, my heart can't seem to be released from bonds of a deep, real love.

I told him before I left I needed to see him. Face to face. No email. I know, probably a bad idea, but I can't help it. To get in a car and drive until I hit another coast, I need to see him one last time, tell him my heart, tell him I know the truth about his, and walk away with my head held high, having honored what I knew as the greatest miracle I have ever known.

I'm sure he will argue with me. I'm sure I will have to stand my ground, remembering my heart knows the truth. That doesn't seem as hard as it would have been a month ago. Maybe it's making the choice to do something proactive with my life, it gives me a sort of courage to believe I wasn't crazy when I loved him and he loved me, and damn it, for if only a moment, he was going to remember too. I carry these memories, these regrets, these wishes, dreams and love around like baggage from another century. For a moment, I need him to see the load.

I know it will change nothing, but I also know I have to. I know it will set me free somehow. It will let me say what I need to say, and hopefully, eventually heal.

I will love him on this coast, or that, nothing is going to change it. But knowing he knows how I feel... It gives me a sort of peace I have been aching for. Then maybe I can pack my car and watch the states go by with a little more ease.

Colors Fade

I hate that life takes more courage than I think I have. I miss things being easy. I miss being 17 when everything made sense and the world was at my fingertips. Well, I take that back. I miss being 22 and feeling like I had been reborn. Now a ridiculous sitcom makes me cry.

I wish looking into the future gave me that same rush it used to. Now I just feel tired before I've even gotten out of bed in the morning. I have this recurring dream. It's always somewhere that everyone I love is and I can feel the warmth. Friends, gone and current, a man that loves me... Sometimes I see the little boy and girl I want to have so badly, listening to them chattering, seeing their faces light up with the personality I know they would have. In the dream, it's less of pictures, more of senses. I feel myself smiling, I feel the peace, the roots I want to plant. Everything is right again.

Then that moment comes when sleep begins to ebb, light comes in from the morning and my conscience tries to pull me into wakefulness. The dread starts as I know the dream fades into an old grey morning, but every once in a while, on a lucky day before my alarm goes off, I can will myself back into the dream, back into tortured bliss. Those are the hardest mornings. When I finally can fight no longer and the day won't be refused, reality crashes in a little harder. I slowly open my eyes, knowing the vision is gone, and I'm left remembering what I thought was once on the verge of being true, only to be crudely met with another day to survive. I lay listening to my alarm sound over and over again, feeling no real urge to turn it off. My thoughts tumble and collide and I pray silently that day will somehow be the day of rescue. This morning was one of those mornings. Actually, the last few mornings have been those mornings.

All that comes back to the point: I wish I had more courage. I wish challenges posed chances rather than more to struggle through. To be honest, I'm just tired. I tired of surviving. For a brief moment, I felt on top of the world, I thought every dream was possible. I had survived so much to get there. Abuse I've never mentioned, a divorce that left a huge scar, mistakes I wish I could erase all together. So many messages to overcome and finally, I looked around one day and I thought: look how blessed I am. I remembered to thank God, to treasure those moments, to feel the preciousness of love, family, friends and opportunity. I reveled in gifts from heaven such as school, friendship, Paris, family and a love I was convinced was invincible. I remember so clearly, standing in my apartment, looking around, awe in my heart, humbled, knowing I had been brought through so much, and how grateful I was. I knew I still had work to do, but I never forgot to be so thankful.

Then with a sort of effortless perfection, everything fell apart. One by one, everything broke down. I found myself grasping at straws, wondering where it all went. I lost friends I had loved deeply, my parents separated, school finished and I uprooted, chasing the tail end of a love I didn't know would end.

It took so much energy to start over once. I was already tired from life, but I fought through. I started again, reaching for more, surprisingly, I found it, but now I know how fragile it all is and I'm more exhausted than ever. I worked so hard to leave the baggage behind once, now it feels as though I know where ever I go, the baggage is apart of my soul I'll never be able to leave behind. I would give anything to have the belief everything will be okay, but I believed that once, started over and found out how shallow that belief can really be. Every dream I've had has shattered, and now, the only hope I have is to settle for the miracle of praying I will get over a love that I won't seem to let go of me. I'm researching plane tickets, jobs and roommates thousands of miles away just so I don't have to remember what I lost. My best shot at happiness seems to be starting all over, and yet I find myself fighting to get out of bed in the morning. I'm struggling to get back to normal, knowing the only real hope of that happening is uprooting again, but this time without the strength of youthful optimism. Instead, I have a tear-stained journal, beat-up luggage and soul weary frown lines etched into my brow.

