Gravity

These feelings pulling me, all around me, falling helplessly; a stone dropped in the running river, sinking quietly to the bottom. Hidden from view, I will wait for you to find me. When you dare cross my river, when you tempt my oceans, when wind blows and clouds fall; gravity will pull me to you once again. Even now I feel it pulling me. Even now, as I kiss you goodbye. - nina aoki

These words were written by me fourteen months ago. They were my last gift to a friend. I’ve often wondered what ever happened to her – even tho we did continue to email each other occasionally for a couple of months after she dropped out of sight, but then something happened that changed the way I felt about her – something which broke my heart. Maybe it wasn’t so much about how I felt about her that changed, but certainly my ability and willingness to allow her into my life did.

The fourteen months after I wrote those words were difficult, because that one friendship represented the nexus of many others. We were a group; four or so women, three or four of us with blogs, one other more as a sideline cheerleader, all of us searching and writing and laughing and sharing and being there for each other; but then that changed, suddenly – and I never really understood why. One day I had four friends, the next day, nothing – none of them ever spoke to me again – it was as if I was never a part of their lives, that none of what we’d all shared mattered. It was all gone for me. The friendships, the sharing, that communal spirit of women which is sometimes so essential to each of us finding our own voice because we all draw from the same well of feminine energy and experience.

But last night something happened – after fourteen months, I finally heard from one of them.

It took me these past fourteen months to emerge from my shell. I look back now and wonder how I could have been so fragile, so weak and helpless to allow such a silly and insignificant thing to affect my life, but it was the ‘not knowing why’ that kept me locked inside my shell. I doubted my own instincts, I questioned everything, I spent months trying to be like everybody else, more like them perhaps, thinking that maybe there really was something wrong with me – and it took the tiniest most unexpected words from a stranger to shatter my shell, and I was finally free. I had found my voice again. My words were once again truly my own, and I reveled in my liberty and continue to do so. Never again will I go back into that shell.

And then I read the email I’d received and felt those all too familiar comfortably numb walls creeping up around me all over again.

I wrote here about reconnecting with an old cyberfriend, but this was different. This person represented my past and a very painful period in my life that I’ve only now really felt that I’ve been able to move beyond – there’s no way I’m walking backwards. But what if this really was a first step towards me across an old and broken bridge; a bridge which spans a river so deep, so fast and treacherous, so risky to me that should I fall in, I’d find myself drowning inside my shell that I don’t know that I’d ever find the strength or courage to breathe again. What would I say to her?

The most important thing for me now is in understanding what happened to me, and how these things affected me, and in releasing the anger and negative emotions surrounding these past fourteen months. Every day I remind myself that I am not responsible for the actions of others, and even tho I may never fully understand the how and the why of specific events, I know in my heart what my own worth is, and that is enough for me to stand and find the courage to walk my path.

I don’t know how we ever cross those old bridges; when so much time goes by and so many questions remain, or even if we’re capable or even if we should. Maybe sometimes it’s best to let the past live in the past and continue walking forward; one cautions step at a time.

But I do know this much — It was good to hear from her, and the bridge, and the waters below, and the path before me, don’t seem quite so scary anymore.