Somebody that I Used to Know

This song seems to be getting a lot of air time these days, both inside my own head and on the radio. I became aware of it a couple of months ago when my love sent me this amazing cover by Walk Off the Earth in which a guitar and five people manage to have something akin to a whole band. Totally worth checking them out.

Whenever I hear it, it reminds me of what I do not want: for someone I love so dearly to become a stranger. And in the wake of hearing that he might not be able to continue to live here, although I wasn't that extreme, I definitely pulled away emotionally, and we started to seem more like strangers than two people who knew each other so intimately:

Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
I told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kinda sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make it like it never happened and that we were nothing
I don't even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger
And that feels so rough

It did feel really rough, and I got a series of messages that maybe that wasn't the way to go. The most eloquent message came in the form of a Ted Talk by Brene Brown on vulnerability. It is also totally worth checking out, but I can tell you what struck the loudest chord with me: the idea that there are two kinds of people in the world, people who know that they are worthy of love and belonging and are thus capable of behaving in vulnerable ways and those who do not and are not. She gave the example of loving someone when you don't know what the outcome would be, and I realized that although my childhood placed me firmly in the camp of those who do not know they are worthy and thus continually refuse to be vulnerable, after all this healing work I've done I realize that I now have the power to place myself in the other camp. And that means allowing myself to remain vulnerable and open even in the face of some pretty massive uncertainty about the future of my relationship with my current love.

Postscript in honor of my non-iversary today: When my husband and I were going through the divorce, someone said to me that I was lucky to have kids with my ex-husband because it meant that we would always be in touch with each other. He told me how sad he was that his second wife, whom he had loved dearly, was not interested in remaining in contact. At that time, overwhelmed with all that I had to deal with in order to find my way to a (mostly) peaceful coparenting relationship with my ex, I thought that sounded crazy. The idea of being able to walk away and wash my hands of what was undoubtedly up to that point the most significant love relationship I'd had seemed so much easier.

But now I understand what he was saying, and although it seems my ex-husband and I have both since found love that extends beyond the capacity of our particular partnership together, I feel profoundly grateful for the children we created together and continue to love and support. Apart, but together. And not as strangers.