After rushing around to prep for the upcoming snowstorm, I needed to get out for a hike. My first thought was just to suit up myself, head out to the trail behind campus and walk for 5-6 miles. Then, a thought came to me seemingly from nowhere: Let me text my friend and see if either of his kids want to join me.

I really didn’t expect either of them to say yes, given it was fairly cold and dreary, but to my surprise, his daughter wanted to go. I knew this meant the hike would be much shorter than 5-6 miles, but that didn’t bother me. I really just wanted to get outside. 

She came running out of her house to greet me with an enormous six year old smile, ready for an adventure. We stopped at the dining hall to fill up my bag with fruits “In case we get really really hungry!” Once we were on our way, she kept stopping to shove her pants back into her boots. I told her the trick I used as I pointed to my dorky socks that were pulled up to the middle of my shins. “Ooooh wait, my socks are long!” She took a seat on a bit of concrete, removed her boots and pulled up her socks mid shin, tucking in her pants. She was proud of herself for realizing this and didn’t have to stop anymore. Not for the boots anyway.

But there were many pauses- to stomp the copious amounts of ice with her little pink snow boots. 

Once we made it to the start of the trail she would pause and point to something, yelling in excitement. Off the trail she went, yelling “Look! Come here!” First it was a large fallen log that she challenged herself to walk across, then it was an area with a trickling stream and many ice formations that she wanted to explore. Down the bank we went. Everything was amazing in her eyes. Every piece of ice. She’s break some with her hand and others with her boot, but she’d closely examine each one. 

“This is the best adventure I’ve ever been on,” she said as she chipped away at another piece of ice. She was present. And in turn so was I. It was a Saturday and there were no pressing matters to attend to. So if she wanted to stay in this spot and smash every single sheet of ice, that’s what we were going to do.

She kept asking me to take photos of various things, so I have included them here. 

I may not have gotten my 5-6 miles, but I got something much more valuable, a reminder to be present during a time that I’ve been trying to hurry through the days. I had forgotten just how peaceful it can be to stay present, to stop and notice the little things and to be appreciative of every moment.

The quote above inspired me to do a bit of writing this morning.

It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t strong enough to keep us both afloat, nor should they have been expected to. That’s not love, even though we have been blasted with the vision of a man or woman saving one another in the movies. It’s just not like that, and it doesn’t have to be.

How am I to know my full strength if someone is constantly saving me? How will I ever learn to swim if someone is keeping me above water? I do not blame anyone who walked away to save themselves, even if they pushed me further underwater to get a jump start. 

Because I learned, albeit not quickly, how to stay afloat on my own. I learned which buoys were secure enough to rest upon and which islands tried to hold me prisoner. I may even be at the point where I’ve learned I don’t need to rely on swimming, and have begun crafting my own boat. 

Enough with the metaphors 

I’m certain you are no stranger to the fact that people come into our lives for different reasons- to help us grow and heal, learn to trust, or to even teach us a lesson or how to establish boundaries. In other words, each person leaves us with something. Even the people we think were purely in our lives to cause us pain and show us that life is not all rainbows and unicorns- they left us with something too. A wound perhaps? A scar that will take years or even decades to fade, or perhaps will always be a part of us. Or in some cases, it allowed us to reach for the light inside of us. The light that gave us the strength to walk away, to stop drinking or drugging, and to chase after our dreams. 

I’m not saying it’s easy. And I’m certainly not saying that there isn’t a special place in hell for certain people that do terrible things to us or others. Or that we should just forgive, forget and move on. Some wounds are lifetime wounds that require a hell of a lot more than positive thinking to move past. Counseling is often a good place to start, and something that has worked for me over the past five and a half years.

I suppose what I’m referring to in this particular post are the small events that have compiled over the years, added more and more weight onto our shoulders, causing us to struggle to even walk around this world on a daily basis. It can feel overwhelming to try and remove even one of these layers because either:

1. We are just so used to living this way, we don’t see another way. The weight has become our purpose in life.
2. We don’t know where to begin. Which weight gets removed first? How do we do it? And when we begin this process, what other emotions will be have to unpack and deal with?  

I’m no counselor, therapist or guru. Hell I’m just a middle school English teacher who has clawed and scratched her way out of some really dark places, some I thought I’d live forever. 

I can’t tell you how to live your life or even how to think. I’m still working through my own issues with navigating the waters of life (ugh the metaphors again). 

