Final Curtain Call

Everything came back to the moment when he turned to me and said, "So, move on." We were caught somewhere in between sleep and dreaming, between fear of failure and regret for not trying. We were at Ocean and Shoreline. And just to be clear, he repeated himself; this time, with a softer tone: "Move on." 

Somehow, the "right" thing is nearly always the hardest thing. I tried explaining this but stopped mid-sentence to wonder: if I had known beforehand how much loving another would hurt me, would I then have followed through?

A few weeks back (and moments before the tables turned on me), we sat in the back of a bar and talked about things. I asked why she was so tired and she said she had been up late with a lot on her mind. She mentioned having so many regrets that they were keeping her up at night. I said I hate regretting things. 

It was the start of another new year and I resolved to make it better than the last. At the heart of my resolution was the thing I knew I was meant to do. I thought that by loving people more, there would be far less room for regrets. 

Fourteen days into it, and I haven't gone a day without crying. I still wake up in the mornings, regretting that certain decisions were real and not only bad dreams. 

An old friend in my kitchen laughed at my neurotic behavior and proclaimed, "You are, by far, the very most independent person I've ever known." I explained to him that this is just the reason why I fail at relationships. My supportive and accomodating friends would say this is because I've never met my match. Others still would say that loving is about giving up the most precious, guarded parts of ourselves for the sake of another. 

The water couldn't have been more than forty degrees, so my feet were freezing. As we stood there, making holes in the sand and watching the sun set, we talked about perspective. He can't figure out what he wants out of life. When he said he felt purposeless, I had no idea what to say. 

After dark, the four of us took off our clothes and dove into the waves. We were naked and shivering and laughing louder than we should have, but at that very moment, being alive, in general, was purpose enough. 

He said, "if I didn't know you better, I would say you're trying to prove something," and I winced. 

I thought I had nothing left to prove. 

For twenty five years, life has been about apologizing and being forgiven. 

Breaking up and remaining friends. 

Trying, failing, trying again. 

Having confidence in decisions and not regretting things. 

Two weeks ago, I made it my objective to rethink my purpose in life. It will be my most challenging year so far. Last evening, a few self-centered moments into the conversation and I was arguing, "but I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone! I can't help my independence - I just want people to love me." I wanted to take it back. "Uh, wait, what I mean is, uh...um..." 

He stared at me, disappointed in what I was revealing. 

Life was about me. 

Life was about making my decisions. 

Life was about doing whatever I wanted. 

Life was about pushing to get ahead.

Life was about bypassing everyone on my way to wherever it was I was headed. 

Life was about ignoring the mistakes I have made, the people I have wounded, the enemies I have created, all to save myself from the pain of regret.

And I regretted not seeing the snow on the mountains that morning. I was too busy putting on makeup that I had no idea what she was talking about. And I regretted that I never appreciated him for cleaning up after me. And I was ashamed for not noticing mom's Christmas tree for two whole weeks, for never telling her what she meant to me. I regretted that I see every situation as it is according to me, with my best interests at the front of it all; and I'm ashamed that it's taken me this long to realize it. 

I regret that I've known so many people that I devalue everyone against the one who makes me feel the best about myself. When, actually, I am blessed beyond measure to have ever been loved at all. 

After he pleaded with me to move on and let him move on, I realized it's time to grow up. I knew then that loving has nothing to do with what is gained from it, and everything to do with giving it out, as if it is deserved. 

And loving is the essence of living.

Life is not a dress rehearsal. It is, if nothing else, the final curtain call.