Don't tell anyone (mostly because no one reads this), but I keep an unread email from my ex in my inbox. I can't bring myself to read it. I know when I do, when I finish it and erase it, it will be one more goodbye. For some reason, knowing its there, but not knowing what it says, it helps me find the flight to DC for the interview I have next week, or the next day and the move I know I have to make. I know it's dumb, I know it says something stupid and silly and probably says something about how I need to move on again, how he's sorry for what he put me through and knows I'll be fine, how I'll meet someone amazing, or it something about how he's doing well and hopes I am too... everything nice and polite and appropriate. But I can't read it. I just don't have the heart. I prefer not knowing, but not letting it go either. So it just sits in my inbox, a '1' lit up on my mail app. I would rather pretend I don't care... even if it is pretend.

My split personality takes over, the wisdom saying that's why I need to leave. I can feel my head dragging my heart into the future. The right brain knowing I have no choice, and though my heart doesn't feel like letting go, my body has to. Wisdom works overtime to remind me why everything will be fine and I need to work toward a future I can't see yet, while my heart just wants to cry. In the mornings, I give into my heart, knowing if I bottle everything, I'll blow and never make it through. During the day I listen to my head, putting one foot in front of the other, making all the "right" decisions. I think about where I want to go, what I want to do, what is the best for me. I do my best to shut out the pain, the memories, the fear. But when I get home, strip off the day, hear to the rain outside, my heart takes over again and I feel the days struggles boil over in the form of tears.

No matter how tired I am, life won't live itself. All the wishing and hurt in the world won't change what my reality is, and the only thing that will is my ability to put one foot in front of the other and start all over. The dream always ends, daylight always wins, and I may not be the most courageous person in the world, but I do know nothing ever changes unless I move forward. I once thought every love song was true, now maybe I can find out what it means when the songs about hope are true.

So while I ponder whether to move here or there, east or south, I listen to Amos Lee and become silent. Sometimes when the soul can't seem to take much, when staring out the window at the rain, trying to let the drops wash more away than just the grime from the sill; holed up in a chair that isn't deep enough to swallow you; chaos is more familiar than peace; time cruelly ticks by reminding you tomorrow is inevitable and yesterday is just a memory; and grey is the only color you want to see... it's good to let colors fade.

Anywhere But Here

I woke up this morning with one clear thought on my mind: I've got to get out of here.

Since running into my ex again.... I realized, I just can't take it anymore. To be honest, I'm not sure what keeps me here at all, except for my family. I've been wanting so badly to do what is right, to honor God, all of those things, but what part of me fearing turning every corner and seeing him is honoring to God? It's not that this isn't my home, it's not that I don't love it here, but there is a large part of the that realizes, I will never really be able to move on, until I move on.

It's been 6 months and I miss him as much as I did the first day. I love him as much as I did when we fell in love three years ago. I can't afford to look back in three months and feel the same way. It's hard enough knowing I love someone that doesn't love me, but living here, spending my time trying to avoid places I think he may be because seeing him hurts too much, that's no way to heal. I hate that all of this is true, but it is.

I need to remember what it feels like to not drive down the street fearing every car I see is his. I need to remember what it feels like to not walk into a restaurant without memories. I need to remember what it feels like to not want to be with him, and here... here I don't know if I can do that.

And if I were to be brutally honest, which I always am, staying here feels slightly like holding on to hope. It feels as though, deep down, I'm still praying for a miracle, for a story-book ending and right now, the only miracle I need, is to stop loving him. It's no fairy-tale when prince charming doesn't like you. Then it becomes what I'm currently living, a tragic unrequited love story. It's not his fault either. I know that feeling of not loving someone and breaking away. I'm happy for him that he did what is best for him. I want nothing less than for him to do what he needs to do. I don't want to be with someone that doesn't want to be with me.

And trust me, none of this is easy to admit. It's hard to know I am in this place. It's hard to know I have to find a way to move on, when the object of my affection, has nothing in their heart for me. It hurts, but just because I don't want it to be true, doesn't mean it isn't.

