Today I have left my love....

for two years. I've alluded to the difficult time we've had defining the parameters of what this means for us, and I've shared my open palm theory (not nearly as gropey as it sounds, and has nothing to do with masturbation) with a few people, and figure after that last little entry that expounded on the pain and heartbreak I feel as a result of my choice, I should follow up with the plan, pretty complex, lots of details, lots of ins and outs (an homage to the Big Lebowski for those of you in the way back....) so in poem form (which seems to only make sense) here's what I've got....

I hold my love in an open palm. I keep it wide and flat for him to have sturdy ground with which to stand on and to make choices from. He can fully see me and all my shadows in the lines of my past and future, and I him, for all that we are and all that we want to be, as individuals, as partners. I hold my love in an open palm. I do not keep it cupped, only allowing him to see the parts of me and my world that I want him to see, for in this basin he would not be able to see the beauty of the world around us. I hold my love in an open palm. I do not fold my fingertips protectively, sheltering him from any drafts that might come our way, as the winds and foul weather will come, and in each gust we must figure out how to first stand up to it alone, and then if and how to help each other through the storm. I hold my love in an open palm. I do not spread my fingers wildly, erratically, creating wide unnecessary craters and problems for him to navigate. I hold my love in an open palm. I feel the changing weight, in the heaviness and lightness of him, seeing his struggles and joys clearly, this sometimes building my strength and occasionally relieving my burden. I hold my love in an open palm. I hold my hand steady, I do not shake it and turn it upside down, causing him to reach for and cling to me without choice. I hold my love in an open palm. I do this to remember my own capabilities, and what this hand can be used for, for me, for him, and what my fingers, nails and palm can offer him there, should he desire it, should I choose. I hold my love in an open palm. I do not keep him in a closed fist to hold him in my version of safety, because this would only serve to crush him or suffocate him, making him unhappy by my restrictive boundaries. I hold my love in an open palm, for him to feel the warmth of my love, and the support I offer him and to see the beauty I wish to create with him. For all this, and for everything more, I hold my love in an open palm.

I guess this is all I feel you need to know about what's next for the two of us...


Here's the highlights from the rest of the trip, or really, some more psycho babble stream of consciousness bs....

I have gone from feeling as though I was holding my breath in Minneapolis to getting to California and overindulging in everything including air, to finally feeling a balance of breathing easily. I no longer feel like being so defined by a choice I have made but not executed, trying to answer people’s questions and deal with their pathos. The bride is just ready for the wedding to begin; it’s time to walk down the aisle. The mother is ready to give birth; she tires of people touching her stomach. I’m ready to land in Botswana, I’m tired of feigning excitement and attempting to respond to questions I have no idea the answer to. To take it back to my cheerleading days- “We want ACTION!!!”

Jack and I spent our last weekend together attending a workshop called “Our Whole Lives,” which is a religious sexual education curriculum facilitation training in nearby Danville, CA. It was a nice really lovey dovey experience surrounded by great people and a beautiful flower filled church with nice food and competent trainers, and of course a titillating topic. We both learned a lot, refined personal goals, and were spurred to having several conversations between the two of us that we otherwise might not have come to in quite some time, much less the weekend before I left for two years. For one of the first times we delved into the differences in our religions and where those differences might lead us as a couple, and what our expectations for each other might be in that arena. Jack, being Jack, has always been open to my struggle in that arena, and it never ceases to amaze me that it can feel perfectly right for me, someone who struggles with religion and sometimes denies the whole thing completely, to be so happy and fulfilled in a relationship with a Christian minister. By the middle of the weekend I was sure that there was nothing I would have rather done with the last of our time together, because really it would have been completely unproductive to just plan to spend time alone together to just hold each other and cry… we had enough of that at the airport.

I was continuously surprised throughout this trip how different it was from the last one, when the time seemed so fleeting and tragic, and I would bust into tears at the slightest provocation. I think launching this experience in phases, with finishing everything in Minneapolis that needs to get done prior to going to the Peace Corps has really served me to be able to embark on this trip to California and this time with Jack and E unteathered and able to have sails filled with and energized wind. Knowing that I was returning from this trip to launch into my new life in Botswana with the Peace Corps made me more able to enjoy the time for what it was, a vacation, and thus the tears were fewer. Also all the time Jack and I got to spend together was pure appreciation and gratitude, which left me feeling more secure for the future, or at least for the possibility of our own future happiness, whether that be together or apart.

The Space Between

The Space Between Dave Mathews band

For a refresher on the lyrics that I’m speaking of…

You cannot quit me so quickly

There's no hope in you for me

No corner you could squeeze me

But I got all the time for you, love

The Space Between

The tears we cry

Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more

The Space Between

The wicked lies we tell

And hope to keep safe from the pain

But will I hold you again?

These fickle, fuddled words confuse me

Like 'Will it rain today?'

