And so it is.

Growing up when people asked me what I feared the most I had only one answer. Most people would say spiders, or insects, big dogs, or even heights. Those are usual fears and it’s even true that they were some of mine. But quite frankly even at a young age I knew what I feared the most. Regret.

Regret is a peculiar thing. More often than not, in the moment, we don’t know if we will face it as part of the outcome for our actions. We direly hope that the doors that we close, and the paths that we choose are inevitably leading us down our very own yellow brick road to blissfulness. Regret, like hindsight, is 20/20. The truth is that none of us are perfect. That we won’t always make the right decisions. That sometimes we will do what we can with what we have. And that inevitably we will face that life has a way of disregarding even our best intentions.

A couple of weeks ago my first love got married. I met the news with so many mixed emotions. A downpour of thoughts crossed my mind, along with a thousand what ifs. All truly unwelcome and surprising as this person hasn’t been a part of my life in a very, very long time. What I failed to comprehend was pointed out by a dear friend. “You’re not crying because you are still in love with him. You aren’t crying because you have lost him forever. And you aren’t even crying because you miss him. You are crying because you regret the outcome. Because the news makes you take inventory of your own current status and you realize that you aren’t happy with where you are in life. So nostalgia blinds you and makes you wonder if it could have been different. You are sad because you wish, not for him to be your happy ending, but because you wish you had one at all.”

I looked at her in disbelief. In a few sentences she seemed to narrow down to the source of it all. And it was completely true. Certain events do make us take inventory of our lives. They make you ask yourself where you are in your own story. They make you look around you and pinpoint exactly what is missing. And since we only have our own recollection of experience, nostalgia hits, showing you images of the moments when you did have what is now gone, making tears escape violently.

It so very easy to misinterpret these as real, tangible, feelings that profess love. The truth is I’m not still in love with him. I don’t even know him anymore. All I have is a collection of sweet reverie memories. Life through rose colored, first love, everything is beautiful, glasses. He isn’t the boy who kept me from falling anymore, and I’m not the naïve, inexperienced child he once knew. Even in alternate universes our story had an ending.

But what was true, was that it made me face regret. To look at the path that I took since him, the long sometimes thorn covered, dark winding roads, and the detours that mislead me. To now. This place. I’m no better off today than the last time he said goodbye to me. And that hurts. Because I’ve made so many poor choices when it comes to relationships. Because I’ve looked near and far and have yet to find where I belong. Because in the grand scheme of things I came out with the short end of the stick.

SD once wrote: “So many times it seemed like there were chances to stop things before they started. Or even stop them in midstream. But it was even worse when you knew in that very moment that there was still time to save yourself, and yet you wouldn't even budge.” I’ve spent a lifetime not budging, and then flinching at the inescapable cost thereafter. And that’s not anyone else’s fault but all my own.

If regrets are repentance for an action taken, especially for consequences that you knew you could of easily avoided, mines are as deep as the ocean blue. Unavoidably we become the people we said we would never become.

I think back to a sun dress wearing, brown hair, hazel eyes, freckled face kid. And everything she feared she’d become, she now is. And that… that’s what I regret the most.

Sometimes the truth weighs heavier

It was a late afternoon when she received a text from one of her best friends to meet up for dinner. It’d been a long day at work. And she needed a bit of distracting. So they met up for sushi. The waitress had just finished handing them their menu’s when her phone rang and her other best friend was on the other line. She smiled and said “Oh look who it is” showing the phone to her friend across the table.

“Hello Sunshine!” She said in her usual cheery voice.

What followed were a multitude of pleasantries, and there was an eerie sense of worry that came over her. She knew in her heart that, that conversation had much more to do with something important than what the weather was this time a year. She could hear the nervousness in her friend’s voice so she finally said

 “So what’s up? What can I help you with?”

“Well, I don’t know how to say this.”

And her heart sank

“Well just say it.” She squirmed in her chair.

“I received an invitation in the mail.”

“And?” She still couldn’t put things together

“He’s getting married.”

“Oh, god” she gasped.

