Fall. Fell. Falling. The ways in which we heal…
This time a year ago, Paul and I were searching for ways to not break each others hearts.
But we didn’t stay in bed. Or stay close.
I would search for ways at 2am, wide-awake, and make out the shape of him in the dark. And I wondered what he dreamed about. But when we woke up, I’d never ask him. I don’t think I ever once asked him, ‘what do you dream about when you sleep.’
I was afraid to be in his dreams. I was afraid to not be in his dreams.
In one Sunday, I’d picture us married, a day that would take place on his parents farm in Utah, under an evening, under soft lights, among a handful of people. Him in a vintage navy suit, a polka dot tie, and me in a simple dress with a flower behind my ear. Champagne and me and him, and moose running around, charming everyone. and me resting on his shoulder, drawing my arm around his waist, right above the curve of his hips. In one Sunday, I’d picture me so far gone. Not married, not even close. Not to him, and not to anyone. I’d want to be far away from belonging to anything at all. I’d crave my passport, and languages that I don’t understand. Dances taught by great grandmothers, to mothers, to aunties….and then to me. I craved dances with my arms up in the air, and the perfect anyonimity of no one knows me here. Bliss.
I crave villages, and history, and stories told.
Last November we broke up. I fell away. And he couldn’t try anymore. I saw the look in his eye, the one I have seen in every lover, every person who’s outline I’ve ever traced at 2am. Confusion, sadness, and wonder. Some, have said it out loud, and others, have never needed to.
He did. ‘I don’t know how to love you, anymore’
I fell away.
And there’s always…there is always a moment when you can go after someone, some thing, some place, and say so honestly. ‘I don’t know how either, but can we try.’
But a year ago, when he closed the door quietly, when we were done, I sat down on my kitchen floor, and leaned up against the cabinets. Relieved. Relieved I didn’t have to explain anymore how to love me…that I didn’t have to be responsible for the disappointment that he’d never be in that suit, and I’d never have that flower behind my ear…. not together anyway. I drank some whiskey from a small glass, and thought about what needed to get done tomorrow.
I never asked him about his dreams at night, because I always wanted him to ask me first.
I never asked him to stay because I wanted him to leave.
And I pushed and pulled all in one Sunday. And we had almost a year of Sundays. Until we had no Sundays’ together at all.
I think about how, a year later, I haven’t come close to loving anyone that way. And I think about, how a year later, almost 2-years now in California…and how different I am….and how the same too. And what does it mean about me that I spent the past year, hundereds of nights sleeping without the outline of anyone.
For the first time, in a long long time, I wished for just that about a week ago. I wished to reach over to someone I love in the middle of the night, and reach for their hand, and hold their hand, and curl in, and fall asleep like that. The kind of sleep where you don’t sleep…or maybe you do for a moment. But sleep becomes that last thing you need, when what you need most is this person next to you, to put your hands on each other, and look at each other, and learn how to love each other…and it’s that crazy time warp you go into, when it’s 4 hours later, and someone’s alarm is going off…when you’ve just fallen asleep.
I wished for that, for the first time in a long time.
And in this time of year…in Fall. There is something about my own rhythym, and I’d say yours too…if you look at it. Where things change.
These past 2-weeks of knowing I’m leaving, but not knowing for what exactly, and knowing I’m going, but I cant believe fully in why yet….have me feeling like that moment where you leave my kitchen, the moment where you say to me ‘I don’t know how to love you’
What it feels like is I’ve jumped off a high-point. And then, someone came and hit pause. So I’m arms in the air. Hair back. Feet apart. And I’m too far away from the edge to go back, gravity. And I’m too high up, to come down. gravity.
Yesterday as I’m driving…I feel like I’m going to combust with the amount of feeling I have. Creatively, this happens to me often, it’s been happening my whole life, and writing is my way of harnessing it, writing, art and movement. This week, of a week of saying goodbye, of a week of saying hello. Things I want to write about are just streaming through me, and I’m saying them out loud, and I’m trying to figure out what I can share so this makes sense. When I write, it’s just as much for me as it is to share with you. I went to yoga, to move my body, and take deep breaths and be surrounded by a community I have completely and totally come to love.
I thought back to last Fall. And where I was.
And the Fall before. And how I had just come home from Kenya. And I had never been more alive, more afraid.
And the Fall before. Living in Buffalo. Knowing things were ending. And wanting desperately for them to end.
The past 3 Falls…I’ve lived in 3 very distinct places, and have learned some very beautiful lessons.
On falling down.
And now. I’m here. And things are changing again. And I am learning a new language, new dances, I’m in a new village…on a new team. And man am I having a tough time leaving the one I’m on now. For the first time ever…leaving isn’t easy.
I’ve gotten up and off the kitchen floor like 800 times this week….wondering.
And I’ve been real sad this week.
What’s beautiful is this week, this team I’m on, they’ve come to tell me what it has meant to be together this past year. And oh, it’s the sweetest moments. The most ordinary moments that are the favorites.
‘do you remember the time when we….’
‘oh my GOD LYNDSEY REMEMBER WHEN YOU…..’
‘you pushed me harder, further, beyond where I was going to go on my own’
For the first time ever, I am leaving and I am not ashamed of who I was for this team. Or these relationships. For the first time ever, and dammit I was, who I want to be for a team and partnerships.
And that’s why it’s hard to leave. Cause it took me 33-years to get here.
But when you stay in a relationship that doesn’t work.
Or in a job where you’ve come to an end point of where you could grow.
Or a city that doesn’t excite you, anymore.
Then you’re just taking up space. And, someone else could thrive in that space. Think about it like that, every time you’ve stepped out of something, some one now can step IN. People can be loved the way they are meant to, and need to. Someone new comes onto a team and thrives.
And I’m learning. It’s not about finding ways not to break each other, it’s about finding ways to build each other up.
And it’s not about finding ways to love each other…but to love each other as fearlessly as we can, while we can.
And. When you make the choice to go, be certain you are not fleeing from, escaping, or running. Take it from me. I am a fucking runner. I’m halfway up the hill before you even know to ask where did I go.
But not this time. And thank god for that.
I finally fucking did it.
And yes, this is a terrible, weird drawn out exit, that I orchestrated and chose, and I don’t recommend trying to give your all to two teams at once. (You will probably get the flu) its a testament that things end, and things begin, and this is life, that this is life is beautiful.
It’s got me thinking now, with this big block out of the way, that I think I’m finally ready for partnership too. To hell with the guidebook, and the disappointment, and all the things that keep me alone.
Someone hit the play button. I’m ready to free-fall. In every way.
When I’m afraid, please remind me, I asked for this. And I don’t, my new team, my former team, my new love that I feel is coming round the corner…no one has time for me to stay sad too long.
and oh, how I love this. From the mama of my new team, Danielle LaPorte. A big giant source of my breakthrough. A reminder.