The anxiety of running into him has been crippling every time I go anywhere that he might be.
For a town this size, you’d think it would have happened before now, but we have managed to avoid each other for close to 2 months.
And, for a town this size, it was inevitable.
And, I couldn’t wait any longer; I don’t do well with anticipation or surprises.
So I contacted him and we decided to intentionally run into each other in my kitchen at work.
Yes I was nervous; I had no idea how it was going to go down. I was optimistic because he agreed that it was a good idea.
It was kind and gentle: no processing, no anger or crying, no “who, what, why, where, when, or how.”
No need for that any longer.
I have accepted that I am not going to get what I need in the aftermath of this whole debacle, so I figured I would be okay with gentle and kind.
A friend came to sit with his coffee in the cafe. I told him he couldn’t sit in there until after MXB and I had talked.
I also told him that he couldn’t go farther than the next room because I would need him later. He complied. He reminded me to breathe when it was all over.
I thought I’d be a wreck. Thought that I would sink deep again; spiral, spin out, hyperventilate.
None of those things happened.
What did happen was a sense of relief…
Relief that I no longer had to anticipate our first run-in and relief that I am moving on. I didn’t realize how much so until this encounter.
He’s adorable and I love him deeply, and he’s not for me – not anymore.
For the very first time since we began all of those years ago, I saw him as younger than I. I saw, felt, heard, the age difference. Not in a bad way, but for the first time since we began I was aware that we couldn’t have lasted.
Right after the split I thought to myself, “The age difference finally caught up to us.” We pushed back for years, but inevitably the 15 years between the two of us was going to bite us in the ass.
And it did.
Too bad we couldn’t just walk away gracefully with that knowledge, no bitterness, no rage, no crushed souls.
But who can really do a breakup that way?
Not us, obviously.
I picture him, them, all of our friends, doing the backyard barbecue thing, babes in arm, toddlers running amok.
Holy Shit. That is NOT for me.
Thank fucking god.
I do better with teenagers. I do much better with my teenagers.
I love that my teenagers are grown men, men with whom I can laugh and carry on a conversation about what’s happening in Utah right now, men who, at the end of their day, love their mama, and yet, can dress themselves.
I don’t want to go in the direction he does.
He seemed so very young and tender to me yesterday. I’m not going to say that I felt anything maternal towards him – but as I sat with it all last night I thought, “I really am too fucking old for him.”
And then, “He really is too fucking young for me.”
With that knowledge, with that admission, comes freedom.