I know you said you weren't particularly surprised to hear from me, but did you wonder why you hadn't heard from me in nearly two years?
I had planned to cut you out completely. I found it perplexingly distressing to deal with the aftermath of your visits. After your last visit, I decided that inviting you to pop in and out of my life like that just wasn't good for me. I wasn't strong enough to handle it - to make myself emotionally snap out of it every time. So I decided to cut you out. I pushed you out of my mind. I dated a ton. I went on a lot of great dates. And went on a lot of bad ones. I broke up with a few boys. And got broken up with by a few boys. I forgot about you. And wondered about you. I resisted the urge to email you. And eventually, in a typically me way, gave myself a target date. If I could maintain silence for two full years, then I would allow myself to think about getting back into contact with you. I changed my mind after a drunken one-night stand.
Dating in New York has been exhausting. I think I dipped into every possible pool of available guys - work colleagues, former work colleagues, sports teammates, friends of friends, friends of friends of friends, randoms at bars, randoms on the internet, hell I even did speed dating. There have been so many ups and downs in the last two years. In the summer, I dated this lawyer. He was a really nice, decent guy who will probably end up making partner. I couldn't help but think that if all I wanted was to get married, move to the burbs, have kids and quit my job - well this was my chance. But I couldn't do it. I was on a date with him and couldn't wait for it to be over so I could text this awful douchebag of a guy I'd been sleeping with on and off for the previous five months. Fucked up.
So I took a time out from boys altogether. Apart from my friend's bachelorette weekend and another friend's birthday, I didn't go out. It was nice to simply surround myself in the comfort of my friends. Then in October, I went to a wedding, got totally drunk and hooked up with a guy there. Oddly enough, it was probably the most fun I'd had all year. The first time in a while I felt like I was just going with the flow and not getting wrapped up in what was going to happen next. The first time in a while I remember actually smiling to myself on the street the day after.
That's when I wondered why the hell I was waiting to email you. Once, you too had made me smile to myself the day after.
Showing posts with label Silence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Silence. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
What I Can't Say
I say all sorts of things that I shouldn't. I know I've hurt people's feelings (probably most often my mother's) with careless and callous words, but even so, what I probably regret more than anything are the times when I should've said something or wanted to say something and I just didn't.
The other day a friend introduced me to the Daily Mission Project (which in itself is really fun to read), and in my browsing, I came across April 19th's mission: "Think of one person in your life you wish you had said something, anything to. Track them down and say it."
When I read that, I knew exactly who I'd track down if it were my mission. Luckily, it's not. I don't know that I would ever actually send this to him, but if I did, it would go something like this:
Dear ____________,
A while ago, a guy that I really liked broke up with me. I was so blind-sided by it that I didn't even know what to say at the time. I made some lame joke so we could laugh away the awkwardness and brushed it off as though he had just told me that he couldn't get tickets to see Avatar in 3D and not that he had just told me that he couldn't see us working out in the long-term. When I got home, it still hadn't registered; I was simply stunned. What just happened? I started to wonder if part of the reason he had ended things was because I had been too emotionally distant with him. Had it even been clear to him that I liked him? I wasn't sure. I couldn't sleep, so I wrote him an email in the wee hours of the morning, telling him how I felt and explaining to him that the only reason I was even bothering to tell him any of this at all was because the one thing I regretted the most about my past relationships was not telling this one person how I felt about him at the time.
That one person is you. For whatever reason, that regret - not telling you how I felt about you at the time - has managed to resurface from time to time in the last few years. It bubbles up most often when I'm feeling particularly alone or when yet another potential relationship has gone awry or when I meet someone who even remotely reminds me of you. The puzzling thing is that I don't know why it's a feeling of regret. There's no "what if?" trailing that feeling. It's not as though I think, or even wish, that things could have turned out differently. Circumstances are circumstances, and to me it seems fated that you and I were only meant to cross paths for a short period of time. Regardless, I still wish you had known how I felt about you at the time. How much I liked you. How uncharacteristically emotional I was when I had to leave you. My friends have all said, "Well I'm sure he knew on some level how much you liked him." But did you? I guess sometimes I worry that you think I only dated you because it was convenient. Because you were there at the right place and the right time. But if that really is what you think, then you're wrong. You were there at the right place and at the right time but you were also the right person. The right person for me.
If life is all about timing, then our timing could not have been more or less perfect.
Without regrets,
____________
The other day a friend introduced me to the Daily Mission Project (which in itself is really fun to read), and in my browsing, I came across April 19th's mission: "Think of one person in your life you wish you had said something, anything to. Track them down and say it."
When I read that, I knew exactly who I'd track down if it were my mission. Luckily, it's not. I don't know that I would ever actually send this to him, but if I did, it would go something like this:
Dear ____________,
A while ago, a guy that I really liked broke up with me. I was so blind-sided by it that I didn't even know what to say at the time. I made some lame joke so we could laugh away the awkwardness and brushed it off as though he had just told me that he couldn't get tickets to see Avatar in 3D and not that he had just told me that he couldn't see us working out in the long-term. When I got home, it still hadn't registered; I was simply stunned. What just happened? I started to wonder if part of the reason he had ended things was because I had been too emotionally distant with him. Had it even been clear to him that I liked him? I wasn't sure. I couldn't sleep, so I wrote him an email in the wee hours of the morning, telling him how I felt and explaining to him that the only reason I was even bothering to tell him any of this at all was because the one thing I regretted the most about my past relationships was not telling this one person how I felt about him at the time.
