Not Your Train Wreck*
The other day, I found out—entirely by accident—that someone who once meant a lot to me almost died. We don’t talk anymore for lots of reasons, and it’s one of those things I made peace with.
I never thought I would make peace with it. Once, it felt impossible. But I find that seemingly impossible things just take a little bit of extra time. And growth.
I’m a different person than I was, when we knew each other. I have different expectations for those in my life. I am still myself, but a better version of me.
And yet, hearing that news made me stop for a moment. I don’t wish them harm. I wish them well. But it still struck me that they almost died, and I wasn’t there. I didn’t know. Once, that would’ve ruined me.
They’re not my people anymore. And that happens in life. We lose each other, sometimes in a blink, sometimes slowly. And I don’t know which is worse—maybe it’s not a matter of worse, but different.
I have lost people and I things I thought I couldn’t live without. I have sobbed on the bathroom floored, pretended I hadn’t been crying, slapped on a smile, and hidden the turmoil. I’ve been good at that, when I wanted to be or when I had to be.
But that news reminded me that I don’t ever want something to happen to someone I care about and just…not know. I want to be told. I want to step in. I want to show up with brownies and duct tape. And help. At least offer emotional support.
One of my dearest, oldest friends once told me that she found me baffling at first, because I just rushed into her life and offered support and kindness and zero judgement. And I honestly was just being myself. Life is hard. Care is simple. And I’ll care as long as someone lets me, as much as they let me. If I hit a wall, I run. (Personal growth! I used to, sometimes, fling myself at that wall like an addled pigeon. I no longer take that as a challenge.)
Life can be difficult and messy and complicated. I know that better than most, because I am difficult and messy and complicated. But I’m better than I was in all my yesterdays, so that’s progress.
Over the years, I’ve been many different versions of myself, and I carry those—like we all do—like russian nesting dolls. I look back, now, with compassion I didn’t have for myself when I was younger. Turns out, I was really hard on me, and that’s a habit I’m still trying to break. (One thing I won’t accept is the weight of other people’s judgment, which I was reminded of recently—after the fact—at the worst possible moment. *jazz hands*)
Since I got that news, I’ve been thinking about endings. It’s a recurring theme, lately, as beginnings spring up and choices are laid out. Endings are so rarely neat. I honestly don’t think they ever are. They’re tearful and messy and overwhelming. I’m no stranger to it. I’m well-practiced, even in the moments I’ve been unwilling.
Beginnings are tearful and messy and overwhelming too. Sometimes, it can be hard to tell the difference between one and the other, each a door. Each a possibility. Each a certain kind of finality. A way to hold on and a way to let go.
XOXO until next week, kittens. Be good to each other—and yourselves.
*From Daphne Gottlieb’s “15 Ways to Stay Alive”: Realize that this love was not your trainwreck, was not the truck that flattened you, was not your Waterloo, did not cause massive hemorrhaging from a rusty knife. That love is still to come.