Diving in to the Hurt

I am superficial.

I really am.

I know lots of people - acquaintances all. I can smile, say hello, but mostly that's how I keep it, because, really, it's just easier. Why? Because if I do this, I don't get disappointed on a personal level. EVER.

Guess what I've found out? Knowing lots of people on the surface means that no one gets in too deep, and really, my life is spent alone, and I'm just treading water in the big sea of life. Plain and simply, though, when you swim solo, you're alone. There's no float plan, and no lifeguards diving in to save you when you're drowning. 

This is not anyone's fault but my own. I am usually, I realized, on the outside looking in, always. Part of it is that I moved a lot as a kid, but also, as a military person and then a military spouse, there's not time for anything but short backstrokes of friendship because you get to the dock after a year or so, and it's time to float to the next mooring and start all over again.

I'm not a risk taker at all. Risks mean that I might not be in control of the outcome of the situation, whether it be sports, gambling, friends, love; whatever. (By the way, I hate gambling - I'd rather wear what I'm spending my money foolishly on - BUT, I digress...)

Recently I dated someone with whom I started out as friends. When we found we were both pretty darn compatible, it was so easy, nice, and "meant to be." It was joyous, fun, comfortable and just so...great.

Ahh, but like the tides, suddenly things changed. 

My easy, nice, "meant to be" relationship became troubled (storms). Overnight the tides changed. My floating with a partner was tested. So far, to my knowledge (guessing) we have flunked the test. And, there's nothing I can do about it. I can't change the grade on the test, I can't change how he feels,  I can't change what happened. No control. I'm not the moon changing the tides. 

Drowning....I feel like I am drowning.

Suddenly I found myself cringing in the kind of physical pain that one might have when their guts get ripped out - and what I learned about myself is that the joy of that experience DID NOT (for me) outweigh the pain of the loss. The risk that I took that felt so "meant to be" was indeed more painful than I could handle when it came to losing him. I couldn't look past the swimmer's cramp and find the positive in the swimming lesson.

Does this mean that I'm destined for a life without love/diving in?

Probably.

But what I learned about myself, this time (and isn't life a lesson every day?) Is that it's nice to have someone in my life that I love, that is also my friend, that I TRUST. I deserve that.

That maybe life is better when you love someone and let someone in.

That other people can bring something to the table that gives you new ways of seeing life, of seeing yourself.

I learned, that I, Yankee Girl from hell, can actually do the Two-Step in my living room to country music, and LOVE it.

That someone can like me for me, even when I'm sick and not 100% AND vulnerable and frightened.

That someone can show me ways to look at my daily life and offer suggestions for new things or new ways to see things, and it actually might change how I act or what I do, and that's a good thing!

That I'm really ok - well, there's always room for improvement - just the way I am; and even though I'm a klutz and have ADD and can't sit still, it's okay to be me, and someone could actually like THAT real me. I had that, and I'll always be grateful for that experience. The man who lived this with me matters to me, and always will. When he does talk to me, I'll be sure to tell him that. Really. "Thanks for the lesson. Sorry it got interrupted."

So, I suppose there's always hope for a water-treader like me.

If I hold my breath and actually venture under the water, each time I practice diving, my lungs will fill up, and I'll be able to stay down just a little bit longer. Then I'll get to see the hidden treasures that are below the surface; those are the things I never got to see before when I was too frightened to let my face get wet.

They say it's beautiful and calm down there.

Maybe when the pain goes away, I'll go swimming.

For now, I'll just stay on the beach, basking in the sun, where it feels comfy and safe.

Baby steps first; just gotta get my toes wet before I start to wade in...