Lately I’ve been thinking about closure. A previous post reflected on the nature of change and how some things pivot smoothly, while others shift abruptly. I’m thinking about changes in relationships, that while unexpected, might be for the best, as space for new sometimes requires things to end.
I have been meditating about the role I play in connections and how I manage needs and expectations. With the dating I explored these past few months, the theme that emerged is self-sufficiency. The universe smacked me across the face with a necessary realization that deep change requires you to lose it all and be reborn like the phoenix.
What does it mean to start over? What it does it mean to lose everyone you thought would stick around, and be left standing on your own feet? As I flow with waves of grief, these questions are not so much being answered, but transmuting into a sense of self-respect and inner strength for my capacity to withstand this moment.
Many people stay in connections longer than needed for fearing loneliness, but I’m willing to be here, in the ashes of love I so cherished. I’m willing to examine my role in how I show up, the gifts I offer, and also how I can do things better next time. As I ponder what person I want to be in upcoming relationships, it’s to stand even further in my independence without walling up and isolating.
There is a gift this season of loss has brought and that is maturity. Maturity in how I relate and experience relating. Less impromptu, and more deliberate. Quality over quantity. Focus. Asking deep questions and listening intently. Embodiment of what I’m willing to tolerate. Letting people in, slowly, instead of chasing. Witnessing what is actually there, instead of imagining potentials. And lastly, saying no.
When I was in the midst of a recent mourning, it hit me that by being told no, I am actually freed to enter a space that is completely new. A space where I say, “okay, this hasn’t been the easiest time, but you know what? I’m still moving forward.” I keep repeating to myself as I hangout in this spiritual layover, that no matter what, I’m moving forward. I start feeling sunlight hit my chest. I remember my hope.
Everything that I’ve experienced thus far in my life, has led me to this moment where a new life is on the horizon. Plans are being put in places, outside factors are making themselves available, and I get to choose the path, as spring thaws out the winter heartache. I know what will work for me, because I got to experience firsthand what hasn’t.
I know more now the friend I want to be, the connections I want to center, and the quality of relating I want to experience. It doesn’t all have to be intimate, but it does need to be attentive, reciprocal and healthy. That requires me acting accordingly and paying attention to those who do.
These final pieces of the past have said their farewells, and now I can stand presently, strongly, and take another step. This step is powerful. It’s the visual of a sunrise amongst a grassy plane with flowers sprouting as far as the eyes can see. I’m there, alone, and the meadow looks hazy until I keep walking. Foot by foot. Until silhouettes of others appear one by one. Their arms are out, welcoming me, receiving me.