Fear and Devotion, Part One

I still think closure is a thing, just not the whole thing. Not a cure-all. My newfound friendship with The Shy One didn’t stay tenable for long—that probably comes as a surprise to exactly no one. I loved being able to share a little bit of my life with him, to send him a sunrise, a ring around the moon, a short video of my work area looking just so. I loved the glimpses of his life that I got while we were avoiding almost all topics. It was such a lovely respite from missing him. I felt peaceful, hopeful, and complete in a way I hadn’t for such a long time.

But.

There was a moment last fall that I’ve always meant to write about. I was at brunch with Rainbow Pal (Not too long before a 5% difference on Palestine/Israel made Rainbow Pal and me feel unsafe to be around each other—a different heartbreak for a different day.) It was a rough week—I was just back from a family trip and my body was pretzeled with grief. The war had just started and everything felt brutal and mean.

Anhedonic, is the word. But joy prevailed: RP and I were talking about whether we think I’m poly or not (the eternal conundrum) and I said something like “I don’t know, when I was with (The Shy One) I didn’t want anyone else in the whole world, it was all about him.”

Saying that unlocked my heart, and a butterfly swarm of giggles came out. An unlatching, a relief. A bubble of assurance and self-knowledge so profound that I couldn’t stop laughing. RP said later that they loved seeing me come back to life—they helped me come back to life. I miss them so much.

But anyway, devotion.

Back to the present day, dating is just being a little bit scary. Talking to so many people, sometimes rematching by mistake and feeling like I might be stupid or mean, sometimes not matching because the person looks a little familiar, getting a “Hello?” when I hadn’t written back in like ten minutes, it can feel so depersonalizing, so disembodied.

Most app-suitors are kind-if-boring, but the ones that aren’t kinda add up in my body and heart. Accreting.

Closure Is a Thing, Part Three

I think this story is taking me forever to tell because, to use a Jungian word, it’s lost its numinousness. I’m no longer trying to unlock some mystery of universal meaning and self-definition, I’m just celebrating an important and beloved thing that happened. So let’s celebrate.

I had the idea that we could be mail-friends, The Shy One and me, get to know each other literally as slowly as possible, an antidote for the (DELICIOUS) sugar-rush of our first and second go-rounds. But then, the waiting. I’ve never really bought into his assertion that we were toxic, but if we were, that’s where the poison lived—the desperate and disbelieving feeling of Waiting to Hear Back from Him. I wanted no part of that, I felt trapped and stuck in reverse.

There was a Band-Aid to be ripped off, and letters, though SO lovely, were never going to help me do anything but create daydream romance, false hope, and resentment.

Luckily, WhatsApp CURATES your blocked numbers for you. Or maybe there are just way fewer numbers to sift through there. I reached out and asked if we could try a closure conversation, and he very kindly agreed.

As luck would have it, I got out early that Tuesday night, 5pm instead of 8, and I had already decided to watch Good Grief on Netflix. Oh Dan Levy, righter of wrongs, healer of hearts.

Almost as soon as the Shy One and I started texting things through, I felt a profound sensation—heat moving up my body, through my achy shoulder, and out—the hurt and pain and worry that had lived in my body all year just left, just healed and left. The bargaining. The racking my brain to figure out how to make The Thing come back—it was gone.

A major part of the relief was no longer being (or feeling) alone in the love and the loss. All year, friends and even some professionals had stayed skeptical that the Shy One had loved me back. I knew it he had, but having it confirmed made such a big difference. Heartbreaking, yes, I wish neither of us had ever had to hurt, but
I found a new confidence knowing it really was star-crossed, that there really was nothing either of us could have done to hang on.

It was sad, accepting things as they are, accepting that we wouldn’t be a match again, that he’ll never be the right one for me. But at the same time, he debunked some insecurities I’d been carrying. It made me feel at peace and better able to face the realities of dating life—a Wizard of Oz feeling, I’d had what I needed all along.

It was such a loving exchange. I cried good, productive tears all evening and into the night. It felt good to tell him how important he was, what the loss meant, even how begrudgingly grateful I am to have been set free.

The other night, I was texting with a cutie on Feeld who was like “Oh, I travel a lot so I would definitely need something casual.”

AND! Instead of pressing myself to be casual and just see what happens, I said, very kindly, that I’m romantic through and through so that wouldn’t work. Saying goodbye to that nice traveling guy gave me such an epiphany:

It’s an incredible gift and accomplishment to be ready for love! In a sea of “casual but consistent” low expectations, I’ve found so much of what I really want and, though I can’t be sure that Boyfriend Guy will ever come along, I’m proud of my open, adventurous heart. I’m so proud to love what I love, and to have so much room for more.

Closure Is a Thing, Part Two

 

(Last night I sent pretty lingerie pictures to the new person, Artist Boy, and he said I was beautiful. He really is doing such a good job, and definitely deserves all the paragraphs of his own.)

I had Covid over Christmas, so after a few careful hours of celebrating with BFF-Formerly-Sweetie, I was alone with my books and art biopics and gentle weed gummies. It was kind of great. I had to cancel a museum trip midweek, so I ordered some magic mushroom gummies through the mail. A little trip at home, these magical modern times.

The letter from The Shy One came the Friday after Christmas, the same day the mushroom gummies arrived. I put the package aside for the evening, then opened the letter. It was a Thank You card like I’d sent, the flowers on his much more modest than the floofy, sparkly peonies and such on the card I’d sent him. “Best wishes in 2024,” said the card, “I’m always rooting for you.”

The rooting for me is sweet, but I don’t love it. Instead of hoping I find true love, I’d always rather he were claiming me, then shouting it to the rooftops, exactly the thing he knew he wasn’t capable of.

The Shy One’s letter was both ordinary and profound. I won’t quote it, it’s just mine, but it said enough that I knew he missed me, I knew I’d been important to him. I cried and then put it in The God Box (Doesn’t everyone have one of these, a Box of Things to Be Worked Out Later by Unseen Forces? It’s an Artist’s Way thing.) so its presence wouldn’t be too overwhelming.

He mentioned texting in the letter, but I wasn’t ready to unblock—too close to those haunted, hunted “good mornings.”  The next day, I wrote back a very pretty New Years card, with fancy blue butterflies, even on the envelope.

Closure Is a Thing, I Think, Part One

I’ve read so many Dear Prudence columns downplaying the idea of closure, and I totally get that! Talking things through can feel like a cigarette after having been quit for years, a grim sense of starting all over. Or, it can feel like a liberating sensation and a fresh start. I might be leaning optimistic because I had a really good first date Saturday night (We snuggled up on the couch and actually WATCHED A movie! So cute!) but that is an adorable post for another day.

Sometimes, a letter at the end of the year can be a lovely way of letting things go, a last thanks/sorry/good wishes before joining a new year as strangers. That worked for me with Gilmore Guy, with This Charming Man—the letters were probably very self-indulgent but they helped me with the process of letting go.

This adventure started with a spell at Angel Face’s Solstice party—his spouse handed me a slip of paper and asked what I would like to let go. I clutched my fist and said “NOTHING.” But I wrote The Shy One’s name on there anyway and put it in the fire as instructed.

Shortly after, The Shy One visited in a dream. He was standing outside my classroom (In real life, I do not have a classroom) looking dapper and fatherly in a winter coat. We hugged hello/goodbye and his spirit felt…lighter. It made me so happy to think of him not full of worry or stress, just peaceful. Of course, I looked for him for the rest of the dream, but he was gone.

So, partly because I forever live in a romcom, I sent him a thank you card, right before Christmas. His reply came SO QUICK.