That moment felt like being at the end of a mountain when the snow separates from the ice caps, and an avalanche rushes down. And you gulp and close your eyes like if that will be enough to help you escape its wrath.

That moment felt like being in the middle of a frozen lake skating and feeling carefree. Till the ice beneath you cracks, and gives, and the freezing waters begin to devour you. And you throw your hands up in the air. Like if reaching for the surface will keep you from drowning.

That moment felt like being in the middle of a concrete city surrounded by buildings when a magnitude earthquake hits and the walls start to cave in. And no matter what you do you can’t weave fast enough before another wall comes crashing down. And you flail your limbs as though it will be enough to stop the earth from swallowing you whole.

Her friend continued on and she asked a flurry of questions. Who was she? Had they dated a long time? Why hadn’t she ever seen her? Had he loved her long? A thousand questions to make sense of one undeniable truth. He wasn’t hers to keep anymore.

Her friends did their best to comfort her. The one on the phone lived in another state and could not be there physically so she arranged with the other to tell her this way. So she wouldn’t be alone. So she’d have someone to shed the tears with. Once she was done asking a million questions she got off the phone and the tears began.

She did her best to wipe them but every time she did another quickly followed. It was a type of sadness unimagined. A thousand emotions came to surface. So many she’d tried for years to suffocate.

Their love had been the kind of love that stays with you a lifetime. He was the boy that taught her what love was. She was the girl who brought him joy beyond compare. And though that love was young, it was pure. It was everlasting. They grew in years together. But she was broken. And he could never see that. He so direly believed in her that he didn’t see her jagged edges. He saw so much potential in her and that was enough for him to keep on loving her through many years. But the brokenness in her made her push him away time and time again.

The years went on, and their unwavering love caved inevitably. She loved him so much she couldn’t drag him down with her. He never understood that sacrifice. So she did her best to move on, dated, and in crowds of men she searched for his face. In hearts of others she called his name. And after every breakup she suffered, her heart longed even more for him. But it was too long, too late, too wrong.

6 years passed and she saw him rare and few. She heard of no other in his life, so to hear that he was now getting married not only shook her, it left her breathless.

“It’s the end of an era” she said to her friend

“Yes, it really, really is.”

She began explaining things to her best friend as if she didn’t already know.

“I never wanted to hurt him. I just wanted to save him from myself.”

“I know.”

“It’s silly isn’t it? To cry over someone who hasn’t been a part of your life in so long? I have no right to be such a mess.”

“NO, it’s not silly. It is normal. It is expected, believe me I know.” And she did know. It’d happen to her too. “Everyone’s favorite unrequited love story is really over. It really is the end of an era. Not only for you, but for so many others as well. It is sad, it is heart wrenching sad. And you have every right to cry over it.”

So she did, as quietly as she could in the middle of an uptown sushi place. Surrounded by people and lovers, and stories that were beginning. As hers was direly ending.

Dinner was over and she walked to her car. She barely made it inside when the weeping broke through. Like a dam that gives, obliterating everything in its path. She went home and pulled from the back of her closet a box she kept well hidden. Every physical part she had left of him was in that box. Pictures, and CD’s he burned for her, stuffed animals, a collection of snow globes from every city he went to, a music box with two little porcelain Chihuahua’s inside. T-shirts, and hats, and post cards, letters and cards. And in one wooden box, two wilting roses. The first he ever gave her.

And with every object, a memory appeared. And the memorabilia of their love story played their silent movie in her mind and heart, as she cried uncontrollably.

She crawled into bed that night and put Michael Buble’s song “You were always on my mind” on a loop. She laid back and faced the empty side of the bed and she wrapped her arms around his absence one very last time.

Sometimes the truth weighs heavier than all the castles you painted, than all the dreams you created, than all the endings you thought were fated.

So many locks, not enough keys

She was of mesmerizing beauty and a light heart. He was an analytical sort, of a heavy soul. They’d met years ago on a brief encounter and didn’t see each other till many open and closed doors later. Two different and yet much alike beings who were walking on the same road, speeding past each other, missing one another time and time again.

