A Cool, Cool Breeze

The heat and humidity have broken, and a fresh, cool wind is blowing. I've turned off the fans and the crossbreeze is moving through my little railroad flat, cooling me, and the cats.

I've always wished I could be the kind of person who could work up a righteous rage when a relationship is ending. I've always envied people who could hold onto a grudge forever by ticking down a list of perceived wrongs. You did THIS! And you did THAT! And another thing, let me remind you about the time you did something else. In fact, I am going to remind you about that thing you did. Until the DAY. YOU. DIE. (Actually, I've seen marriages like this, where every disagreement is an endless scorecard of grievances and rewards that people hold to their chest like a poker hand, waiting for just the right moment to whip them out.)

However, something in my nature has always, after tears, righted itself quite quickly, and I just let go of the suffering. My experience of things has always been, how can I be mad at someone for being the person that he is? (Of course, I'm not referring to wife-beaters or child-molesters here. There is a special room in hell just for them.)

I understand that a good part of why we suffer when a relationship has to end is that we are not getting what we want. We do get oh so very, very attached to getting what we want, don't we? The Buddhists call this "getting attached to outcomes." I'm always fascinated by people who keep on in relationships long past the date that they start reeking, merely because they cling to the hope that because they've invested a lot of time in it, they can somehow salvage something palatable out of it. They are invested in an outcome that they foresaw years ago, and even though it's plain it ain't gonna turn out that way, they just keep on hoping.

When Matt and I broke up, it took a long time for me to get over being sad, and yes, mad at him. We had been together for five amazing years, but it ended at the right time. Still, it was a good six months before I could even speak to him. And when I did finally reach out, he was quite surprised.

"I thought you'd never speak to me again," he said.

"Why?" I replied. "You are the person I fell in love with. We had a lot of love in the last five years. Trashing all that good stuff and acting like we didn't have it would be throwing the baby out with the bath water," (Yes, Jane actually said "throwing the baby out with the bath water." Sometimes the only thing we have at our fingertips is a split infinitive and a hoary old cliche. I hang my head in shame.)

The love had changed, but the things that inspired it were still there. So Matt and I keep a deep, deep fondness and respect for each other. We'll talk, and he'll cut his eyes at me, and he knows that I know exactly what he means at that second. And I have a friend who is still a little mad at Matt for something he said fifteen years ago, and honestly, I don't even remember what it was. Let it go, already!

But to my larger point.

The Being Sad part is passing, and isn't it pointless to manufacture high dudgeon and pissed-offedness over someone being himself, and being completely honest about it?

And I'm getting over being mad at myself. I made a decision, walked into it open-eyed. I stepped out into Diner World to frolic with you homers for a while. It was lots of fun.

I think this experience has opened me up in a real way. It has permeated every area of my life and believe me, it has been noticed. I guess I am starting to shed my leathery hide. Example: A friend at work who reads me like a book, came in this morning, rubbed my back, and asked, "How are you doing?" and I just started to cry. (Jesus, will I ever STOP?) God, don't you just hate it when people are sweet and kind to you and give a shit?

I attribute this newfound openheartedness to one thing:

I met someone who made me feel that my name was safe in his mouth, and oddly enough, despite this sad outcome, I believe it still is.

(But if he tells anyone I'm nice, I'll kill him.)