Lately I've been getting lucky on finding favorite oldies on the radio -- yesterday I heard Straight from the Heart by Bryan Adams about which I've already blogged -- hearing it now made me cry thinking about how straight from the heart I used to get it from the New Englander.
It may be that there will always be an element of sadness to that loss, but there is also a LOT more peace. I'm at the point where I really believe that we both did what we could and that just didn't add up to a long-term partnership.
Today in the car, it was this classic song that had me cranking it up and singing along:
How can I convince you
What you see is real
Who am I to blame you
For doubting what you feel
I was always reachin'
You were just a girl I knew
I took for granted
The friend I had in you
I was living for a dream
Loving for a moment
Taking on the world
That was just my style
Now I look into your eyes
I can see forever
The search is over
You were with me all the while
And in some ways, the search is over -- me feeling like I need to do something or say something or be something or have something or weigh something in order to find a man -- that search is most definitely over. I no longer feel like I need to look for it -- I can let it find me.
It helps, I reckon, that some questions of the heart have been answered, and I'm still here to tell about it:
Can we last forever
Will we fall apart
At times it's so confusing
The questions of the heart
No, we can't last forever, New Englander, and yes, we did fall apart. And that sucked, for a while, but it also ultimately led me to where I am now, feeling happier, freer and more grounded than I've ever felt in my life. I recognize now that although we really loved each other, neither of us was able to patiently wait or follow one another through changes:
You followed me through changes
And patiently you'd wait
'Till I came to my senses through
Some miracle of fate
I was living for a dream
Loving for a moment
Taking on the world
That was just my style
Now I look into your eyes
I can see forever
The search is over
You were with me all the while
And I know that, as it did for Survivor, my luck will eventually strike like lightning from the blue:
Now the miles stretch out behind me
Loves that I have lost
Broken hearts lie, victims of the game
Then good luck, it finally struck
Like lighting from the blue
Every highway's leading me back to you
But this time, the highway will not lead to a dead end. It'll lead to something more like this:
Now at last I hold you
Now all is said and done
The search has come full circle
Our destinies are one...
Showing posts with label Letting Go of a Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Letting Go of a Love. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Friday, January 2, 2015
El Condor Pasa
When I was at the gym today to teach yoga, I remembered that every year the owner leaves $20 in all the employees' mailboxes to say thank you and Merry Christmas. It's not a lot of money, but I didn't have any plans, so I decided to see if I could take myself to dinner and a movie on it.
This past year, or maybe the year before, I read the book Wild and loved it, so I've been excited to see the movie.
It did not disappoint. In fact, it was positively cathartic for where I am in my life right now, which is at a place of acceptance about being apart from the man with whom I thought for sure I'd spend the rest of my life. The movie helped remind me that this actually happens a lot -- including to the author, who gets divorced from her first husband even though they love each other deeply. It happens, I am now telling myself. It's not just you. You don't have to take this personally. You can just accept that sometimes you get to choose and sometimes you don't.
This song, from the movie's phenomenal soundtrack, is a great reminder of that too:
I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail
Yes I would
If I could, I surely would
Hmm mmm
I'd rather be a hammer than a nail
Yes I would
If I only could, I surely would
Hmm mmm
Away, I'd rather sail away
Like a swan that's here and gone
A man gets tied up to the ground
He gives the world its saddest sound, its saddest sound
Hmm mmm
I'd rather be a forest than a street
Yes I would
If I could, I surely would
I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet
Yes I would
If I only could, I surely would
For today, I can still feel the earth beneath my feet. It's chilly at the moment, but I can feel it. And that connection is all I need to keep healing.
And I'd be remiss if I didn't report that I also managed to buy myself dinner with the rest of my cash: Chile Verde from Pasqual's, one of my faves...
This past year, or maybe the year before, I read the book Wild and loved it, so I've been excited to see the movie.
It did not disappoint. In fact, it was positively cathartic for where I am in my life right now, which is at a place of acceptance about being apart from the man with whom I thought for sure I'd spend the rest of my life. The movie helped remind me that this actually happens a lot -- including to the author, who gets divorced from her first husband even though they love each other deeply. It happens, I am now telling myself. It's not just you. You don't have to take this personally. You can just accept that sometimes you get to choose and sometimes you don't.
