Where do we go from here…

Just a girl searching for an explanation with a good bottle of wine in tow…

I quit.

I quit her, I did.

Not cold turkey, like I would have liked to–you see, they don’t make a patch for this kind of thing.  And she didn’t go away that easily.  There were a few weeks of late night texts after too much wine. Cigarettes smoked hoping that while I watched the slow orange burn and the smoke rise and twirl and disappear that she’d disappear with it.

But she didn’t.

And several times, just after I’d thought I’d forgotten about her, she’d catch me on Facebook chat or her name would appear on the screen of my phone and I’d be right back where I was, only days before. She’d reel me in just to make sure I was on the end of the line, to make sure she’d still had something floating out there and I’d be elated because, you know, she hadn’t forgotten about me and she was thinking about me, too…or something. For a while, she made it impossible to forget her, to move on.  I’d be feeling good, feeling strong, feeling like me…and suddenly a whistle from my phone would produce 20 characters on that white pixelated screen and boom, she was back. And I was back. Reeling.

So I quit trying to lose her in the bottom of glasses of wine that clouded my vision of what this was.  I blocked her on chat, unsubscribed from her feed on Facebook, deleted photos stored on my computer. And I quit trying to make her disappear into the air on the wings of exhaled smoke and I decided to get real.  And get strong.  

It has been over a month since I’ve seen her face.  Shared a laugh or a kiss or a story in person. And I do miss her.  I miss her smile and the fact that she could cook far better than I can.  I miss her carefree spirit and the lazy Sunday mornings and the conversations spent over endless mugs of coffee and Denver omelettes.  I even miss the nights when I’d lie awake listening to her snore after we’d been out for drinks.   I miss what I wanted her to be in my world. 

I do not, however, miss the insecurity.  The questioning.  The lack of communication and the struggle I felt when trying to define where I fit in this person’s world.  I do not miss the unreturned texts, the cryptic messages. I do not miss questioning my value, my worth.

Am I better?  Absolutely.  

Am I still a little heart hurt? Yes…but that’s waning.

I am better.




Heart Hurt

Where do you feel it?  She asked.

Everywhere.  I said.

What does it feel like?  She said.

Empty.  The kind of empty that that feels like nothing, but feels like pain all at the same time.  There’s nothing left there, but it aches so incredibly–a heavy hole in the center of your being.

How will you get rid of it?  She asked.

I don’t know.  I think I might sleep it away.  Or wait for her to come back. Or hope that in the morning she wakes up and realizes that she loves me back.

What if she doesn’t? She said.

Then I will wake up and hope it hurts a little less tomorrow.  And a little less the day after that.  Until hopefully one day I become full again, me again.  And put back all of the pieces I gave to her in hopes that she would love me, too.  I’ll put them back to where I pulled them from in hopes that the person I recreate closely resembles the one I started as…because I’m pretty sure I liked that person.  And I’m pretty sure she’s good enough.

Does it hurt?  She asked.

Terribly, I said.  And then I shut my eyes.

Because it won’t hurt so badly tomorrow.

I’m having one…

I’m having one of those days.  The “raw” kind.  Where everything feels exposed and tender and just a little off balance.  The kind where I woke up with a headache from all of the vodka I consumed at my friend’s birthday party last night and try as I might, it’s just not going away.  It’s the kind of day when my coffee-first-date bailed 20 minutes before we were to meet and then the thoughts of “Really, when is this whole thing just going to be easy? When am I actually going to find someone and it just clicks and then there’s no more thinking involved?”  Because dating blows, and dates bailing on you blows even more.

I don’t know.  I think I’m generally pretty good at staying positive and knowing that if I offer up good energy, I’ll get good back.  And I have–don’t get me wrong, this is not some “woe is me” thing–I’ve got a fantastic family, couldn’t ask for better friends, a job I enjoy and the freedom to live this life like I want to.  It’s just, some days, it seems like there’s something missing and on the “raw” days, that comes to the forefront.  Like, gets right in my face and won’t go away and I want to punch it a little bit but I’m not sure what exactly it’s got in its arsenal and I don’t know exactly if I’m strong enough to kick it’s ass or if it’s going to kick mine, so I sort of just back away slowly and hope it will go away.  

It’s just one of those days.  The kind that aren’t particularly eloquent and the poetry of it all just feels a little choppy and unfinished.  Much like this post.


I like to think I hold my relationships in my own hands, like I can protect them and shape them and mend them and keep them warm and make them work the way I want and envision them working.  

And so I always have to take a step back when I see one changing in ways that I’m not exactly comfortable with or in favor of.  Because, you know, actively watching the disintegration of something you once held so dear is neither a friendly or happy process.  And it’s a slow disintegration, really.  An erosion.  There’s no blast, nothing sudden or immediate.  Just a slow weathering of something that was once so crisp and dear, now a steady dulling…something in which the destruction is hardly visible if you didn’t try to see what was happening. 

