Parting Gift

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a blog addressing three individual people. They were people who had, in my mind--at the time, anyway--wronged me in some way, shape or form. The first person I reamed was totally undeserving of such hostility. The second person absolutely had it coming!! The third person, well, it's complicated.

The third person was The Girl.

Now, before I get any of those inevitable eye-rolls, let me just say that this is not going to be another woe is me entry. I promise. I think I've pretty much cashed in all of my "woe" cards, these last few months (check out March's "The Odd-yssey" for further proof, thank you very much). Even I have to admit, while this Neurotica enterprise (hahaha) of mine has only lasted for about three months--if that!--looking back at some of these entries, I wince. Not because the entries are particularly painful to read, but it's more of a wince of recognition and nostalgia on par with watching old home movies.

No, I'm going to address the issue of The Girl and that will be the end of it.

There's a reason I haven't written anything in great detail about...Her (well, the emotional aspect of it anyway. I've talked about the situation itself a couple of times) until now. Truth be known, I'm actually pretty surprised I've held out for so long, me being the open book that I am. Anyway, many of my friends did that whole, "dude...if you write something, you're going to look weak. She's going to think you're not over her. Be strong." At first, I agreed with this, um logic (?) But as time has worn on, it's just annoyed the shit out of me that I haven't been able to write about the one thing I've really wanted to write about; the biggest, most important thing to happen to me in quite some time--a turning point, a game-changer, if you will--for fear of looking "weak." Really, why is it that writing about your feelings, especially if they're honest feelings, is weak? Here's the bigger question to ask: What do I care if you think I look weak, especially when I've come to realize, over time, that despite my often self-deprecating rants, I'm anything but?

But I digress.

I haven't spoken to her in over two months. And it's strange. When we last spoke, there was no ill will thrown in either direction or arguments. In fact, for a little while, we were handling ourselves pretty well as friends, ostensibly. But that was the problem. As "friends," there was that something-something missing. It was sort of like this steely, cold, emotionless, pod-people version of friendship. And that wasn't really anyone's fault. We just weren't meant to be anything but what we were before, brief as it was.

A few weeks ago, upon the release of Rufus' new CD, I recall reading one of The Girl's blog entries, where she wrote about how music can be this powerful force, triggering wonderful memories and, well, unwanted memories. And the things is, once I was able to look past some of her somewhat negative remarks about me, I found myself floored by how accurate and spot-on her words were. There are songs that I just can't bring myself to listen to. The memories, while I will cherish them forever, are ones that I just don't have the desire to play back in my head anymore. They're there, sure. They always will be, but really...who has the time and, unless you're a masochist, why would you want to constantly relive an experience that started out as the ultimate joy ride, but quickly turned into the ultimate dead end. Life's too short.

But sometimes, one can find themselves in the dreaded role of Captive Audience Member. Such as it was this last Saturday afternoon, when I was on the stair master. Everything was hunky -dory, when all of a sudden, a movie that, at first, struck a chord of nervous, giddy excitement inside me, quickly morphed into nausea, tears and anxiety. The movie was "Deep Blue Sea." It's about killer mutant sharks. And because of one special moment in my life, it will always represent something more than it's schlock origins. Anyway, check it out. Fun movie.

I won't lie: I get sad, sometimes. I do. Not all of the time. In fact, most times, I'm pretty damned happy.

I love this person that I've become: The novice cook...the faithless man who now believes there's a Higher Power with a Plan...the risk-taker who goes out and buys a Rufus Wainwright concert ticket for a different city, even when he knows he's going to have to face his greatest fear of getting lost along the way when he drives there by himself (okay...I just had to throw that one out there!!), the once-burned-out writer arisen from the ashes.

And there are parts of me that wish I had been this person all along, ya know? Sometimes, I think to myself, maybe if I had just been more self-sufficient, secure with myself, more passionate and motivated and willing to accept changes...maybe--just maybe--I'd still be with her. But therein lies the somewhat tragic paradox to that particular "what if." See, over the course of the last three months, I've come to a conclusion--and I've had help along the way to get there--that makes me nod my head in respect to the power of fate, destiny...whatever you want to call it. And the conclusion, so simple, is this:

I would not have reached the great heights I've reached these last few months if I were still in my relationship with The Girl.

It's true. I would have continued going over to my parents every day, eating their food. I would never have learned to cook for myself; instead, depending on others. I probably would never have gone back to synagogue because, really, I felt I was king of my own little self-involved world. Who needed G-d? The world revolved around me. Hell, the blog you're reading, right now? Think it would be on your screen, right now? Think again.

The truth is, I needed to be hurt, I needed the pain to give me the ability to step outside myself and see what, I'm sure, everyone else had been seeing for a very, very long time. Having my heart broken is, I think, one of the most humbling experiences I have ever undergone. Seriously!! It knocks you down and strips you down to your most emotionally vulnerable, exposed state.

But my G-d...I have learned so much about who I am and what I'm made of. I may not be the strongest person in the world, emotionally and certainly not physically, but if this experience has taught me anything, it's this: Sometimes, learning to how to live is the only way to survive. And sometimes, to survive, you have to lose.

So, with that, I will end this entry with something that, three months ago, I never thought I'd have the strength to say:

Now, moving on...