This song, from the movie's phenomenal soundtrack, is a great reminder of that too:
I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail
Yes I would
If I could, I surely would
Hmm mmm
I'd rather be a hammer than a nail
Yes I would
If I only could, I surely would
Hmm mmm
Away, I'd rather sail away
Like a swan that's here and gone
A man gets tied up to the ground
He gives the world its saddest sound, its saddest sound
Hmm mmm
I'd rather be a forest than a street
Yes I would
If I could, I surely would
I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet
Yes I would
If I only could, I surely would
For today, I can still feel the earth beneath my feet. It's chilly at the moment, but I can feel it. And that connection is all I need to keep healing.
And I'd be remiss if I didn't report that I also managed to buy myself dinner with the rest of my cash: Chile Verde from Pasqual's, one of my faves...
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Fidelity
Now that I've seen all 10 seasons (!) of Grey's Anatomy, I don't have an automatic go-to when I want to watch a little something on my computer. Lately I've been venturing back over to Netflix, where they now have some pretty awesome flicks on Watch Instantly. This includes one of my real faves from the last few years, Silver Linings Playbook.
What a beautiful movie, and it was so good for me to watch it again and see the difference in where I am from a couple of years ago (see my post after I watched it back in January of 2013). In the movie, the main character is still in love with his wife even after she cheated on him and wanted out of their marriage. The movie is about his heartbreak but also about how he rebuilds himself and falls in love with someone else (someone who it would not be hard to fall in love with, my fave, Jennifer Lawrence). When I saw it the first time, I cried and cried. Watching it again, I remember the sheer agony I felt the winter before last. I also remember the friend I watched it with asking me if I knew why it struck me so hard. As I recall, the best I could come up with was that to see them -- the new lovers -- in a position to embrace their love and not be in that position with my own lover felt so unfair.
Now I understand on a deeper level what those tears were about. Some part of me probably knew then what I can see clearly now -- my boyfriend and I were not the new lovers who found each other at a time in both of their lives where they were open to starting something together that could go on and on -- we were -- or should I say I was -- more like the main character at the start of the movie, still desperately in love with someone who, by his actions, had shown that he wasn't able to embrace a life with me. I didn't want to admit it for so long, that though we had been those lovers in the position to take on the world together, we actually only inhabited that place for a fraction of the time we spent together. Much of the rest of it was me holding on for dear life, clinging to what I believed could be.
That belief was enough for a long time, until I started to heal, and want more for myself. And even then, it took me a few more months to recognize that I couldn't force someone to give me what I wanted, not even by identifying it and mapping out a brilliant plan to bring us to fruition. That didn't work. It didn't work because I can only control myself. I can't control him. Even if he, on some level, wants to do the work. Even if he does love me, and want to be with me. Those things just aren't enough. He would have had to be able to take action, and continue to take action, to move himself and us back in that direction, and he either couldn't or wouldn't.
Sigh. But at least the picture is getting clearer for me. I don't love him any less, but I do love myself more, and that means expecting more out of life than to mire myself in a cycle of ecstasy and frustration from trying to change the man I happen to be crazy about who can't or won't deliver on my basic needs in a romantic partnership.
Pondering all of this, I heard Regina Spektor's song about letting go of a love, and it seemed to be expressing what I was feeling pretty darn perfectly:
I never loved nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting my heart truly
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart
And suppose I never ever met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
Suppose I never ever saw you
Suppose we never ever called
Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall
Just to break my fall
Just to break my fall
Break my fall
Break my fall
All my friends say that of course its gonna get better
Gonna get better
Better better better better
Better better better
Yes, my friends, you are right. It's gonna get better. It's already starting to...
What a beautiful movie, and it was so good for me to watch it again and see the difference in where I am from a couple of years ago (see my post after I watched it back in January of 2013). In the movie, the main character is still in love with his wife even after she cheated on him and wanted out of their marriage. The movie is about his heartbreak but also about how he rebuilds himself and falls in love with someone else (someone who it would not be hard to fall in love with, my fave, Jennifer Lawrence). When I saw it the first time, I cried and cried. Watching it again, I remember the sheer agony I felt the winter before last. I also remember the friend I watched it with asking me if I knew why it struck me so hard. As I recall, the best I could come up with was that to see them -- the new lovers -- in a position to embrace their love and not be in that position with my own lover felt so unfair.