And when you look at the big picture, with the benefit and clarity of hindsight, the splintering becomes more and more evident.  And so here I sit, trying to chalk this up to the fact that sometimes our paths take different directions, and maybe they do. I’m going to focus mine on being conscious of the moment I am living in and always being grateful for it, on being kind, being loyal, on being the best friend, daughter, sister, aunt that I can be, and doing the things that make me and those I care about happy.  I guess I’m coming to the point where I’m realizing that if we can’t grow in our friendships together, that’s okay, too, really.  Some people are meant to be friends forever, some are meant to be friends for a period in their lives.  Neither is less important.  Though the realization is still a little off-putting.  

But this is life.  This is my 27th year. And I intend to spend each day crafting new relationships, maintaining those that are most important, and letting go of those that need to be set free.  Living with intention…or something like it.



You know, it’s…

You know, it’s funny…I often think of living this life I lead with intention, and that’s something I try to pay attention to… but I’m not really ever sure of exactly where I envision it going.

I want to be kind.

I want to have friends and family who know how much I appreciate and adore them.

I want to grow within my career, within my relationships, within myself.

I want joy–to spread joy, to see joy and to find joy in the unexpected.

I want to push my limits–physically, mentally, emotionally.

I want to be graceful, always.  Even if that grace isn’t necessarily pretty. 

I don’t know what the next steps are.  It’s not a goal of mine to be married by 30 or to have kids by 32 and to buy a house somewhere in there as well.  This path, my path, doesn’t seem to be that…calculated.  I’m not sure what it looks like, but I know what the goals are.  

I guess that’s part of the fun, right?  Setting the goals and obtaining them, only to then find out what it all looks like.

It’s spring, after all.  And life is certainly not perfect…but it is so, so good.

Here Goes

I’m skiing a black diamond, one that I’m not nearly skilled enough to be on, and I ended up here quite by accident, actually. I mean, I’d been practicing, but I was expecting to practice up on another blue, when boom–here I am.  I find myself caught on the icy edge.  I’ve slowed down so I’m barely moving, calculating each inch I’m sliding over so carefully that I can hear every flake of snow I glide over shatter into pieces until finally the tips of my skis are there, to that pivotal precipice between quiet still and disorienting momentum.  I can see over, but just barely and all I can see as I lean a little further is vast, steep, brutal terrain. Terrain that I know I shouldn’t logically be trying to navigate–I haven’t been doing this that long, you see, and I’m not as experienced as the rest of them and frankly, I’m a little fucking scared.  Of missing a turn, forgetting what I know, falling, breaking. It dawns on me that I have no choice, as if I intend to get off this mountain, I need to catch my cloudy breath and go.  Take a risk.  Take a chance. Grab the anxiety that is attempting to paralyze me and scoop it into a big hug–comfort it in hopes that it will, in return, comfort me back.

Because that’s what this is about, right?  Scaring ourselves, taking chances, getting to the bottom.  For even if not gracefully, we’ve made our way down, and we’re stronger for it.

Here goes.


I’m a mess, y’all.

Unstable, at best.  Maybe a little manic.

I spent part of the evening last night buried in the center of my bed crying on the phone with my incredibly supportive best friend who so desperately wanted to help me figure out why I was feeling so alone and why the tears wouldn’t stop and why I felt like it was so hard to breathe; why I felt like I was flying and falling all at the same time–maybe those two feelings aren’t so different.  I feel like there’s a hole in my chest–right there at the bottom of my sternum it rests–a big hollow void.  My friend reminded me of the positives and assured me I wasn’t alone.  And eventually I went to sleep.

This morning, I woke up to snow dumping from the still-dark sky to find that I’m lost in the questions.  I took them to the treadmill thinking maybe each heavy step of that run would quiet them, but in the middle of the songs blaring from my iPod I kept wondering…Who am I?  What is causing this crevice in the center of my being?  What does it all mean?  Why am I so fucking sad? Am I going to be able to get through this day without tears?…every mile seemed to take an eternity.  I was, not surprisingly, left without answers.

2011 was a year of discovery for me.  It was emotional and empowering and frightening and freeing and confusing.  A year of running mile after mile after mile and of travel and discovering new places and expanding the way I think.  A year when I felt things freely–recklessly almost.  I learned a lot about myself and what I am capable of.   I learned about being graceful and also about being grateful for a very understanding and accepting group of friends and family. And now at the beginning of 2012, I find myself being caught in the questions.  What does all of this mean?  What do I really want and what’s that going to look like? And, damnit, why can’t it just be easy?

I know, you’re going to tell me to take it a day at a time–to just live and quit thinking so much about it.  But I can’t.  It’s nearly paralyzing me.  I’m in emotional quicksand.  I cannot stand this place.  I cannot stand the person I am reduced to here.  I’ve been here before, and I know I’ll come out of it.  But being in the throes of it is, simply put, disorienting.

I hope, at the beginning of 2013, I’m remembering 2012 as the year when I became whole.  Not perfect, or anything close to it, but whole.  The year I spent putting the pieces where they needed to go and was honest with myself and with others.  Where I brought the positive energy in and left the negative behind.  I’m sure I’ll hit this quicksand again.  Likely more than once.  But I’m determined that this will not define me.  I am more than this.