The one thing that Ms. Elizabeth Gilbert fails to mention in her book is that after your wonderful ceremony atop the sliding board where you make peace with your ghosts and find God you eventually have to climb down and get on with living your life. And while it was all peace, and bliss, and contentment atop the sliding board real life is a bit messier.
Real life finds you sitting across from one of his dear friends having coffee, driving past his house twice a day for the next while because of course the house you're staying in is in his neighborhood (where else in the whole freaking county could it be?), exchanging emails about him, passing him on the road. And a whole host of other things that bring him right up instead of leaving him off in the distance where you threw him.
And even though you know. Mentally understand that it's over and he's seeing someone else. And that your own life is turning out quite amazing really. Sometimes it takes awhile for your heart to catch up with that. For your body to release the pattern.
So you find yourself speed dialing one of your best girlfriends demanding she tell you to "Stop! Turn the car around right now. Don't you show up on his doorstep." Or crying after yoga because my god this sucks so much how could he possibly already be in a relationship with someone else? Or furious because he refuses to acknowledge your very vulnerable email.
Then other times you find yourself smiling so much it hurts, dancing wildly around your house, so full of love and joy your head might just rocket right off because you've reconnected with a really great man. A man who pursues you. And says and does the most wonderful things. And you're running a 5k, and going to study with Paul, and have some pretty rockin' plans with some amazing women. And your life is so full and rich.
And then it's not. And then it is. All at once.
Because things aren't simple. Because you can't really throw anyone off into the distance. You carry your experiences with you. Your memories and love and tears. All of it is part of you. And being authentic and real and vulnerable is not easy. It's a constant dance between those things. Around them.
And you do the best you can to be present for all of it. To say in one breath I do miss him. Followed with but there's also so much good. Because that's your truth right now. And that's ok.
Because you know that if you throw time. And goodness. And compassion at it. At yourself. One day your stomach won't drop at the sound of his name or the sight of his house.
But that can only happen if you let all the feelings come. If you acknowledge them, feel them, and let them pass (without doing crazy reactionary things like showing up on his doorstep and making him a part of it). If you savor the good things. If you continue to put one foot in front of the other. One smile on top of the next. Remaining curious about what's next and where you're going to live and who you're going to love.
Because that's the only way the light you let in can grow. If you feed it openness. Truth. Authenticity. Vulnerability.
So here I am saying I miss him and I don't. That my life is fantastic AND hard. That, "I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes." And that there's room for all of it. Which is actually pretty wonderful when you think about it.
XO,
Sara
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