Now I understand on a deeper level what those tears were about. Some part of me probably knew then what I can see clearly now -- my boyfriend and I were not the new lovers who found each other at a time in both of their lives where they were open to starting something together that could go on and on -- we were -- or should I say I was -- more like the main character at the start of the movie, still desperately in love with someone who, by his actions, had shown that he wasn't able to embrace a life with me. I didn't want to admit it for so long, that though we had been those lovers in the position to take on the world together, we actually only inhabited that place for a fraction of the time we spent together. Much of the rest of it was me holding on for dear life, clinging to what I believed could be.
That belief was enough for a long time, until I started to heal, and want more for myself. And even then, it took me a few more months to recognize that I couldn't force someone to give me what I wanted, not even by identifying it and mapping out a brilliant plan to bring us to fruition. That didn't work. It didn't work because I can only control myself. I can't control him. Even if he, on some level, wants to do the work. Even if he does love me, and want to be with me. Those things just aren't enough. He would have had to be able to take action, and continue to take action, to move himself and us back in that direction, and he either couldn't or wouldn't.
Sigh. But at least the picture is getting clearer for me. I don't love him any less, but I do love myself more, and that means expecting more out of life than to mire myself in a cycle of ecstasy and frustration from trying to change the man I happen to be crazy about who can't or won't deliver on my basic needs in a romantic partnership.
Pondering all of this, I heard Regina Spektor's song about letting go of a love, and it seemed to be expressing what I was feeling pretty darn perfectly:
I never loved nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting my heart truly
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart
And suppose I never ever met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
Suppose I never ever saw you
Suppose we never ever called
Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall
Just to break my fall
Just to break my fall
Break my fall
Break my fall
All my friends say that of course its gonna get better
Gonna get better
Better better better better
Better better better
Yes, my friends, you are right. It's gonna get better. It's already starting to...
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Goodbye My Lover
I recognize that I'm walking a tricky line here -- maintaining a forward orientation while also allowing myself to feel my feelings. I recently identified what I now call my voiceover, which is where I tell myself something that I want to be true because it's easier than being with what is true. Turns out I've used the voiceover in this way for, well, that's just say, years. For many of those years, I needed it to survive, but now it's time to let it go.
Part of the reason for the perceived need for the voiceover was another assumption I was operating under, which goes something like this: Feeling x means I'm y. In the example I'm discussing in this post, that might be feeling sad about losing a love means I'm not over him.
Here's the new twist I'm adding to the equation: maybe it does and maybe it doesn't. Maybe it just means that today, or in the moment when I heard this song or had that memory, I felt sad. It doesn't have to mean anything else.
It might seem like a small difference, but I think it will be huge for me to let myself feel what I am feeling without getting all caught up in the storyline, without taking on the role of victim, without feeling sorry for myself or catastrophizing about the past or the future. Feeling sad can be just that: a feeling of sadness. Nothing more, nothing less. Not bad or good. Just sadness.
I think this song made me sad because it speaks the plain, honest truth about something really difficult: losing a love. Something that I've been through in a bigger way in the past six months than in the previous 42 years, but something that just about everybody feels at some point in their life (we just don't all write beautiful songs about it like this one):
Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,
I am here for you if you'd only care.
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your hand.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
(Those last two lines are probably the saddest for me.)
I am a dreamer and when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bare my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.
Maybe you are hollow, James, I don't know. As for me, sometimes I feel hollow, but I know for certain that I'm not. I'm just a girl feeling sad when I hear these words:
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me...
Part of the reason for the perceived need for the voiceover was another assumption I was operating under, which goes something like this: Feeling x means I'm y. In the example I'm discussing in this post, that might be feeling sad about losing a love means I'm not over him.
Here's the new twist I'm adding to the equation: maybe it does and maybe it doesn't. Maybe it just means that today, or in the moment when I heard this song or had that memory, I felt sad. It doesn't have to mean anything else.
It might seem like a small difference, but I think it will be huge for me to let myself feel what I am feeling without getting all caught up in the storyline, without taking on the role of victim, without feeling sorry for myself or catastrophizing about the past or the future. Feeling sad can be just that: a feeling of sadness. Nothing more, nothing less. Not bad or good. Just sadness.
I think this song made me sad because it speaks the plain, honest truth about something really difficult: losing a love. Something that I've been through in a bigger way in the past six months than in the previous 42 years, but something that just about everybody feels at some point in their life (we just don't all write beautiful songs about it like this one):
Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,
I am here for you if you'd only care.