So I just ask you to take a look at the people around you, those you give space to in your life. 

Are they keeping you afloat too much, so that you’ll never learn your own strength? 

Are they an arms length away, letting you know that they believe in you and that you are safe to take your risks and learn your strengths? 

Are they holding onto you for dear life, taking you down with them? 

Are they hogging the entire floating door in the freezing water, when clearly there is enough room for the both of you? (Sorry, but we all know there was room for Jack and Rose).

I am at a place in my life where I have started to evaluate which role I play in other people’s lives and which role they play in mine. I’ve been guilty of trying to keep others afloat my entire life, which I now see is detrimental for their well being and mine. A result of being codependent most of my life, no doubt.

I am trying, now, to be the supportive friend that is not responsible for the other persons entire source of happiness. On the flip side, I’m also working on not draining another persons energy by thinking they are the primary source of my happiness- to fill the lifelong hole in my soul.

Boundaries, open communication, respect, trust, kindness, understanding and compassion are the most important when entering a friendship and continuing to nourish it over time. 

If you find someone who can be real with you- who tells you they don’t have the energy or the space to talk right now, but they will reach out when they have recharged- you must learn to activate your compassion and understanding. To not take that as a personal attack or wonder if they really are your friend. They feel comfortable enough around you to state their boundaries, and they are healthy enough to know that they need these boundaries to keep themselves at their best. True friendship does not mean that the other person must always put our needs before their own, especially if doing so would bring them down. True friendship means that two people feel they can grow alongside one another, offering support at certain times but also telling the hard truths when others may only give platitudes.

Thank you to those who have taught me these valuable lessons in friendship. For being vulnerable with me, so that I understand how I can best be a friend to you. Thank you for truly listening to me when I open up to you as well.

Transitioning from a codependent mindset is not easy, nor is any change that no longer allows us to be distracted from our pain. I am grateful for those who walk beside me during this journey.

“We’re all just walking each other home.” Ram Dass 

There’s always meaning behind the silence, and if you really understand a person, you can hear all the sounds that are hidden behind the words they don’t say. 

* * *

She kept her door locked when she was feeling the heaviness from the day. Put her phone on “do not disturb,” allowing only those she felt truly comfortable with to be on her “allowed text/call” list. She’d look out her window and check that her surroundings were free of foot traffic before rushing to her car and driving a few miles to her place of peace, the meadow. Every sound in this place brought her a sense of comfort: the tall grasses swaying in the wind, the plethora of bird calls, the gentle babble of the stream, and the woodland creatures rustling in the leaves. These were music to her ears, a natural symphony, and an escape from the first world problem complainers. 

* * *

He smiled politely at your joke, but his laugh was muted, almost forced. Yet you continued to converse in what you perceived to be the pleasantry of small talk, with a man who was fighting battles you could never imagine. I am surprised you did not notice his feet pointed in the opposite direction, preparing to retreat, no doubt coming up with an excuse to leave the second you took a breath between ramblings. Could you not see his crossed arms or his eyes surveying his surroundings? If only you could take a moment to listen to his silence, perhaps you would hear the screams of a restless soul who cares not about the weather or the score of the football game. 

* * *

He called her on the phone, and they exchanged their silly greetings and whacky impressions that only they appreciated. Her energy was usually goofy and carefree when in his physical presence or during a phone conversation, but after fifteen minutes, she grew quieter and her sarcasm and sense of humor dwindled. It was never something anyone noticed before, but he was different. He understood her silence and did not skip a beat. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asked calmly. She could deny knowing what he was talking about, chalk it up to being tired, but it would be of no use. He spoke all of her languages. With a sigh, she let out exactly what was bothering her, word for word, to which he responded in his usual jovial manner, “See, was that so hard?” But he knew why it wasn’t easy for her to be so forthcoming with her feelings right away, and why she felt she needed him to ask her what was wrong before divulging her thoughts. He simply wanted her to know that he would listen to whatever was on her mind, and that she need never apologize for her feelings (or for talking about them.)  

