Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Better

When writing is all I can do, all I can do is to write.
I'm starting to feel a little better. I woke up at 3am but my heart wasn't pounding as heavily. You know, the ominous feeling you get when something devastating is about to happen. I felt a little anxiety in the last few days but I'm ok with it. Under the right circumstance I'm allowed to feel anxious. To fight it would only make things worse. Crying helps. Running helps. Writing helps. Talking to the right people helps.

I don't want to have to defend my feelings. People say stuff like, oh, you only feel like that because you can't have him, you wouldn't like him anyways if you got to spend more time with him, etc.

But this isn't about him, who he is or how he felt. And although he had the most incredible body, this isn't about anything physical. I know how I felt. Even if the ghost wasn't real my feeling was. I know it was real because I felt it. I'm not ready to contemplate any alternatives.

There were no sparks between us. Sparks happens when there is friction. There was no friction. There were just two people on equal footing, separately comfortable under their own skin. There was nothing between us.

I realized that when I was talking to him I wasn't explaining, justifying, conveying or defending. I just talked. He didn't make me feel pretty or ugly, crazy or special, adventurous or irresponsible. For the first time I didn't feel like an adjective. He made me feel like me. It was as if all of the weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I knew it was his last night in N. America after three years of hiking, camping, working, vagabonding. There were lots to talk about. When we finally sat down I asked him "so, how did it all start?" I think it caught him by surprise. I could have easily asked him where he's been but I didn't. I know where things are on a map. I don't need him to tell me. I wanted to know what motivated him, what propelled him, what moved him, and what frightened him.

Marek and his girlfriend (now wife) applied for a work visa to go to Canada three years ago. They started on a 6-mos long work assignment in BC. When that ended they decided to buy a minivan and travel through the west coast. They had no plans, no expectations, no goal or destination in mind. After a few months they had to leave the US to get their passports stamped so they traveled to S. America. When they came back they met up with Marek's brother and his girlfriend at the time and visited all sorts of national parks for a couple of months. Then they drove to Canada to meet up with Marek's parents for a while, then drove across Canada, went to up Alaska, came back, worked at the ski lodge, worked at an organic farm in Central America, drove to northeast US, came to visit NYC, worked at vegetable farm in northeastern Canada and lastly a dairy farm in Edmonton. They zigzagged the whole time, sleeping in their minivan and camping at the side of the road whenever it was possible. In the U.S. they were often visited by the cops at 3am with bright lights shining into their tent. On one occasion the same happened in Canada. When they got up in the morning there was a Canadian flag on their windshield and a hand written note that said "sorry about that. Welcome to Canada!"

He talked and I listened. I chimed in whenever he mentioned some place I've been. I told him about the places I've lived, what I've struggled with, and what brought me here. He told me about his depression, his knee injury, anxiety pills, said he's never told that to anyone except for maybe two people, now three. He said he admired the fact that I can just pick up my things and move. He admired the fact I talked about my depression with people. It was late. We didn't want the conversation to end. And the whole time I was completely at awe with the picture of them going through all the trials and tribulations together. For someone who has always done things on my own I can hardly comprehend what that must have felt like. And then I imagined what it wold be like when they look back to all this in their old age.
Marek left me a small gray blanket he took from a hostel in Patagonia. It's really just a thin sheet. It's clean but it smells like him, like his backpack. He had carried with him for the last two years. It now sits on my nightstand, inside a clear plastic bag. I have no idea what to do with it but I'm not really to put it away yet.

Just before he left I gave him one of my favorite books on the Pacific Crest Trial, a true story about a couple who hiked the 2,650 miles together and got married at the end. There is such thing as a modern day fairytale. It just didn't feel real until I saw one in flesh and blood.

She went back home just before Christmas because she was pregnant. I knew he didn't belong to me but it felt good to have him for just a little while. When I see their amazing pictures online I see a life I've never dreamed was possible. I don't just want him. I want to be her. I want what they have. I want the whole package.

I want to find my own person and create our own journey together. I don't know how. I don't know where. I don't know when. It pains me to know it's real; it's possible and he's out there.
We emailed each other a couple of times after he left. He went to Iceland for two days, then Berlin and then home. He said one day I will be so prepared for the PCT that I'll make it the entire way. He said he believed in me.
In my twenties I was happy to go see places. Now in my thirties I'm no longer satisfied with seeing. I want to do things, physical things, I mean really experience them with my whole being. I want to connect with people. I want to fall in love, hard and without reservation. People say pain closes you up. I say hurt me, I'm ready; I've been preparing for this all my life. I think I need an adventure, the Indiana Jones Finding Memo kind of adventure. I'm leaving this planet one way or another and I'm not leaving any stones unturned.
I finally cleaned up my place, did the dishes, put them away, ate dinner, trimmed my cats' nails. I'm a little broken but I'm ok with that. I still get teary eyed thinking about the stuff. I'm ok with that too. I need to get some school work done. It'll be done. I know that.

Sam is a good friend. I talked to him on Monday night. He made time to help me with a paper for school. I consider myself very lucky. Still, the best is yet to come. I believe in that.
I can't wait to see Rose so we can stare at the ceiling or sky or the ocean or whatever it is in front of us together.

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