So now it becomes a moment of realizing what needs to happen: I need to move on. Not that I haven't been, but I think it's time to start thinking bigger picture here. I've got to get of the place where to me, the only thing I want, is the only thing that doesn't exist. Call it escapism, call it running away, call it whatever you want, but it still needs to happen. I need a clean start, a fresh view, a new chance at hope and love and career and all of those good things. It's not going to happen while I am holding on to any shred of delusional desire to be with someone that is clearly not in love with me. Maybe it's the sub conscience awareness that moving away is closing every last door, admitting to myself that I can fully let go. Maybe it's the sub conscience knowledge that I won't accidently see him anywhere that will allow myself to breathe again. I never see my ex-husband, I never see other people that live near and around me, but in the last 6 months, I have run into him 3 times, he has run into my family twice and I have seen his mom and his friends twice. I can't handle it. Maybe I have a problem, maybe I shouldn't feel this way, but I do, so all I can do, is figure out the best way for me to handle it, and part of me knows, getting the hell out of here is a great start. I can't stay in this place much longer. I can't be still missing him in three months, 6 months, another year. I have to do what's best for me, and get on with my life in a real and meaningful way. Or I'm going to go crazy.

It's an awful feeling, knowing there is nothing I can do about something like this. And it hurts even more knowing I wouldn't if I could. He's happy, free of me, and I want him to do what is best for him, and I'm glad he did. So glad he did. But now, I have to do what's best for me. I keep wondering what God's will is, but for the first time, I really don't know. So instead of waiting and torturing myself, I'm trusting that the God who loves me wants what's best for me, and that he gave me a brain and a heart to know what that is. I don't believe He would want me to stay in a place where I'm being held back by a love for someone that can't be fulfilled. I believe He would want those strings cut, those ties released, that love in my heart to finally and fully die. I have to believe that since my ex isn't in God's plan for me, my need to heal and fully get over him is a good and right thing. I would love my ex forever, thick and thin, if there was a chance to, so I know, I have to do whatever is in my power to do, to get over it.

God can only release me so much, the rest I have to be willing to complete. And I know how hard it is going to be. It will be the final goodbye to anything that kept me even mentally associated with him, but I know that's a good thing. It's a healthy thing. I need to move forward and stop looking back, wondering, wishing, asking why. He made the decision that was right for him, and I know that feeling, I left someone that loved me once too, but now, now I need to give myself a chance to heal, to be free, to move forward with a brand new hope in my heart. Even if it is just the pure distraction of moving and getting on with my life, with new scenery, with different options, I need something to get me past feeling as though my heart is being ripped out every time I see his face.

Deep down, all I want to do is love him, and since that is not what is best for him, nor what he wants, I know I have to do what is in my best interest to get over loving him. I can't even be angry with him. I wish I could, but I can't. It's not his fault. When you don't love someone, you just don't love them. It's not even as if there were something wrong with me, or with him. He just doesn't love me. That knowledge brings an odd sense of relief. Even though I love him with all of my heart, I know that love is not returned, and that knowledge keeps me from hoping for something to change. Whatever happened, whether he ever loved me or not, he doesn't now, and that's all that matters. That and me moving on. Hope and reality have a way of colliding at times, and usually, hope has to be the one to change. I can no longer hope to be with my ex, but I can hope to heal from this love I have for him. A may believe in miracles, but I also know when to recognize that God has decided not to perform one. I guess it comes back to acceptance again. But then again maybe the miracle is in believing for a hope of healing. Maybe it's not just a matter of believing in hope, it's a matter of acting on it. And as such, I return to my job listing website searching for an opportunity that is anywhere, but here.

Arrogance

Holy crap. I was literally hit by a 2x4 tonight.

So for the sake of this blog, I am going to name my two ex's. Yes, there are two, no, don't judge me. For now, I am going to name my ex-husband... Joe. My ex-boyfriend is going to be Bill. Generic and in no way shape or form related to their real names. Now that that is out of the way, on to the real story.

So like myself, Joe likes to blog. I happened upon one of them tonight... look, it was a moment, and no, I was not internet stalking him. It was a shocker though. It was written two years after I left him and it described how he still loved me, was in pain everyday, wished he had done things different and thought we were still one in soul and that he hoped I would come to a "Godly sorrow" and come back to him. I was floored. It sent me reeling into outer-space. Not for the reasons you would assume though. It sent me spinning for one simple fact: I have used some of the same language about Bill. I was crushed Joe still felt that way. I had prayed he was happy.

