....by sometimes, I mean often-because, as much as I'd like to share every single thing all the time, there's a bit of my life that because of circumstance, respect, other people, I keep private. Woa. I share almost all of my emotions, but I don't always share the pieces that triggered the emotion; the person, the job, the place or opportunity- here's the problem with leaving holes; there's a lot of room for assumption.
After my breakup, the one I so generously offered up every detail of as to aid in my grieving process, I dated a boy, one who I've written about very briefly and due to his online persona, kept the majority of our "relationship," private.
Here's what I didn't say;
I was horribly harsh, inaccessible, capricious, and wildly NOT ready for any of that, or him, because of that....I didn't just date him, but I dated.....a couple other guys too. Hashtag me unfair, but that's the way the story goes. Admittedly, I did a lot wrong during those 7 months. I treated people poorly and with semi-reluctant force, I tried to make it all something it couldn't be.
Here's what I didn't say; I left out the bits about some of those boys making me HAPPY....I was so comfortable sharing sadness and I suppose, protecting my ex in a way....leaving the porch light on, so he would never think I moved on, because truthfully- I hadn't, that I skipped the times there were rainbows peeking through.
When I did share rainbows, I didn't say, only 7% of me was "there," when we strolled down Haight-Ashbury, holding hands and gliding in and out of pastry shops, where he encouraged me to eat one of everything and over encouraging open ears- the few moments, I nestled my head up against someone new showing hardly an ounce of what could be "affection," 8% of me showed up.... that time when he told me the story about his Dad making months worth of stew, "the stew," and stocking the fridge for every. meal. he laughed so hard we nearly spit up our Malbec and extinguished the candles on the table...yeah, that time.... 12% of me showed up..... parts of me were happy, but the other 93% was always with My Love.
Here's what I can't say about my life; there's a few major story lines happening right now that are too major to tell yet- too big, too contingent, too sacred, too kick your face exciting......that only my closest circle gets updates.
Which, truthfully, at times makes it hard for me to SHOW UP here, in full Chelsea Talks Smack regalia all brazen and unnecessary, wearing canary yellow and tangerine at the same time, bearing updates and adventures.
Here's what I didn't say, and the hole in this story is not only big, but with reason was kept mum, longer that I'm comfortable with....Remember my Valentines Day Revolution?? Right, the day when after 7 months of heartache, I pulled it together, bought myself flowers and lingerie, drank champagne, went to dinner and a spa.......
.... well after I did all of that, as I tipped down a street in Denver draped in the moonlight with the intention of heading home to eat chocolates in bed while watching something heinously unromantic, for the sake of my inner rebel....I heard him say my name, "Chels......"
My Love. My Great Love Story. The one who fucking wrecked my heart. (too put it bluntly.) The one who was The One- stood there, wearing a silly sailor hat and a blazer, at that moment, on Valentines Day, on the same corner, in the same place, at the exact same time, all by himself...just like me. It kind of just clicked, the silent inner nod. We linked arms and walked back to his apartment...the last six weeks have been, incredible and incredibly intentional. Turns out Cupid does his job, tricky rascal.
Here's what I didn't say; while our breakup was the most painful thing I've experienced, hurtful, shocking, and deep- I also recognize that it was what needed to happen then. Annoying huh? That old, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" bit. Listen, we both had our "things," that we needed to figure out. I didn't say that, there were times when we still saw each other, and "saw each other," there were times when I knew he was still in DEEP, DEEP confusion and I knew he still wasn't ready for me, I didn't say those times were punctuated by months without a word from him- I didn't say that I also knew he still loved me, acknowledging that without the outcome I wanted would've been unbearable to carry.
I didn't say that I always knew it would be him. I didn't say that, a week before Valentines Day he called and asked if we could have coffee, but I stubbornly denied. I didn't say that I saw him trying to make it all "right" again- with words and actions to follow. I didn't say that when we're together, our hearts shine a little brighter. I didn't say that it's so much better now than it ever could have been, that I trust him and I trust US. I didn't say that I feel home again, in a healthy, strong way.
I didn't say it, because I've already persecuted him, painted him through my emotions. I told the story of a Jekyll and Hyde- how do you go back and convince the jury that he's no longer a villain? ..or that he's learned the price of his crime....
Here's what I haven't said; I'm happier than I have been in a long, long time- I'm the kind of happy only he can intensify. My Love has light in his eyes again. We're building a monument on sacred burial grounds that we once were, and with every piece we're deliberate about the foundation we're laying. Carefully chosen beams, doorknobs and walkways....there's a depth, a level of understanding and an optimism that is palpable....and really, for now, that's enough evidence for me to present right now. I'm going to bask in this newness, with all the old goodness reminding me that this is exactly the perfect choice.
Which is better to say TOO MUCH, or TOO LITTLE?
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