He feared her natural optimism, she disdained his cynicism. But as different as their story lines had been all their lives, no two souls could have matched more perfectly.  Their friendship told that tale.

It wasn’t that they weren’t aware of each other; it was just much easier to pretend that the feelings weren’t there. It was much safer that way at least. To thread through life than actually jump in. They hadn’t always been this way. I mean, they had both had serious relationships in the past. Neither of which ended well. So maybe it was hesitation of being hurt again, but maybe it was just that if nothing ever started, they’d never have to worry about its ending.

SD once wrote that “It’s a lot easier to be lost then found. It’s the reason we are always searching and rarely discovered – So many locks not enough keys.” And maybe it’s true. It’s much easier to drift through life where the only person you have to answer to is yourself. To lock doors, and throw away keys, or chances, in order to protect our hearts.  But if in the process you’ve bolted yourself in so tightly you can’t escape, did you really put pain at bay? Or did you fall on your own sword?

I agree that having a door slammed right in your face can leave you feeling stumped. It takes time to recover. But if we all went through life so painfully aware of just that, we would never sweep our insecurities and hug opportunities ever again.

They both mistakenly thought that being strong meant never letting feelings show. With as much pride as tall as Mt. Everest neither wanted to be the first to give. So though superbly apparent to everyone else how ideal they were for each other they continued being just friends and nothing more. And how could anyone expect to open a door if they’d never even turned the key?

But holding people away from you and denying yourself love, that doesn’t make you strong. If anything it makes you weaker. Because you are doing it out of fear.  And time was passing. Crucial minutes and seconds, each one capable of changing everything. That summer would draw its close, the season would end, and the wind would shift inevitably. Looking back, it seemed like it should have been harder to lose someone, or have them lose you, especially when they were in the same state, only a few towns over.

It’s true, that when turning a key there’s never a guarantee that what’s on the other side of the door will grant you happiness unimagined. No one can guarantee that. But it’s also true that no one ever wins a car on a game show by playing it safe. When it comes to love, you have to all in. Do it right, or don’t do it all. I mean, you might be pleasantly surprised. And that key, well, it was always the one to your heart. 

Great Expectations

When I was about 12 or so, a sneaker company came out with these skating-tennis shoes. Just regular tennis shoes that could turn into skates. They became the rage at the school I went to. And everyone who was anyone had a pair. 

So I of course, begged and begged till I got my pair. They weren't easily given. I had to pick up extra chores, be extra sweet, be super obedient, and look at my dad with puppy eyes many, many times before he even considered getting them for me.  Needless to say that by the time I got them, I was ecstatic; happy that I now too possessed the biggest fashion trend at school.

When the first day of school came after I bought them, I was so blissful, I planned my entrance and a whole outfit around them. That day I got to school, I walked into the cafeteria beaming. But as I prepared to show them off, only one worked. So there I was skidding to a complete stop, quite abruptly, right in front of another kid who had his tray in his hand. I plowed right into him sending his tray straight in the air. I gasped knowing that what goes up must come down. And it did. Right on top of me. A tray full of oatmeal pancakes and gooey syrup toppled on top of me.

Needless to say I was mortified! To make things worse. There was a staff meeting later that week and the shoes were banned from school. So the big investment my parents made in the shoes went to the back of my closet where they were never worn again.

They say the bigger the expectation the bigger the heartache. We paint castles in skies, fold wishes into pockets, and tuck dreams into hearts. We build up the hype in our heads up so high that it’s hard to swallow the pill of reality. That some things just never work out the way we’d want them to.

Maybe you put all your eggs in one basket. Maybe you trusted or gave far more of yourself in a friendship and came out empty handed. Maybe the relationship you were in didn't pan out the way you thought it would. We do it all the time. We gamble more than we can afford to lose. But even if that’s the case, who’s to say it’s completely a bad thing?

I agree, there’s no getting around the gradations of grief you go through when facing a loss. Of course it’s disappointing. But people recover from disappointment; otherwise we’d all be hanging from nooses.