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your hand.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
(Those last two lines are probably the saddest for me.)
I am a dreamer and when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bare my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.
Maybe you are hollow, James, I don't know. As for me, sometimes I feel hollow, but I know for certain that I'm not. I'm just a girl feeling sad when I hear these words:
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me...
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Take Care of Yourself
This morning on my bike ride to work, it was only 20 degrees, and because it's November 12, I left the house without my heavy-duty winter biking gear. I was cold on my ride, really, really cold. But I tried not to judge that feeling, and instead, just noticed it.
That outlook didn't make my thighs and butt any less chapped when I arrived at the gym to thaw out, but it take make the ride a lot more pleasant. It left room to also notice the sunshine and the feeling I have every single time I get on my bike -- no matter the weather -- the delicious freedom of moving through the world on my own power.
Now that my commute is 6 miles each way rather than 3, my power (aka the size of my butt and thighs) is more formidable than it has ever been. And it's not just my bicycling prowess that's feeling so strong, it's the rest of me, too. All this Ashtanga yoga means my upper body is also at an all-time strong, and that feels really good too.
But it goes beyond physical strength. I experienced a monumental loss this summer, one that at times, I wasn't sure I would survive, or at least, I wasn't sure I would survive with an open heart. But I have survived. And I'm working on keeping my heart open, but I'm not there yet. There's a feeling that I've described before in this blog, a tightness behind my heart. It ebbs and flows, but it hasn't gone away. And that's ok. It tells me I'm still healing. Just like the cold air on my bike ride this morning, I can just notice it. No judgment. (That's always the goal, and at the moment, I actually feel capable of it, which also lets me know I'm healing.)
While eating dinner last night, I was joined by my friends from Glee, and they aptly picked a song (which I believe was originally recorded by Teddy Thompson), that has the same sort of "just notice -- this is how it is -- kind of attitude about letting go of a love:
It's time for us to part
Yeah, it's best for us to part
Oh, but I love you
I love you
Take care of yourself
I'll miss you
The nights are long alone
I sit alone and moan
'Cause I love you
Oooooo, I love you
Take care of yourself
I'll miss you
And no more tears to cry
I'm out of goodbyes
It's time for us to part
Although it breaks my heart
'Cause I love you
I love you
Take care of yourself
Take care of yourself
Take care of yourself
I love you
The song doesn't pretend that it's easy or neat or tidy, and it doesn't pretend that the love goes away. And that pretty much sums it up for me!
That outlook didn't make my thighs and butt any less chapped when I arrived at the gym to thaw out, but it take make the ride a lot more pleasant. It left room to also notice the sunshine and the feeling I have every single time I get on my bike -- no matter the weather -- the delicious freedom of moving through the world on my own power.
Now that my commute is 6 miles each way rather than 3, my power (aka the size of my butt and thighs) is more formidable than it has ever been. And it's not just my bicycling prowess that's feeling so strong, it's the rest of me, too. All this Ashtanga yoga means my upper body is also at an all-time strong, and that feels really good too.
But it goes beyond physical strength. I experienced a monumental loss this summer, one that at times, I wasn't sure I would survive, or at least, I wasn't sure I would survive with an open heart. But I have survived. And I'm working on keeping my heart open, but I'm not there yet. There's a feeling that I've described before in this blog, a tightness behind my heart. It ebbs and flows, but it hasn't gone away. And that's ok. It tells me I'm still healing. Just like the cold air on my bike ride this morning, I can just notice it. No judgment. (That's always the goal, and at the moment, I actually feel capable of it, which also lets me know I'm healing.)
While eating dinner last night, I was joined by my friends from Glee, and they aptly picked a song (which I believe was originally recorded by Teddy Thompson), that has the same sort of "just notice -- this is how it is -- kind of attitude about letting go of a love:
It's time for us to part
Yeah, it's best for us to part
Oh, but I love you
I love you
Take care of yourself
I'll miss you
The nights are long alone
I sit alone and moan
'Cause I love you
Oooooo, I love you
Take care of yourself
I'll miss you
And no more tears to cry
I'm out of goodbyes
It's time for us to part
Although it breaks my heart
'Cause I love you
I love you
Take care of yourself
Take care of yourself
Take care of yourself
I love you
The song doesn't pretend that it's easy or neat or tidy, and it doesn't pretend that the love goes away. And that pretty much sums it up for me!
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