That one person is you. For whatever reason, that regret - not telling you how I felt about you at the time - has managed to resurface from time to time in the last few years. It bubbles up most often when I'm feeling particularly alone or when yet another potential relationship has gone awry or when I meet someone who even remotely reminds me of you. The puzzling thing is that I don't know why it's a feeling of regret. There's no "what if?" trailing that feeling. It's not as though I think, or even wish, that things could have turned out differently. Circumstances are circumstances, and to me it seems fated that you and I were only meant to cross paths for a short period of time. Regardless, I still wish you had known how I felt about you at the time. How much I liked you. How uncharacteristically emotional I was when I had to leave you. My friends have all said, "Well I'm sure he knew on some level how much you liked him." But did you? I guess sometimes I worry that you think I only dated you because it was convenient. Because you were there at the right place and the right time. But if that really is what you think, then you're wrong. You were there at the right place and at the right time but you were also the right person. The right person for me.
If life is all about timing, then our timing could not have been more or less perfect.
Without regrets,
____________
Monday, February 8, 2010
Silence
I once went to a silent dance party.
When you walked in, someone gave you a pair of headphones to wear - the funny, ear-muff looking kind. Each pair came with a little remote control allowing you to choose to listen to one of three stations. So, you could go up to someone, start dancing with them and tell pretty much right away if they were on the same wavelength as you (pun intended). It was pretty amazing. You had so much control! If you got sick of a song, you could change the station. You could decide how loud you wanted the music to be so you didn't have to go home with your ears were ringing (unless you wanted to). But soon enough the novelty wore off. The headphones were uncomfortable. It was even harder than usual to talk to people. And you weren't actually in control of what music you listened to since your choices were limited to three stations. After about five minutes, it was just weird.
This is kind of how I've come to feel about silence from an ex. At first it's great. There are no reminders of them in your inbox or your call log. You don't have to talk to them or see them if you don't want to. Out of sight, out of mind. But soon enough, you realize that you're not actually in control. The silence becomes uncomfortable. And then it just becomes weird.
Take 'C' for instance. 'C' is an old flame who I haven't heard from since December 2008. It is February 2010! It is driving me a little crazy. I just want to email him and say, "Are you alive?" Yes? Good. Okay, bye. 'C' and I never talked on a regularly basis to begin with; we'd email randomly maybe every two to three months. Actually, I used to hate it when he contacted me. I swear he had this sixth sense. I wouldn't hear from him and then boom. Completely out of the blue, he'd email or call me at a moment when I was feeling down or when something significant was going on in my life. So naturally, when all this happened, I almost expected him to pop back into my life. But no. All is quiet on the western front.
What's funny is that I think I should probably be more bothered by the radio silence coming from 'D'. 'D' is my most recent disappointment and I haven't heard from him at all since things ended. Sure, I may have said something along the lines of "don't bother" when he said he'd call me. And sure, I guess it's not that crazy that I haven't heard from him, since it's not as thought I ever contact boys after I end things with them, but still! I can't help but think things should have played out differently with 'D'.
Okay, I know, I could break the silence. It's mostly pride (and gmail's mail goggles) that's stopping me from emailing 'C' and 'D' myself. Maybe one day I'll give in, but for now, I'm okay with dancing around in the silence, and maybe I'm just not quite ready for those funny-looking ear-muff headphones to come off.
When you walked in, someone gave you a pair of headphones to wear - the funny, ear-muff looking kind. Each pair came with a little remote control allowing you to choose to listen to one of three stations. So, you could go up to someone, start dancing with them and tell pretty much right away if they were on the same wavelength as you (pun intended). It was pretty amazing. You had so much control! If you got sick of a song, you could change the station. You could decide how loud you wanted the music to be so you didn't have to go home with your ears were ringing (unless you wanted to). But soon enough the novelty wore off. The headphones were uncomfortable. It was even harder than usual to talk to people. And you weren't actually in control of what music you listened to since your choices were limited to three stations. After about five minutes, it was just weird.
This is kind of how I've come to feel about silence from an ex. At first it's great. There are no reminders of them in your inbox or your call log. You don't have to talk to them or see them if you don't want to. Out of sight, out of mind. But soon enough, you realize that you're not actually in control. The silence becomes uncomfortable. And then it just becomes weird.
Take 'C' for instance. 'C' is an old flame who I haven't heard from since December 2008. It is February 2010! It is driving me a little crazy. I just want to email him and say, "Are you alive?" Yes? Good. Okay, bye. 'C' and I never talked on a regularly basis to begin with; we'd email randomly maybe every two to three months. Actually, I used to hate it when he contacted me. I swear he had this sixth sense. I wouldn't hear from him and then boom. Completely out of the blue, he'd email or call me at a moment when I was feeling down or when something significant was going on in my life. So naturally, when all this happened, I almost expected him to pop back into my life. But no. All is quiet on the western front.
What's funny is that I think I should probably be more bothered by the radio silence coming from 'D'. 'D' is my most recent disappointment and I haven't heard from him at all since things ended. Sure, I may have said something along the lines of "don't bother" when he said he'd call me. And sure, I guess it's not that crazy that I haven't heard from him, since it's not as thought I ever contact boys after I end things with them, but still! I can't help but think things should have played out differently with 'D'.
Okay, I know, I could break the silence. It's mostly pride (and gmail's mail goggles) that's stopping me from emailing 'C' and 'D' myself. Maybe one day I'll give in, but for now, I'm okay with dancing around in the silence, and maybe I'm just not quite ready for those funny-looking ear-muff headphones to come off.
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