There’s something to say about the fearless optimism of a child. I find more and more, not only with myself, but those around me that as we age it is sadly a dwindling trait. It’s by far more easy to be a Cynic. But Cynicism isn't a safety net, it’s a crutch!

A way to rationalize with ourselves why we can’t, why we won’t, take chances. Not to say that yours isn't valid, just simply that it is a corrosive way of thinking. You’re not putting the world at bay. You’re fencing yourself in. You’re narrowing your perception. You’re, frankly, giving up on yourself.

Not every endeavor leads to a tray of heaping, dripping food upon your body. Not every venture ends up in a total messy disaster. And though going in you’re never sure of that, you've got to try. Because what defines you isn't how many times you crashed, but the number of times you got back up. As long as it’s one more; you’re all good. J

Too late, too gone, too wrong

The following story got related to me by the male protagonist. I for one thought things like this only occurred in movies. So I present to you a story that has no real happily ever after. A story of what closure looks like when we try to out run it.

There she was dressed in white. Radiant and breathtaking. Every bit of her oozed happiness. She looked at him adoringly, held his hand ever so tightly. A smile turned the corners of her mouth every time they caught each other’s eyes. That day, in that room, wedding bells were ringing and a love everlasting was to be sealed.

HE took to the right side of the room. On the very last row. On the very last chair. He watched the woman he loved marry the man She loved.

The vows were exchanged and she expressed her love and happiness. She made promises of forever. Promises HE once heard. Promises HE once made.

And when it came time and the preacher asked if anyone objected, her eyes never wandered. She kept her gaze in front of her, in front of the man she loved. And almost without pause the preacher went on. And someone cleared their throat loudly. And footsteps were heard coming down the aisle. People shifted in their seats. Their glares burning into HIM. And all around the room gasps were exchanged.

“Wait.” He said meekly.

“Speak up son, no one can hear you”

He walked closer to her and said “Wait” one more time.

Her face turned slowly in his direction. And her eyes narrowed. It was hard to remember his face. But it was him.

He felt red, and embarrassed, he knew he was making a spectacle and she hated those. So he cleared his throat once more, gathering up all the courage he had inside him. And he held back the tears. He looked down, almost wanting to run, but then proceeded to look back at her. He took a deep breath and began talking.

“I’m here to tell you that I love you. That I was wrong for ever letting you walk away from my life without a fight. I’ve tried everything to close our story. I’ve read other books, and I’ve ventured into unknown places. I met characters, and I saw many faces. But no plot held me tightly, no dialogue kept me intrigued, no chapter kept me tied. I tried. And I tried to reach some closure. But I didn’t know how many pages you were in it till I tried to close the book. Every time, a page appeared, and it was then I missed you. And I can’t. I can’t write this ending. So please, help me. Tell me I don’t belong here; tell me my words don’t bind a piece of your heart. Or tell me if there is a glimpse of hope that you might still love me. Tell me you love me. Tell me you’ll marry me. Pick me. Choose me. And I promise that happily ever after starts with you and I…”

The room stood completely silent, people on the edge of their chairs. There was a long pause. And no one even dared breathed. You could even hear the birds outside chirping on the near trees.

She looked at HIM. And back at the man she vowed to love forever. She looked down at her ring, and back at HIM. She sighed melancholy, deep from within came the sigh, and it filled her eyes with sadness.

There she was dressed in white, about to marry another man, and he wanted her to tell HIM she loved Him. So she did.

“You’re right” she began, and everyone gasped. And the groom looked stricken. She stepped down and came to him.

“You’re right” she said again.

“I knew it” He began. And she interrupted. “Wait, I’ve heard you. Now you’ve got to hear me.”

