If you're new to my blog and can't be arsed to scroll--and I understand, it's real effort to move your finger one inch...
then the number one reason I downsized from a 2,000 square foot house and six-figure job to two backpacks and zero-figure job is to write. And that alone was enough.
But there were others. One of which was Girl, a debatably clever pseudonym for a young woman I started dating about the time I separated from X (a debatably clever pseudonym for my ex-wife).
After dating her for a few months, she broke it off in late 2014 to take her prior boyfriend back. At that Girl could have faded into my history as a rebound--but I refused to let her be. I spent all of 2015 chasing (we worked together, so it was less stalkerish than it might sound). We'd sit in the parking garage, talking in her car sometimes for an hour or more (best to let the traffic dissipate). We'd get handsy, but never kiss or go under clothing because that would be cheating, of course.
Sometimes she'd come over to my house, and we'd lay on the couch X had custom made (like so many other things), watching television, talking, getting high. Again, never crossing from Jimmy Carter to Bill Clinton.
Which isn't to say I didn't try changing is to is: indeed, I chased every freakin' day. Didn't happen.
Then 2016 happened and yada yada yada
I thought Girl and I would become a couple. A real one--not just me as five star side piece.
Didn't happen. So when the ultimatum failed and she stayed with M.S.B., I realized I had nothing left in my then-state of residence (the job was there, of course, but I'd tired of telling stories through slide decks that would sit on servers until told to dust them off months later for a "refresh" ala Tom Smykowski with an MBA).
There's additional yada yadaing--the impassioned arguments, the mind-blowing trysts, the hot and heated and borderline-manipulative talk and texts. The lobbying. The fights and silences. The early departures from work, when I couldn't hear her voice without crying. The drives home where I thought I'd wreck from those tears filling my field of vision.
But all that is (mostly) in the past. I am blessed and fortunate for it all. And for deciding to walk away with my head high--especially since M.S.B. proposed and Girl accepted between the time I decided to walk and actually stepped.
I'd have felt real stupid then.
I do still cry from time to time, but it's not strictly from wanting what I can't have or regret or wishing I'd done something different. It's more for the strange beauty of this life. That sometimes, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how you chase something you're certain you'll catch if you only run hard enough, it just ain't gonna happen.
You can grow bitter over it. Or you can accept, and trust there's something else out there for you. That somewhere you fit. And if you shut up and listen, the answer will come. Maybe not one you want to hear. It might be scary as hell. And you can ignore it.
This time I didn't. And I thank God/fate/strategic fit for it.