Post Script

Lately, I’ve seen heartbreak as something that’s inescapable from life. In one way or another, we’re hit with them. The loss of a loved one, a good friend, a beloved pet, a position in life, a dream. Reality hits like a freight truck that tears you off your putt-putt course. Minding our own business, right?

But let’s get real: most of the time we’re doing more than just minding our own business.

There’s always something.

The meeting we’ve got coming up. The appointment we’ve promised to go to. A group activity, a play date, a visit. An aspiration of who we wanna be. The plan of whatever and whoever we’re dedicated to at that moment. Doesn’t make much sense to me, minding our own business, when I think of it that way.

Even when I’m hurting from a recent breakup, I don’t think I’m always doing it in a selfish way. Like claiming the hurt as just mine alone. A different flavor perhaps.

Because I know there are others out there who have had their hearts trampled on by talks of marriage and children that faded into obscurity, by misspent hours waiting by the phone for the phone call that never came, by being stood up on dates that were “so important to them” at the time, by a love confession spoken too soon or too late, by an argument with no chance to mend, by someone who’d say things like “Well, this is what you wanted” like being miserable was all premeditated on our behalf.

And to say that the other party doesn’t feel the same way in some degree at all? Well, that’s true if you’re a rock. They’re long past caring.

So, while the pain of heartbreak is inescapable, I focus. I close my eyes and breathe in. The sun will rise, the waves will roll, the wind will blow, the flowers bloom, the birds will chirp (or fight because they can be some territorial buggers out there). Tires crinkle on asphalt, people chatter away, doors slide shut.

Heartbreak smacked me with the luxury of being present. Here. What has been is done, and to accept that is a trial on some days. And on those days, I remind myself that. My heart, my mind, my body, my soul. Till the day I drop dead, I will change. Things will always change.

That’s one of the greatest gifts life has to offer.

The one thing I couldn't tell you for fear of shutting you down, driving you away, sending you out the door with your head going no, no, I know way better than you. You sound just like them, you don't understand anything.

Even with the best of intentions, you were unmoved. Not the slightest tilt to anything different than the plan. Since things had to stay the same while the seconds ticked on by, while the hairs turned white, while the walls crumbled, while the bills piled up.

I believe in you. I'd like for you to see how there is more to life than the words in your head. How to dig deep within the earth of your heart and find the roots of your own self. To nurture it with the community nearest to you. To value the gripes and grumbles, the cheers and candor. To embrace the scars with the love you projected as my sole obligation but didn't seem fit to share.

But I can't do that for you. I can't save you for you. I can only support. I can only listen and kiss and hug and inquire and thank and cry and pray. I can't plot the steps of your story. Not going to do it when you're screaming at me to tell you why, why can't I just do what I'm told.

More importantly, I refuse to do so.

Because I’ve been there too.

I’ve been in that pit of oh why can’t I get what they have, that well of why aren’t I good enough, the depths of I’ll never, ever be able to do it anyway, the room of why bother trying if I’m gonna fail.

I’ve measured my waist and wished my fingers could chop-chop those inches. I’ve felt my chubby thighs burn through my shorts and underwear as I sweated rivers running that extra block. I’ve wiggled my hips on the scale to wobble the needle nearer to the numbers I wanted to see. I’ve sworn off food for days to shimmy down a dress size or two. I’ve sliced up my hair to be like so-and-so because they are so much more popular than me.

I've talked down on people who I judged were slacking off, who were too sensitive to any criticism because I thought I knew more than them. I’ve snapped at anything unexpected like it was poison because I felt threatened, because it carried a whiff of something that hurt me in the past.

To be honest, I still find myself there now and then. Glancing back. It’s hard to grasp another way when that’s what you grew up telling yourself. Minding my own business, as you once said.

Yet the present is far more. Far more than that. Today I can catch myself from venturing too much down that lane. To pay attention to what is in front of me. To breathe in and feel the now. To love it. To feel gratitude for what is. To reach out and tangle with others. To get that sometimes I don't know or have to be special, and that's okay. To feel hope for what happens when I get out and try.

I’m sad that this side of me was untold to you.

It wanted to be shared, to be heard by you in detail. With a private space and hands held and tears shed for one another. With a silly smile and laugh that say we're alive and well. We both screwed up and I'm sorry. We're okay. You're not alone. You're more than enough. You're unique to you. It's not the end of the world. Or too late. I see you.

Yeah, that was misunderstood before we parted. With the gaps of sniffles and sputtered chirps. Words strangling my throat. Stone wall that would dare not crack. Needs sandpapered to dust. Demands stabbing and tearing. More contorted than coherent against the spikes of anger in the room.

Someday, perhaps. I hope.

For now, I’ll treasure the present and forgive us both. We’ve got a lot of accepting and growing to do.