Jtwenty7

Friday, January 13, 2006

Rebound Lover

I could hear just a hint of it in her voice last Sunday. As we sped up 31 with our husbands talking in the front seat, I told Frances that we'd be gone for a few days, that we were headed back to Georgia for a short vacation.

"Oh. So, did you like it there?"

Go ahead and go for a few days. But don't get any ideas in your head about staying. Don't forget what you have here.

I was so excited to start a relationship with him. It was all hopes and dreams mixed in with fear of the unknown. I had no idea he would turn out to be such a cruel heartbreaker. The end itself was almost too much, surreal at its core, with a denied reality that would have been too painful to deal with all at once. But the worst was being around him even after it was over. To constantly have to face him. Like being beat up over and over again. New scar tissue ripped open from yet another encounter.

And then I found you. From seemingly nowhere, you reached out this hand to me and pulled me to my feet, helped me brush the dust off. There's this connection with us that goes without saying because we've travelled such a similar road, you and me. Somebody broke your heart and left you for dead and all you'd really given was love. You invited and I accepted and you swept me off to a secluded place and told me I was loved and valued and had something beautiful to offer. You made me into a truer me. I am yours now. Not because you're pleading with me to stay. Not because I have to. But because I love your easy-going way. Because your love is so innocent at its core. It is basic and simple and strong. And asks for so little in return.

I didn't come here this week with any expectation of running into him. I really just wanted a chance to relax. But he's here. A new him that's gone through some sort of rehab that weeded out all the lies and the hate. What's left is a new sort of heartbreaker: what if...

I see glimpses of what we could have been. The laughter and the love and the comaraderie. The team that could have moved mountains. It makes me ache inside because I think we could have been such a good fit, you and me. You have all the glitz and the glamour, the fast pace and lights. I want to be with you again. To try out this new beginning you've made for yourself. You are now what you were supposed to be then.

But I belong to another. One that deserves to be so much more than just a rebound lover. These few, precious days we have will be bittersweet, teetering between the laughter and tears as we rediscover each other and both wonder without words. And when it's over, I'll walk away, back into the strong arms at the other end of this love affair.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Visitor

How strange to be back. Vacationing on the streets I drove everyday for almost two years. We drove around last night, noting the changes and things that have stayed the same.

And I wonder how Newnan would view me through the same scrutiny. Anything different? Only familiar?

It brings to mind the feeling I had when our Georgia friends visited Twelve Mile one summer afternoon:

Look at me. You're not seeing me for the first time, but maybe you are. This is what I look like when I'm living from my heart - loved, accepted and being myself. Comfortable in my own skin.

Someone once asked Karen Hughes if George W was the same guy she had started working for years ago. Her answer was "yes, but moreso."

Determined, but moreso.
Full of integrity, but moreso.
Confident, but moreso.

I left so defeated. And now I'm back. In a better place than I was at the peak of our time in Georgia.

And I can't wait to enjoy the best that Newnan has - to savor those things which make my heart soar with just a memory, rooted in the knowledge of where I am now.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Observations on the Drowning of Non-Swimmers: One

I came across an old article tonight that is like a magical key, made to assist in unlocking thoughts that have been stored up inside me for several months now. "Observations on the Drowning of Non-Swimmers" was written by Frank Pia in 1974 and originally published in the Journal of Physical Education.

I would have to agree with Pia that the first step is recognizing someone who is on the verge of drowning:

The drowning non-swimmer neither advertises the fact that he is drowning, nor is it self-evident to any except the trained eye.

I come in contact with drowning people everyday. But for the first time, in all these years, I've spotted a victim that I can't seem to tear myself away from.

And thus begins the journey on a site that has been left alone for far too long.