But I couldn't right how Joe's statement made me feel controlled, like someone was trying to pigeon-hole me and guilt me into reconciliation. It rushed back every feeling of manipulation and guilt. Then I felt even worse when I thought about how I had used some of the same language when talking about Bill. My stomach literally turned in me when I considered that I was somehow Bill's Joe, never moving past him, still trying to argue how wrong he was to leave me.

I felt my pulse rise, my head got a little fuzzy and I had to sit down for a minute. I was completely freaked out. Oh Lord, was I going to end up still missing Bill two years after he left me? Was I still going to be pointing the finger, trying to use any argument to convince myself, others and BIll that somehow we were meant to be together? Was I that controlling? I almost couldn't breathe as these thoughts rushed in, one trampling over the other in hurried horror.

I took a few breaths, calmed down and got in my car to drive home (yes I was with a friend, no, I won't say who it was... but I'm shouting out now, knowing you are probably reading this!).

I started praying the instant my foot hit the doorstep out. Oh God, Oh God, oh God, oh God... Oh Jesus....

My thoughts whirled as I rushed to my car, praying I would get there before the tears hit. Luckily I did.

My heart broke all the way home. Ever fear came back with blaring reality, with one question highlighted above all: Lord, can I heal? Will I ever be able to let go with peace in my heart?

I cried all the way home. I cried and prayed. I repented, and I prayed again. I prayed for everything I could think of, healing, release, peace, good for Bill, a wonderful life for him, a wonderful life for me, I grieved how much I missed him, then vowed to let him go. I cried out for mercy, grace, and for forgiveness for things I couldn't even voice. I broke under the weight of fear that I would somehow not be able to let go and release Bill in fullness of my heart, trusting Jesus to handle my soul in the process.

Then I realized something. Arrogance is the enemy of trust. Arrogance is the enemy of hope. My arrogance had led me to point the finger at Bill and God, forgetting that I know nothing of the will of God. I had the pride enough to think somehow there was something wrong with someone else for not loving me and the truth is, there isn't. My pain blinded me to the truth. Just because it hurts, doesn't mean it's wrong. My pain is less important, than someone else's choice and freedom. Besides, it is never love when it is coerced. And I hate that I even fought him on leaving me. I wish I had peacefully let him go. That in and of itself is a slap in the face to true love. It diminishes what I really felt and feel. I want the best for him, not guilted and manipulated affection. If he doesn't feel it and mean it, it isn't real, thus I don't want it. That doesn't change how much the reality hurts, but it does remind me that I'm not always as pure of heart as I would like to think. None of us are.

There was nothing wrong with me, or my relationship with God for leaving Joe. In fact, I believe it was God's will that I did. If that is the case for me, the same rule must apply to Bill. I can't say it wasn't God's will for him to leave me. Maybe it was. It's not mine to say. I can be no judge of heart. I would never want anyone to love me out of a legal contract. If Bill left me truly because he didn't love me, that's his right, no, that's his duty. I hold no ill will. It hurts, don't get me wrong, oh Lord, it hurts and I miss him, and I still love him, but that can't dictate what his response to me is. I may want the pain to end, but not by force. Not by my arrogance of pointing the finger.

In Luke, after Jesus is baptized, people start asking Him, "What should we do?" He replies to them, "Don't take money by force, but accept your wages." I can't take anything by force, and such, the only response is to humbly take my wages.

I am so scared I will love Bill forever, feeling that empty place in me, missing him, but I would rather feel that, knowing I am accepting my wages, rather than spend the rest of my life trying to prove how wrong he was to leave me. That does me no good, and I will never heal if I stay there. Bill deserves better, and so do I. I love him too much to want him to be with me, since that's not what he wants. No matter what, since my heart loves him still, I want, no I NEED, to move past him. He deserves a life where the woman he loves makes him better, and if I didn't do that for him, if I made him worse, than I'm glad he moved on. He should know the kind of love I found for him, with whoever he can find it with. As hard as that is to say, my wages may be different than his, but I know for sure, I can never be happy with what they are, until my pride breaks and I can accept them with happy humility.

I pray with all my heart I find someone else I love as much as I did Bill. I pray Joe finds a love that surpasses his for me. I ask for forgiveness for the ways I failed them both, asking God to heal wounds. Somehow I know I need the life of Jesus to invade my heart and give me the courage to face my future with hope, charity and peace. Pressing on, I ask for the holes in my me to be filled, finding rest in the life of Christ, waiting for His presence to ease the fear and pain. I know I don't love Joe, and he deserves someone who does. I know I love Bill, but I also deserve someone who loves me as much I them. I know Bill deserves to know there is nothing wrong with him for not loving me. And maybe he does, and he probably doesn't care about what I am thinking or feeling, and that is fine, it hurts, but it's better to be released by the truth, than to sit in my own pride.

