Nodding in NOLA
I'm a wayward soul at a fork in the road. I'm in New Orleans for now, but next year maybe Nepal, the Netherlands, New York? Who knows?
Jun 13, 2008
9:15am
Chasing my own tale
I just got out of a relationship with someone I really liked who, at the time, felt the same. The blame for the breakup rests squarely on my shoulders, so I haven’t had to deal with the question “Why?” , but, sneakily enough, the question has reformatted itself and is now wearing away at my carefully accumulated nonchalance with a “Why not?” Which is not to say that I had that much nonchalance to begin with. In the week following our breakup, mixtapes were mailed. Enough said.
Lately, I been thinking about how we know when it’s time to move on when a relationship falters. I’m no Florentino Ariza, but throwing in the towel so abruptly on someone you’d drawn so close to yourself, seems a little cavalier and raises doubts, at least in my mind, about the level of attachment that existed. My ex doesn’t have this problem as he can just focus on my wrongdoing and has probably watermarked all his mental images of me with a scarlet letter so that his resolve can withstand teary, cold, illogical, logical or pleading attempts at reconciliation with stony silence.
Meanwhile, my inner fox seems to have gone on permanent vacation so I’m left with tons of grapes, an undiscriminating palate and an appetite for lovelorn songs that dredge up memories. The memories of my ex illicits not only smiles and fond longing but anxiety that the rose-tinted reel in which these images play show a willful courting of fresh pain on my part. I am unable to think poorly of my ex and it’s hampering my ability to disengage. I mean if he was as great as I remember why would I want anyone else? Oh yeah, because he doesn’t want me. I suppose that is the one complaint I do have. In delivering the blow, the words he used were understanding but the method was unkind. He ended things gallantly, which I suppose was important for him to do, and it robbed me of the one avenue by which I might have made a hasty retreat from my own feelings. He corrupted my chance at closure—as a reason to abandon a loved one it’s thin and my brain knows it. So mostly, I moon over him and then I try to interrrupt the loop by hoping that he’ll find someone new soon so that I can finally convince myself that it. Is. Over.
I have my heart set on it happening within the next month or so, not because I relish the thought of him looking at someone else the way he used to look at me, but, because I will run myself ragged obsessing on our [ostensibly non-existent] relationship. Last night I dreamt that we got back together; I don’t relish the possibility of the dream becoming recurrent. In it, my failure to cushion my ego, to strike all references and fragments of him from my life turned out to be a strength. Tenacity in the face of diminished odds carried the day and I got a happy ending to my tale, even if it was only in dreams. I suspect the reality will be different, though. And, in the face of my hopeless optimism, it worries me.
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I'm a wayward soul at a fork in the road. I'm in New Orleans for now, but next year maybe Nepal, the Netherlands, New York? Who knows?
Chasing my own tale
I just got out of a relationship with someone I really liked who, at the time, felt the same. The blame for the breakup rests squarely on my shoulders, so I haven’t had to deal with the question “Why?” , but, sneakily enough, the question has reformatted itself and is now wearing away at my carefully accumulated nonchalance with a “Why not?” Which is not to say that I had that much nonchalance to begin with. In the week following our breakup, mixtapes were mailed. Enough said.
Lately, I been thinking about how we know when it’s time to move on when a relationship falters. I’m no Florentino Ariza, but throwing in the towel so abruptly on someone you’d drawn so close to yourself, seems a little cavalier and raises doubts, at least in my mind, about the level of attachment that existed. My ex doesn’t have this problem as he can just focus on my wrongdoing and has probably watermarked all his mental images of me with a scarlet letter so that his resolve can withstand teary, cold, illogical, logical or pleading attempts at reconciliation with stony silence.
Meanwhile, my inner fox seems to have gone on permanent vacation so I’m left with tons of grapes, an undiscriminating palate and an appetite for lovelorn songs that dredge up memories. The memories of my ex illicits not only smiles and fond longing but anxiety that the rose-tinted reel in which these images play show a willful courting of fresh pain on my part. I am unable to think poorly of my ex and it’s hampering my ability to disengage. I mean if he was as great as I remember why would I want anyone else? Oh yeah, because he doesn’t want me. I suppose that is the one complaint I do have. In delivering the blow, the words he used were understanding but the method was unkind. He ended things gallantly, which I suppose was important for him to do, and it robbed me of the one avenue by which I might have made a hasty retreat from my own feelings. He corrupted my chance at closure—as a reason to abandon a loved one it’s thin and my brain knows it. So mostly, I moon over him and then I try to interrrupt the loop by hoping that he’ll find someone new soon so that I can finally convince myself that it. Is. Over.
I have my heart set on it happening within the next month or so, not because I relish the thought of him looking at someone else the way he used to look at me, but, because I will run myself ragged obsessing on our [ostensibly non-existent] relationship. Last night I dreamt that we got back together; I don’t relish the possibility of the dream becoming recurrent. In it, my failure to cushion my ego, to strike all references and fragments of him from my life turned out to be a strength. Tenacity in the face of diminished odds carried the day and I got a happy ending to my tale, even if it was only in dreams. I suspect the reality will be different, though. And, in the face of my hopeless optimism, it worries me.
