What follows is a series of journalish things I wrote over several years, on the subject of a person. The person's name has been redacted. Not only because to do otherwise would be unforgivably rude; also because the end of the journey reflected in these writings demanded it of me. Because I found it easy to do so - and in celebration of that ease.
2009
“‘Of all there is to me in this world,’ he whispered in dim agony, more to himself and to Kahlan than to his implacable captor, ‘there is only one thing that is irreplaceable: Kahlan. If I must be a slave in order for Kahlan to live, then I shall be a slave.’” --Terry Goodkind, Faith of the Fallen
There’s the rub, right there: of all there is to me in this world, there is nothing that is irreplaceable. If you remove all of me from this world, everyone left behind will carry on. If you remove all that is precious to me from this world, you could take nothing that would as B follows A take me right along with it. I am not just single; I am sole. Solitary: fundamentally unconnected, unbonded. And it is not a natural state. When all of my friends had imaginary friends, I had two; they were a couple. The odd practicality that touched my toddler’s imagination named them: just as my teddy bear was named T-Bear, my imaginary friends were simply Boyfriend and Girlfriend. The bulk of my interactions with my imaginary friend-couple consisted of me observing their imaginary relationship. And this is me at four years old. I was simply not built for singlehood. I was a family boy; I am a family man. And I’ve had no romantic relationship last longer than a full-term pregnancy. Stranger still: I consider it a victory – if also a cold comfort – that in the years since I failed to make it work with the one woman I would still lay it all on the line for, each successive relationship has lasted less and less time. I see it this way: it’s taken me less and less time to realize that no, this is not a woman I could make it work with in the long haul. She is not The One. Grr.
My best friend challenged me recently to get on a plane, fly to New York, and propose to the one who might have been The One. But I’m reminded of the scene in Fellowship (the novel), when Bilbo volunteers to take the One Ring to Mordor. Gandalf advises him that the Ring is beyond him now; to take it back would do more harm than good. (She might not appreciate being compared to the source of Ultimate Evil in the world, but she is precious to me.) She has gone beyond me. She is no longer mine to propose to. She might have been that other half, that essential part of me – but, though I still love her after all these years, I’m not for her. She’ll find her mate, or she won’t, but it’s not me. The fact that I still perceive her as my lost mate is my burden to bear.
2011, Part 1
And now, I know. I know that I will always love her. That, were we to meet in another seven years, and another seven, I would still take in the first sight of her with craving eyes. Only my present understanding of unconditional love prevents me from laying this on her shoulders— aaaand that’s a lie. More than that, more powerful, is the simple knowledge that were I to tell her the truth – lay bare this secret – I would lose the little of her I retain. That, I cannot bear.
So I give of myself in the measure she’s willing to receive, neither asking nor expecting, nor hoping for anything more. But in my heart of hearts, I wish for more. I wish, as she does in her way, that we could turn back the pages and choose a different adventure. “Separate and unscathed,” is her wish. “You can’t unscathe a human being,” is my reply. And I never want to be separate from you. But I will be. We can’t continue in this holding pattern forever. I must say goodbye to whom I cherish. I let her go, and I let her go, and she keeps coming back into my heart.
Which suggests to me that I haven’t let her go in any way, other than to let her live her life free of my – my what? My influence? My wreckage? In any case, I let her go seven years ago, and I held onto a fantasy. The tragedy of the fantasy is not its immateriality – the tragedy lies in all the realities in which the fantasy finds purchase. Still so easy between us. Still that understanding that pierces the ease and sees through – on both sides – to the discomfort beneath.
2011, Part 2
I have let her go. When I did, I still wanted that piece. When I did, I still loved her. After years of wondering how to do this thing – how to let go of the closest thing to true I’d ever known – the trick was simple. All I had to do was let her go before I wanted to let her go. Hindsight isn’t just perfect vision, it also – always – makes understanding seem like it should have been easier to attain.
Well, that’s not all I had to do. I had to tell her – not face-to-face, I’m not that bold – just how bright was the torch I still carried. I said what I had to. She said what I knew she would. And immediately that piece of her diminished in me.
Now, the construct of her resides in my memory, more than in my present. That’s all I have needed for years. And – finally – it is what I want.
So who’s next?
