For a while there, I started going back to where it all started and writing more on my personal FB page.
Late night and mid-day soliloquies of the so big and the so little was so much easier in the life-on-happy-crack-busy-busy-busy to write but I started to miss this place.
I missed the draw of writing then rewriting again.
Of editing and re-editing, crafting and re-crafting, trying and trying again.
Of fifteen paragraphs too long when all I needed to say could probably have been surmised in one sentence.
Like my Nicky Nick tells me, sometimes we are our own worst enemies (and editors).
And I fell in love again with why I blog…
I love these moments in time completely paused and saved like markers on a journey.
Revisiting and resurfacing, measuring how far I’ve come and how much more I need to go.
There is beauty in words on paper or the click-clack-clacking of alphabets on a keyboard.
As words get strung into sentences, a cauldron of so much built up is released into an invisible but mostly, so very loving audience.
But more than anything in the world, blogging and writing makes me feel less alone.
It lets the introvert part of me play with the extrovert part of me.
The lala girl that is bold and loud and giggly that doesn’t have to hide and protect the vulnerable and scared and hopeful part of me that stays up too late late late at night processing.
Blogging has taught me again and again that somewhere out there, there is a community of girls up in the middle of the night too, just like me, sieving through their what ifs and broken not enoughs who just need to know that they’re not alone too.
And sometimes it is seven hundred sentences of the same thing again and again and again before it all sinks in and I find myself as I write it out.
I took this picture outside a place I called “safe” for months after my ex-husband left me as I desperately tried to make sense of the overwhelming devastation.
Of why it happened and how it happened and how I could never ever let it happen again.
Every Wednesday, I would sit and confront the so very ugly and the brutal honest and the piercing raw.
I would walk in and slice apart scars that never healed and it was a sacred horrifying ritual of hurting to be whole again.
But every once in a while, as we walked and danced and talked and hurt in circles and circles and circles, an ah-hah would hit me so hard it would sometimes knock the wind out of me as I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
My catharsis wasn’t pretty, my catharsis looked like a horrific mess of tears and heartache in the realization…but it was still a different kind of beautiful.
And as J drove me to this safe place to say thank you, I learned the biggest lesson and a truth I didn’t know I needed to know until I did.
It permeated and swirled and danced around in my head until the parking lot of a Wal*Mart on my last day in Springfield.
A late night run to return a Shop Vac Amie rented because Braiden got sick in the middle of the night.
I highlighted that to remind myself that the irony and beauty of life is that it is messy and chaotic and filled with so many YES! moments piled and nestled between the busy and the living and the breathing and the being.
With the engine turned off in a quiet car, we sat there saying our goodbyes and I love yous and crying and hugging and soaking it all in.
Pouring our hearts out into each other’s laps and held together with the security of knowing that we would be there for each other and love each other through whatever, for everything we were and everything we were not.
It was a circle of no judgement
And in that circle of no judgement, I finally told her my secret.
My big ah-hah moment I was afraid to say out loud in the passing of familiar but stranger traffic lights and street names to that office with the purple wild flowers in the front.
In that safe and in that love, I whispered, “I learned that I didn’t need Springfield anymore,” as big fat tears rolled down and sobs got swallowed in the ugly and the very beautiful of this moment.
I didn’t need this place we had grown up and loved and broke and found and lost and healed and called home.
I thought this place would always hold my heart, but in that parking lot and in that office going back I realized that Springfield only held my memories, my precious past and the becoming but that my afters and from here on outs were excitingly and amazingly unchained.
I wandered and wondered and wandered only to find that I was never lost.
And like only best friends that love you do, she let me cry it out and didn’t judge didn’t judge as she gave me permission to spread my wings and fly.
Celebrating as we grieved, moving forward while afraid of being left behind, embracing and making peace that we may never live in the same city again.
She was still my secret keeper, my dream weaver, my cheerleader and my so big hug giver and forever will be.
She is not my friend for a season, she is my friend for a lifetime.
And if she ever needed me, I would always come in a heartbeat because this love and this friendship was real and fierce and loyal but that the landscape of us had changed.
We would forever always call different places home and that one of us would always be visiting as the other one made a place to belong.
We had spent the last four years growing and reaching and blooming in separate gardens but this was the first time that I knew with every fiber in my being, and knew within my soul and my words and my heart, that Springfield no longer held anything for me.
It was the long pause of a transition, of here and there and halfway and all the murky precious in-between finally figured out.
In that drive down so very familiar but unfamiliar places with those purple flowers in the front, I learned that I no longer needed to come back to find and search and forgive.
That all the years I had desperately looked in circles and circles had finally come to head.
I had found, I was safe, I was at peace, I forgave.
Because in the beauty of time and ripping apart to heal, all the broken pieces that Springfield held was finally back in place, glued, stitched, patched together, whole.
I was ready to turn the page into a new chapter but more than anything else in the world, and the part that was most different of all, I finally realized that I didn’t have to come back to revisit the plot to know where I was going.
I was already there.
Untitled No. 2
I would like to see you come undone.
When you’re laughing so hard
that your eyes crinkle at the corners
and your hand comes up to cover your mouth,
like you’re trying to conceal a secret.
When you are overcome with sadness so deep
that your shoulders drop
and all the weight leaves your body;
you seem so fragile in those moments.
When the late hours of the night
slowly creep into your words
and you reveal all the fears that
you’ve had so long, but couldn’t express
until you are drunken with sleepiness
When you love so passionately
that I can feel it in every fiber of my being-
there is nothing you do better.
These are the times I’ve loved you most.
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