A week ago I was sitting in the Metro North heading back from another amazing yet exhausting day in the city. I sat across from a girl with normcore short black hair donning artsy red glasses peeping above the book she was reading. Just completing the craze, A Girl on the Train, I felt obligated to begin a book club meeting then and there.
I cannot remember the title of the book she was reading, but something about Data for Surviving and Striving in your 20s. That topic and her look = conversation sparked. We ping-pong two more books:
Her suggestion Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear
Naturally, I told her the background story behind receiving You Are a Badass a gift from my now ex that believes in me and to go after my life desires, don’t look back mentality landing me here, single, in New York in pursuit of fashion.
Shut up already
The problem with the ‘background story’, it involves you, you the in-love love I left behind. I spoke about how amazing you are, the sweet gesture in gifting me with You are a Badass (read here), how you always encouraged and inspired me to enhance my life, go after my dreams and achieve them.
God, I love you.
Damn rom-com had me believe that as long I spoke positively of you, full of joy. People would tilt their head and smile embracing me while encouraging me, cheer me on. Keep going, “Get the bastard back”-Legally Blonde.
I never really liked rom-com and apparently, New Yorkers don’t either.
Instead, New Yorkers provide me with the sigh, their eyes and brows gather into that concerned look, followed by the dreadful, “You should move on”.
How? Why? Terrible! Terrible! Who would say that to a person in love, still in love, still has hope? Well, anyone who thinks you are holding on, grasping at the evaporating memories. The artsy girl on the train included voting I should let it go, I picked up on vibes she pitied me for latching on to hope, for the rom-com ending. She wanted me to embrace the exciting possibilities ahead and not miss out on experiences by holding on to a relationship that no longer exists.
I don’t want to! Dumb, obviously, you are not here now. You have moved on, officially claiming your new relationship on FaceBook. I hate it. Absolutely hate it. Well with enough people, both friends and strangers, hinting “it was time” that I “got over you”, move on, recognize you are gone, it is O-V-E-R, over” I write this as fare well coping mechanism.
“This is not the end”, you told me over and over. I bawled every time I glanced your way as we packed up our home in Dallas. “This is not the end.”
Our move was our break up. The lease ended and we would both go in our own direction to discover who we are as individuals. What makes us happy in life, just without the “us.”
I am trying.
I love you.
I am that stupid movie plot. Newly single girl moves to ‘The big city’, hopes and dreams pursue. Along with turmoil, confusion, wild nights, tears from missing the life she had, and move on don’t look back encouragement from New Yorkers.
Minutes before her stop the girl describes an article about why we all struggle when “the one” is not your one. She offers to exchange emails, providing the attachment of the article, ‘Why you can’t let that one person go, no matter how hard you try.’ She talked it up suggesting it might give insight or help with moving forward.
Luckily I no longer have fear of self-help, shit we all need it at certain points. Her Westchester stop approached. As she exited the train I clicked the link.
No epiphany arrived. The article concluded all that you feel like letting go of ‘the one.’ How could you let them go? Really how?
“Letting them go would mean that you would allow yourself to forget about the impact they made on your life. Letting them go would mean that part of your life that you held onto so dearly would no longer exist.” (Mary McMahon)
They disappear, you replace them, how could you do that? Who could recreate that feeling you are so used to? That feeling you desire, want, cry over.
Buck up & fuck up
With an article to back it, I know it is time to clarify my thoughts on letting you go. Time to buck up and fuck up. Okay, a bit drastic, kinda…after all it is New York.
Homegirl needs to stop holding on and move on, meaning find new distractions to stop and keep me from wishing and thinking of you. I know you were not lying or saying what we both wanted to hear when you said, “this isn’t the end”, but it is the end of the 4 years we had.
Maybe we will try again after experiencing the dating pool, few hookups, and breakups. Maybe those will bring us back. I know I miss you every day, but I am going to turn that into strength and not a distraction when living my new single life in the city. After all, at least it provides writing material.