And even if he doesn't care, I do. If I have any hope in Jesus, it has to be paired with a humble trust that breaks my pride. I don't know God's will. I can't see it, all I can do, is accept it. I can rejoice in the life He has given me today. I still hurt, but I ask for healing, focusing on my heart, my relationship, my future, my hopes, my dreams, rather than whether or not someone else's choices are. The only way I can let go and have hope for my future, not become bitter and still painfully missing Bill two years from now, is by letting Jesus bring me back to life. The only way I can let go with peace, is by trusting the one Man that has ever walked with earth with true love and peace in His heart. I have to trust a resurrection took place, and that it means real life for me. I have to believe that tragedy happens, but so does life.

Oh Jesus, I'm so scared. I'm scared of what the next year will bring when this last one has been so awful. I'm scared to trust You when I can't dictate the end of the story, but I know I have no other choice. I need You so much. I've never needed You more. Heal me, don't leave me here. Bring me back to life, to peace, to joy unimaginable. Let me be living proof of true resurrection power. Don't let me get bitter. I ask for forgiveness for controlling Bill and hurting Joe. I forgive them both for their hurts against me. I release all of it to You, and ask You to make something beautiful from my tragic life of errors. Forgive me for my arrogance and setting myself against You, believing I knew better. I accept my wages, I thank You for what You have given me, the treasures I have found in friends and family. I ask for protection, peace, guidance and wisdom. Jesus, give me something to move forward in, a direction, a path, a future. Set my eyes on believing in Your promises for my life, not the pain of the past. I pray a blessing on both of these men that I have known. I pray for beautiful women of You to come in and be to them what I wasn't for them. I ask for lives of abundance and grace, hope and redemption. I pray for reconciliation in Your will and way and time. Heal my heart Father. Help the pain of loss to lesson everyday, so it doesn't eat away the small bit of hope I have. Bear this burden with me, hold me up as I fail, as I weaken, grace me with Your strength when I falter, convict me with Your spirit and keep me humble. Rescue my heart.

Forgiveness

When I look back on the happiest times of my life, they are inevitably related to the people I have surrounding me. Everyone wants to be loved, but the moment it moves from want to need, a problem arises.

I've spent a lot of time deciphering my view of myself based on the view from the outside in. If I am accepted by others, I am accepted by myself. The incredible damage this has done to my heart brings a sense of doom I can't describe.

I was thinking about what it looks like to forgive. I sat in church today feeling shame like some sort of chemical warfare; it was seeping out of me. Every bad decision, every stupid comment, every shameful act felt as though it was tattooed on my skin. No justifications I could offer would somehow take away the stains I had left on my own soul. I begged forgiveness, wished I had a tub of holy water to bathe in. I wanted to shout the confessions from my seat, hoping someone would absolve, someone would see the desire in my heart and tell me I was not as terrible as I feared.

As I drove to work, a thought occurred to me, even if I were to list and confess every sin I have ever committed, then be forgiven, it would be a constant state of exchange. I would never get out of a chair before I would need to sit again and be forgiven again. How then, I live days free from the guilt, the shame that entangles my soul? I realized something, if I did not accept myself, if I did not have grace for myself, hope for myself, belief in myself, I would never be able to recognize it when someone else did, much less the Lord.

I hate my job. No seriously, right now, I do. Not for the reasons you would assume though. I love doing makeup, I love working hard, I love working with people, I love getting to joke, talk with, love on and relate to my clients, my coworkers and my boss'. What I hate is, there is an insane amount of pressure and I NEVER feel as though what I do is good enough. I come in everyday and do my best, but the little things I do wrong seem to dictate more of my reality than the good. Literally, there was a string of ten days where everyday I would walk in and get a complaint or comment from one of my boss'. Now for a woman that has recommendations from every person I have ever worked for, still hangs out with my old supervisors and never once has been disciplined for anything more serious than tardiness, this has been the most stressful job I have ever been in, and it's friggin makeup. It's not saving the free world; it's lipstick and blush.

