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.