Day 13: I don’t Want your sympathy

My heart aches today. It aches more days than not while I am here. A symptom, perhaps, of such drastic change. I am out of my cocoon here, and the truth sets. I left the man I love back in Buffalo. 

For this reason, morning yoga at the mill sounds extra swell. Joining Amma, Ella, and Corina, we gather in the 200+ year old sugar mill for flow.

By the day, I’m made aware of the power of my thoughts. How we feel is just an extension of the way in which our mind frames events – either on the side of pain or on the side of pleasure.

In recent years I tend to lean on the side of pain, tapping into my deeply sensitive self. But here, I search for new ways of existing – of tilting that see-saw toward the side of pleasure. (Thank you sobriety.) So now, I’m searching for new ways to frame my situation. Looking to the horizon in which I am headed, the horizon that is just before me. A beautiful ocean that stretches so far in the distance it meets the sky. I direct my gaze toward whats right in front of me, rather than back at the skyline of a city I no longer reside.

I’m a little sad to admit, but for what feels like the first time in my life, I have now really, truly, and fully chosen myself. Perhaps it’s this that feels foreign and has me out of sorts – choosing myself. To some degree, a people-pleaser, and to others, innately a woman. Selflessness, which I have learned well from my mother, who would so often put anyone before herself out of pure love.

I stayed in Buffalo for a while in hopes of things working themselves out. And it’s not that I don’t think they can be worked out between us. It’s that, things like that take time. And it may take a year, or more, to get back to where we once were – planning an engagement, hoping to marry the following year.

So, I did the only thing that made sense at the time. In the midst of the the unknown, the present, I chose myself. I left because I didn’t think I’d ever have a chance to leave again.

So, in light of getting acquainted with the changes, my heart aches. And I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m simply just speaking my experience. Many people have their own assumptions that I have no worries or problems simply because I am currently living in a fantastically beautiful place. But in the wise words of Rachel Hollis, what I want to prove is “moving doesn’t change who you are, it just changes the view outside your window”. And, I think it’s pretty stupid to assume, that anyone who lives in a tropical place doesn’t have the same problems as someone who lives, in say, snowy upstate New York. And too, This Is Not A Facade.

So yeah, now it’s been a couple of weeks since we talked. Which, I expect is best for the both of us.

The fact that I haven’t really told this to anyone, makes me feel alone. So I make an effort to tell Ella and Cat, who are leaving in just a couple days.

I dreamed of him last night, I recall. His familiar body, his words, his touch, all felt so real. I long for him to be here with me. Wishing that our life paths allowed for us to remain in the same city, together.

The truth is that we are two people who love each other deeply, and are willing to allow one another the space to follow our hearts, even if it means being away from one another, or giving each other the space to settle into our new realities without the other.

I inhale deeply by the pool; an inhale that sounds more like a gasp for air, as my cheeks moisten, and I learn to live with this heartache, as I have done so for a year+. In recent years, I would have reached out to him, desperate to fill the void. But now, as the years pass, I stand steady, and acknowledge – this kind of heartbreak is just a part of being alive. So I’ve learned to sit with it, allow the tears to stream if they need to stream. Allow myself to release that which is causing me stress. This, I tell myself, is what it feels like to be alive. To live within your truth, even if it means walking away from a future you were promised. 

And so it goes. You can’t plan out your life but, you can learn really well the art of adaptation.