Waste the hours with talking, talking

These twisted games we're playing

We're strange allies

With warring hearts

What wild-eyed beast you be

The Space Between

The wicked lies we tell

And hope to keep safe from the pain

Will I hold you again?

Will I hold...

Look at us spinning out in

The madness of a roller coaster

You know you went off like a devil

In a church in the middle of a crowded room

All we can do, my love

Is hope we don't take this ship down

The Space Between

Where you're smiling high

Is where you'll find me if I get to go

The Space Between

The bullets in our firefight

Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you

The rain that falls

Splash in your heart

Ran like sadness down the window into...

The Space Between

Our wicked lies

Is where we hope to keep safe from pain

Take my hand

'Cause we're walking out of here

Oh, right out of here

Love is all we need here

The Space Between

What's wrong and right

Is where you'll find me hiding, waiting for you

The Space Between

Your heart and mine

Is the space we'll fill with time

The Space Between...

This dave mathews song has been running through my head for some time now, and always seems to in times of transition or where I feel confused, where I’m going forward, on a course that is inevitably the right one, but that feels more than a little scary or confusing, or mostly unknown. My friend John Richards has a song, called “Wonderful Unknown” that has resonated with me lately as well.

I’ve been in California for a week and a half, feeling as though I’ve exhaled for the first time in months, feeling like this a place I could be, a place that feels more who I am than the person who left Minneapolis, yet knowing I can’t possibly be here yet, as this place is not ready for me and I am not completely ready for it. And in the end not knowing if this is, indeed where I will end up….

I have been spending time with friends old and new, the past and the future all wrapped up in one twilight zone experience. E took me to wine country and the beach, showing me all the unfamiliar beauty of the terrain and familiar strength I know her to have which is all her own, and how much she has grown since last we got to spend a significant amount of time together. It was exactly what I needed to see, a friend who has left the cradle of MN and made a home and a life for herself far from where she started, and in doing so has grown into exactly the person she is supposed to be, which is herself, but stronger, more sure and confident, and every ounce as caring and wonderful as she’s ever been. (Thanks E, for everything; it meant more than you know).

I met Julie, a new Peace Corps friend, who seems so with it and like minded, as I imagine most of my peace corps comrades will be, yet with enough diversity of backgrounds to make things interesting. It is always so exciting to meet new people who automatically have so much in common and it has given me such pleasure to connect with the people whom I know I will come to depend on for so much.

Jack and I of course have been spending lots of time together, enjoying each other’s company, and tiptoeing around the obvious elephant in the room. Occasionally I will see a shadow pass over his face, and I know he’s thinking of my inevitable departure, the embraces last a little too long, the squeezes are a little too tight, and the sighs are more often and prominent. I’ve begun saying goodbye to the friends of his that know me from when I met them the last time I was out in California, that previous visit being about Jack introducing me to his people, and incorporating me into the life he has started without me here, and that will be his mainstay after I’m gone. I am feeling the concern his people have for him and his wellbeing, I can see the confusion in their eyes as they ask me the general barrage of questions about my journey, too polite without a few glasses of wine to straight out ask me the obvious “how can you leave him?,” or “what are you guys going to do?” The painful personal questions to which we ourselves don’t have any certain answers and the ones we come up with that seem promising, good or achievable somehow ring hallow or untrue, even though they are the only answers we’ve got. I am caught wanting to throw things and scream “Don’t you understand I love him too, more than you, in the very core of my being, and leaving him is like ripping an essential organ from my person asking me to breathe with one lung, it can be done, but it’s tiring and painful? Don’t you think that I, the one who loves him most, know very intimately how this is killing him, killing me? Can’t you understand that I’ve thought this through and time and time again the numbers always add up and the equation is always the same and at the end of the day this is the only choice I can make, for me, for him, for even the possibility of us?” At the same time I want to scream at and shake people I want to look down and to shirk out of the room, the state, the country quietly, with no production, and no fanfare, like the criminal I feel like I am for hurting a man so good so profoundly.

He is a truly good man, my Jack, who has whole heartedly supported me and this journey so totally and completely, putting his own feelings aside to comfort me in my confusion and uncertainty, his faith in me sometimes stronger than my own, carrying both of us through the most trying of times. I simply couldn’t have asked for more or for better and never really believed someone like him existed. He has shared with me in my joys and my sorrows through this whole long crazy trip, and whatever happens with me, with him, with us and the future, I know I have been lucky and extremely blessed to have had this time with him. As I write this on his laptop with a lump in my throat and tears welling up behind my sunglasses, he drives us along a gorgeous sunny California highway, as the snow flies in blizzard like conditions back in MN. He gently reaches over for my hand as we drive, and holds my wrist as I type, oblivious of the love that pours from my fingers onto the keys. This is the fairy tale I live, and the fairy tale I leave.