2016
And think about it – we call that person in our lives, nearly all of us, “The One Who Got Away.” Just how right could a relationship have been for you if you refer to its end as your partner’s escape from you?
2009
“‘Of all there is to me in this world,’ he whispered in dim agony, more to himself and to Kahlan than to his implacable captor, ‘there is only one thing that is irreplaceable: Kahlan. If I must be a slave in order for Kahlan to live, then I shall be a slave.’” --Terry Goodkind, Faith of the Fallen
There’s the rub, right there: of all there is to me in this world, there is nothing that is irreplaceable. If you remove all of me from this world, everyone left behind will carry on. If you remove all that is precious to me from this world, you could take nothing that would as B follows A take me right along with it. I am not just single; I am sole. Solitary: fundamentally unconnected, unbonded. And it is not a natural state. When all of my friends had imaginary friends, I had two; they were a couple. The odd practicality that touched my toddler’s imagination named them: just as my teddy bear was named T-Bear, my imaginary friends were simply Boyfriend and Girlfriend. The bulk of my interactions with my imaginary friend-couple consisted of me observing their imaginary relationship. And this is me at four years old. I was simply not built for singlehood. I was a family boy; I am a family man. And I’ve had no romantic relationship last longer than a full-term pregnancy. Stranger still: I consider it a victory – if also a cold comfort – that in the years since I failed to make it work with the one woman I would still lay it all on the line for, each successive relationship has lasted less and less time. I see it this way: it’s taken me less and less time to realize that no, this is not a woman I could make it work with in the long haul. She is not The One. Grr.
My best friend challenged me recently to get on a plane, fly to New York, and propose to the one who might have been The One. But I’m reminded of the scene in Fellowship (the novel), when Bilbo volunteers to take the One Ring to Mordor. Gandalf advises him that the Ring is beyond him now; to take it back would do more harm than good. (She might not appreciate being compared to the source of Ultimate Evil in the world, but she is precious to me.) She has gone beyond me. She is no longer mine to propose to. She might have been that other half, that essential part of me – but, though I still love her after all these years, I’m not for her. She’ll find her mate, or she won’t, but it’s not me. The fact that I still perceive her as my lost mate is my burden to bear.
2011, Part 1
And now, I know. I know that I will always love her. That, were we to meet in another seven years, and another seven, I would still take in the first sight of her with craving eyes. Only my present understanding of unconditional love prevents me from laying this on her shoulders— aaaand that’s a lie. More than that, more powerful, is the simple knowledge that were I to tell her the truth – lay bare this secret – I would lose the little of her I retain. That, I cannot bear.
So I give of myself in the measure she’s willing to receive, neither asking nor expecting, nor hoping for anything more. But in my heart of hearts, I wish for more. I wish, as she does in her way, that we could turn back the pages and choose a different adventure. “Separate and unscathed,” is her wish. “You can’t unscathe a human being,” is my reply. And I never want to be separate from you. But I will be. We can’t continue in this holding pattern forever. I must say goodbye to whom I cherish. I let her go, and I let her go, and she keeps coming back into my heart.
Which suggests to me that I haven’t let her go in any way, other than to let her live her life free of my – my what? My influence? My wreckage? In any case, I let her go seven years ago, and I held onto a fantasy. The tragedy of the fantasy is not its immateriality – the tragedy lies in all the realities in which the fantasy finds purchase. Still so easy between us. Still that understanding that pierces the ease and sees through – on both sides – to the discomfort beneath.
2011, Part 2
I have let her go. When I did, I still wanted that piece. When I did, I still loved her. After years of wondering how to do this thing – how to let go of the closest thing to true I’d ever known – the trick was simple. All I had to do was let her go before I wanted to let her go. Hindsight isn’t just perfect vision, it also – always – makes understanding seem like it should have been easier to attain.
Well, that’s not all I had to do. I had to tell her – not face-to-face, I’m not that bold – just how bright was the torch I still carried. I said what I had to. She said what I knew she would. And immediately that piece of her diminished in me.
Now, the construct of her resides in my memory, more than in my present. That’s all I have needed for years. And – finally – it is what I want.
So who’s next?
2016
And think about it – we call that person in our lives, nearly all of us, “The One Who Got Away.” Just how right could a relationship have been for you if you refer to its end as your partner’s escape from you?
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