And he nodded as she went on. “You’re right, I loved you. I loved you very much. Much more than you deserved. And you took. You took all you could take and begged for even more. And you left me stripped, crumpled on the floor. YOU left the page and you never gave it a decent ending. So stop. Just stop. Because you’re right, we were intertwined in each other’s life, and you forget that means I know you well. So stop this charade. THIS isn’t you wanting to declare you’re undying love. Or you wanting to reconcile something you lost. THIS is the four year old child inside of you and his dire jealousy that someone’s picked up the toy, that he himself deserted. Don’t confuse your conscience for love. This isn’t it. I get it you’re sorry. And I accept you’re apology. But you’re too late. I’m far too gone. And this is far too wrong. I don’t love you anymore. I’ve reconciled with the idea that you were never meant for me. And I moved on. Sometimes all you need is a broken heart to realize that something even better is in front of your eyes waiting to be found. And I found it, in him” she said, looking back, taking the grooms hand. “So please understand when I say this. I choose him; I pick him, because it is him that I love, with whom I belong.”

He looked at her and nodded. That was all he could do. It took him a minute to compose himself. He mumbled an apology to the guests and to who ever heard.

When you can’t save yourself or your heart, it helps to be able to save face. So he did. He turned around. And walked right out of her life for the very last time.

HE picked up Volume 1 of his life and nostalgia had struck. It stirred inside him, made his eyes gleam in remembrance. He combed back through the emotions of how he felt when he read those words for the very first time. And it was enough for him to realize he hated the ending. But by then she was far too gone.

See it is true that the heart isn’t a juice box; you can’t squeeze the life out of it trying to remove all trace. But you can cause enough wreckage and damage to the heart that when it rebuilds itself all traces of that past relationship are put in a more appropriate place. That person becomes just a lesson learned.

For her, he was her past, and as much as he tried to make her his present it was way too late. Because anyone can say that they love someone, but true actions are the actions you take to prove you actually mean it. And he never truly had.

You can’t possibly re-write an ending no matter how many times you re-read a book. Sure, you can take away something new each time, maybe even noticed something you hadn’t before. But the period at the end of the last sentence is the closure of any “What ifs”. An ending is an ending. Maybe he held a longer version than hers. Maybe hers just ended abruptly. But regardless, eventually, they’d get to the same page. And “The End” marked its place.

The way we were

I think Barbara Streisand said it best. “Memories may be beautiful and yet what’s too painful to remember we simply choose to forget. So it’s the laughter we will remember, whenever we remember… the way we were”

I’m sure that’s the way I’d like my autobiography to be written like. Or anyone else’s. Just the good times. The scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind. But if it were so, then wouldn’t big chunks of our plots be missing, making it impossible to just understand why anyone could ever be just happy? In truth, how can you recognize happiness if you’ve never cringed with sorrow?

My life comes in volumes. Some I’d sell to Hollywood, some awfully wretched, but nevertheless never, ever, uneventful. My boyfriend and I have this discussion often. I say that everything happens for a reason. He says “Some things should just never happen, they should be completely avoided.” And sure, I’m a sap for a happy ending. But what is an ending without the tale?

Last weekend, while at a friend’s wedding, we were dancing and he looks over at the bride and groom and exclaims “He says it only took him one year to fall in love with her. Ha! It took me 10! We got this babe!!!” and we both laugh hysterically as we spin into the song. And we dance the night away.

Love can be like that. Terribly sarcastic. The person you’ve been dying to meet could be light-years away, maybe a couple oceans over. Or maybe, just maybe, they’ve been hanging in your room on an old picture board for the past 10 years and you just never noticed.

Some people come into love so easily, and hey, that’s grand! But for those of us who have fought and struggled well it really feels like quite a battle. One you keep losing at. One that keeps draining you and taking as captive all your closest friends till that party of many becomes a party of one.

But nonetheless we can lose heart but never hope. We walk through the haze, hopeful, waiting that one day the fog will be lifted. That the ground that we walk on will have shifted, and we will see things new and different. That love somehow will find its way to you. That the tears shed were spent for a reason. That the heart that broke, will have healed in due season.

And spoiler alert… it does. I promise on everything I hold dear, it does. I laugh thinking about how my first column ever was titled “What if prince charming detours?” 10 years later, many tales, and battle scars the size of Texas, I come to find he did. And though it might have taken an awful while I’m mighty glad he’s finally, and ever so enchantingly arrived.