What I wonder is, why do I stay? I'm a smart, capable woman with a solid educational background and great work experience. Why do I stay at a job that I leave everyday feeling beat down and awful? Because for some reason I don't believe I can do better. I don't believe I can accomplish more, I don't believe I am worth more than having someone tell me consistently what I am doing wrong. I take in every criticism, every comment and internalize them, then put myself on the hamster wheel and work my ass off to prove them and myself wrong that I am worth my paycheck, as meager as it is. Seriously? I'm more concerned with the opinion of my boss than I am worried about how much the stress is eating away at me. I'm actually perpetuating it by worrying about it and I hate that.

This is just one example of where I seem to spin when I should just do one important thing: walk the eff away. Put behind me that which tears me down instead of working my ass off for a company that couldn't care less and sees me only as a means to gain another bottom dollar, to at least being berated in a job I find slightly more stimulating. There has to be a pay off. If I'm going to be ripped apart, chewed up and spit out, it might as well be while I'm working in a place where either its expected or at least for a greater good.

Believe it or not, this ties in with the idea of forgiveness and acceptance. Forgiving myself for the stupid mistakes, accepting myself for who I am, that means not needing to pander, giving up trying to prove myself to anyone (including myself), allowing myself to reach for more and believing though I may not deserve better, I sure as hell want it. Forgiveness looks like moving on, not letting the bad dictate the good. When I think about the people in my life that I have chosen to forgive, it has been because I have wanted to believe the best about them and have intentionally left behind the bad. Why not do that with myself? Why not look back at every bad decision, and choose to love myself enough to believe the best about myself, acknowledge the hurt and move on? When I make mistakes, most of the time, the only person I am hurting is me, if I can for a second, apologize to the heart I hurt, my own, then give myself the gift of not giving up on me? I never wanted to give up on my ex, but I would always allow myself to be wrong for him to be right. I would rather me be worth nothing for someone else to be worth everything, and that is the greatest wound I could inflict on myself. I am worth nothing to me, and that is the crucial thing that needs to change. Forgiveness seems to be a great place.

I can receive no goodness I do not allow myself to know. If I go to the Lord and ask for forgiveness, what good is that forgiveness, or even my request, if I cannot live in the complete and total freedom of it? How can I ever move forward if I subject myself to penance for mistakes made? The simple truth: I can't. It sounds so cheesy, so incredible cliche and tired, but truly, if I don't love myself, I will never be able to express the sort of love I want to, nor will I ever be the woman I want to be.

When I envision the sort of woman I want to be, I see a mix of leather and silk. Functional, worked in, but incredibly soft. Shimmering in light, soothing in touch, moves with grace, can take any weather, any storm, and stays consistent. At peace with her place, her value, her God, knowing how important compassion, empathy and hope are. No need to explain, rationalize, or vindicate, but instead, just waits. I woman that knows what she wants, believes anything is possible and fights to the death for those she loves, but can let go with no regrets. I'll never be that woman, I'll never accomplish any of what I know I can, if I run around the same mountain, paranoid about whether or not I am loved, and if not, why. It's too narcissistic and too weak too unfair.

How to accept myself is another question though. What does it look like to love me no matter what. If I gave myself half the love I gave my ex, I would probably be the happiest person in the world. I would trust that any love I give is never a waste, but only an expression of the heart God gave me. I would see that my value is never determined by whether or not that love is recognized or accepted, but instead by the pure fact that I allowed it to exist. I truly believe that the value of a human is intrinsic, somehow related to the need for community, cohesion and interconnection, that somehow the world is only complete with each person exactly as they are, that the balance God creates is fragile and yet unbroken as each person arrives, gives, takes, receives and eventually leaves this broken world. The child born in China relatively connected to the man that just passed in the Yucatan, as the ripples in the Kingdom relate to each other. Scripture says there is a cloud of witnesses cheering us each on, I believe not only is that in heaven, but we each shout for each other, we each support each other as we live, exist and have our being.

The hard part is, I believe it for each other person, but never for myself. I believe this world would be no less great with or without me, but that can't be true if any of what I believe is real. If I believe each person that I pass is part of and has a part in the perfect will of God, than I am have that same reality within myself. And even more so, if it's true, than treating myself as such becomes essential. Kindness to myself, that will only breed more kindness to others, grace for myself, it will only create more grace for others, and hope for myself will only lead me back to the cross and that, for every doubt and fear, is the only place I believe real change can come. The greatest act of sacrifice and moment of love can only teach me how valuable I am to His heart, and if He says I am valuable, who am I to argue?