Note: I have friends and family who I trust and love. But sometimes it takes a friend who maybe is not as close to you to say, “That doesn’t sound like you at all.” Because it makes it easier to walk away when you need to to.
And I know he reads this. So thank you.
Part I. Fall
Somewhere the leaves are falling. And maybe you are falling too. Because it’s getting colder. And you are asking yourself is it raining here already? And what happened to summer? Because it was warm here for a while.
And you are self-destructing. And you are self-constructing. Leaving parts of you in the past. Reliving memories. Perhaps they were best forgotten anyways. So you push some people away. And you pull some people closer.
And there are still these questions that you don’t have answers to. Who’s choosing what? Why were the colors there again? Do you have a plan if things go sour? And after an unexpected conversation with this girl you know; how much of you is hoping that maybe things go sour?
And it is not a question that you want to give an answer to.
Part II. Trust
“They have free breakfast.”
But you are oblivious to the free breakfast. Because getting the free breakfast means ten minutes less sleep. And it is all you can think. Because you are trying to remember the last time that you had a full nights sleep. Shifting time zones. Early mornings. Late nights. Oh, beloved sleep.
And so the man hints again.
“They have free breakfast.”
But you are unaware and despondent. Bored with the life that you chose for yourself. Frustrated. Because he would trade places with you. And you realize that after. But in your memory you are walking away.
Later you will wonder why didn’t he just say, “Buddy. Wake up early and if you can bring me a fucking bagel because I am sleeping on the street here and I could really use a fucking bagel.”
And you will wonder why you didn’t say, “Hey, the hotel has two fucking rooms. One’s got a couch. It’s yours if you want it. And then you can wake up early and get your own fucking bagel.”
And it is all for trust. Because people say they want someone they can trust. And how trust is this great fucking thing. But meanwhile some poor guy is sleeping at a bus stop or on the concrete instead of the couch in your hotel room that your company is paying way too much for. And you don’t trust that this guy won’t hack you into pieces in the middle of the night. Though, he probably won’t.
And maybe in a few months you won’t give it a fucking thought. Maybe you’ll sleep in your bed. Maybe you’ll sleep fucking great. And some part of you will have died.
Part III. Hope
“So walk away.”
“From one choice in particular.”
“Why does this one scare you so much?”
“Because this is one that you don’t walk away with your soul from.”
“So walk away.”
“Why don’t you walk away?”
“Because I’m not ready to do that yet.”
“Have you asked yourself if you still will be able to?”
“I did it once before.”
“But you might not be the same person when you are done.”
“Being offered the choice, I’m not the same person already.”
“And what about him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. The years are running out.”
“Maybe he’s protecting you.”
“Except if I make the same decisions.”
“But you’re different. He saw to that.”
“Maybe you just hope that I am different. And maybe I hope too.”
Part IV. Warmth
You are home again. And it’s 4 a.m.
There is this feeling that your friends have just left or have gone to bed. Because the air still has that warm feeling to it. And you find it comforting. Though it’s not enough. Because you wanted to see them. And so you sit down on the couch: alone, broken, confused, tired and frustrated. And between it all there is laughter. Because you haven’t been here before.
You woke up 24 hours earlier in Portland, Maine. It was cold outside and you could see your breath in the air as the car warmed up. Half a day went by and you were driving to the airport. The weather was bad; storms along the east coast. You found yourself stuck in DC trying to get a hold of one of your sisters. And when that failed you decided to head for LA to try and still make it home. At 1 a.m. in LA, you were waiting in line for a rental car trying to absorb as much caffeine as possible. And then you were stuck in traffic; navigating construction and two accidents along the 405. But you finally made it back to San Diego. And you finally made it back home.
And now you are sitting on your couch again.
And between it all there is laughter.
Because you haven’t been here before.