It’s late in the evening and he’s sitting on my couch. He stretches his hand, and I take it. No “if’s”, “but’s”, or “and’s” about it. He pulls me in, and I fall back into the couch next to him. And from the pocket of his suit he pulls out an old photo. It’s our first photo, a group picture with our closest friends, taken on the day that we met.

It’s super blurry. Because it’s so old and it’s completely out of focus. But 10 years later maybe it attests to the fact that life can be like that. A little out of focus. A bit blurred. And it doesn’t make sense. Not for a long while, till time itself teaches you everything has its time and place. And when you get there, to that moment. Well, that haze… it lifts. And you see it. There. It’s always been just there...

A forever kind of love

It was mid day Sunday when we went over to visit a friend at a Geriatrics center. We sat most of the time discussing what to do about this Friends health. And explaining to his son, who had come down to visit from up north, the critical issue of this friend’s relocation.

See he’s in his mid 80’s now and often forgets taking his medication. He now needs care 24hrs a day. But all our good intentions are now short of the care that his family can give him. As my father discussed this with his son, I sat next to this dear old man and the love of his life.

She’d lean in to talk to him since he’s hard at hearing. And he’d look at her intently with the sweetest sadness in his eyes. There was warmth in the way they spoke to each other. And their love radiated in the way they’d smile at one another.

The decision to uproot him from his home was a hard one. And we all knew it. He’d live next door to the love of his life for 25 years. They never married and to anyone else it seemed like they lived separate lives. But they shared much more than just a hall in an apartment complex.

They shared decades of endless coffee’s and breakfasts. They shared dinners and long conversations. They shared losses and gains that life threw at them. All with stride, all with care, and deep respect for one another.

They shared their everyday life with each other; the monotonous routine to the perpetual tragic turn of events in their lives. For 25 years he drove her to all her errands. And every Sunday afternoon they could be found drinking coffee at her apartment after a long day of errands. When one was sick, the other would cook soups and old Mexican remedies for the other. This was their way. Their friendship was that profound. And year after year, a love more unconditional than any other type of love grew.

They never married because after becoming a widow she felt a sense of loyalty to her husband. And he never remarried because after a divorce he fell in love with a woman who would never marry again. But for 25 years they remained neighbors and each other’s confidant and best friend.

 Now both in their late 80’s their illnesses have blotted out their future. Dementia is starting to set in and it is harder for them to get around. They’ve become senile and it’s obviously time that someone takes care of them. They need nurturing and love, and sadly both will be leaving very soon to their families miles apart from each other.  Him up north, and her down south to Mexico.

So to see them today having come to the realization that now they must part ways was very much heart breaking. And he said it so that day at brunch. He told her his heart would break if they took him away from him. But she reassured him that it was okay. That she would put aside her heart just to see him well and better taken care of.

You could see it in their eyes, how hard it was going to be for them to say goodbye. How hard it would be to walk away from a lifetime of memories. But inevitability has a way of catching up with you when we least expect it.

The visit ended and we left promptly. But as we drove away I couldn’t help but think how bitterly sweet their goodbye would be. How after 25 years and many recollections they remained steadfast when it came to their love. So pure and so wholesome. Rare, oh so rare, for our time.

True love stories are very hard to come by these days. Pure unconditional love is a rare gem often stowed away secretly. Our society has a dire need of return policies when it comes to love. It’s so much easier for them to discard of someone than to stand by them a lifetime. And divorce has almost become a norm, a solution, an easy fix, to people’s issues.

So when you see a forever kind of love, the kind that lasts a lifetime, you can’t help but regain some hope. Hope in humanity, that the ideals that we vow to upkeep sometimes are worth all the struggle. That the exceptions in love can occur much more often than the rule. And that love is capable of withstanding much more than we give it credit for.

I’m not saying it’s easy to come by. What I am saying is that given a real shot at love, every relationship can have a real opportunity at it. But it might take rubbing off the skepticism we’ve been wearing as sunscreen. It might mean tearing down the walls of our insecurities. And it might also mean rebuilding and restructuring bridges we burned and digging up the ideals that we buried.

It’s work and exertion on our part, but a lifetime later you will find it to be a blessing… to have had lived through something so exceptionally special.