* * *

He stood outside on the sidewalk, kicking a stone back and forth, muttering words under his breath. His face was all scrunched up and he felt a sea of emotions course through him like a raging river. How could my dad do that? Why did he leave us? What did I do wrong? He felt his face get hot as all of these thoughts raced in his four year old head. Fast forward to age seventeen, this same boy had grown up, never learning to deal with all of these thoughts. The same anger and sadness flowed through his veins, but he kept silent, just like that day on the sidewalk, when he felt his world crumble. I am a man, he thought to himself. I cannot cry. And I certainly can never tell anyone about this hole that resides in my heart. And still, at the age of thirty eight, he will not shed a tear, as the anger and sadness continue to eat him up inside. He hides behind a smile, all the while, she knows what lies underneath his toxic masculinity facade.

* * *

The ball bounces rapidly, echoing throughout the squash court, as two men compete for victory. Sweat pours down both of their focused faces, until one of the athletes drops to the ground, right before game point. He was born with a hole in his heart, a gift from his grandfather that skips a generation. His competitive nature got the best of him, and he was too stubborn to call for a quick time out before it got too bad. The league director rushed onto the court, while his girlfriend grabbed him some water. He had instructed her when they first started dating that if this happened, he would require lots of water. When she reached him, he was in a fit of rage, yelling and swearing at the director who had just told him he could not finish the game. A verbal argument ensued for a few minutes, and the girlfriend stood in utter shock. She was never good at being around a man who was this angry. Shortly after, the director came up to her and said that her boyfriend was no longer able to be a member or a coach at this club anymore, and that she should take him home. When they got to the parking lot, he yelled, “Why didn’t you stop me?!” as his eyes seethed with anger in her direction. In his eyes, this was all her fault. So she did the only thing she felt comfortable doing- apologized and retreated into herself, in silence. It was when she first learned the skill of silent crying, while staring out the window of the passenger seat.

It all began on a fern covered pathway, alongside a river, in mid August of 2020. A blue heron, a view from a wooden bridge and sunbeams cascading across the moving water. 

Her first steps alone, in a new place, yet oddly she felt more at home than she had ever before. Had it been because she was strong enough to say goodbye to a life that no longer brought her joy? Was it the power she was feeling from deep inside or the sun rays kissing her cheeks? Either way, she felt a warmth she had never experienced. 

She grasped the straps of her purple hiking backpack as she continued to follow the river. Energy drinks, Reese’s peanut butter cups, a notebook, and some water bottles were its contents. The camera she had bought on sale during the pandemic was hanging from her neck. She never went on a hike without it, as there was always something to be captured in her lens. Surely a moment on this day would be worth remembering, and she wanted to be ready to preserve it in writing and in photographs. 

 The sound of the river combatted any intrusive thoughts of sadness that came with leaving her old life behind. The emerald ferns alongside the path made her smile. She always thought they were beautiful. Even the fiddlehead ferns brought her joy. She couldn’t help but laugh at the way they looked, huddled together, as if they were discussing the latest forest gossip. 

Ah yes, the simple things. She remembered a book she had read earlier that summer, Peace is Every Step. Thich Naht Hahn shared his thoughts on the dandelion, a simple weed that most overlook in their daily routines. He had given it meaning by explaining that it could hold a smile when a passerby did not have one of their own. Such beautiful words changed the way she looked at this common weed. She made it a point to smile each time she saw the small yellow flower and thanked it for holding her joy.

She continued along the path until she happened upon a wooden bridge that crossed the river. Bridges were one of her favorite things, as they allowed her to see the water from a different perspective. She climbed the steps and walked to the middle, where she spotted a blue heron hunting for some small fish between river rocks. He stood stoic and confident, with a patience unlike any she had ever possessed. She reached for her camera, powered it on, and aimed it at this gorgeous creature. Photographing animals was one of her favorite things to do. She clicked the button with every slight movement for about ten minutes, until she felt satisfied with what she had captured.

As she gazed out into the river, she noticed a large rock a few feet into the water. She made her way down the bridge, across some smaller rocks until she reached the sitting rock. This, she thought, was the perfect place to sit and appreciate the wonder of the present moment. She unwrapped a Reese’s peanut butter cup and popped it into her mouth, savoring the flavor. Tastes were always something she appreciated as part of an experience, and chocolate was an obvious choice. All five of her senses were engaged. This moment was all that mattered.

Dear Future Love

I hope you are finding out what makes you happy, learning to create boundaries, and doing things that touch your heart. I hope you are taking some time to live in the present moment and really experience the sights, smells, sounds, touches and tastes around you. I hope you are at peace, or at least on your way there.

I know we haven’t met yet, and it’s because we aren’t ready to come into one another’s lives. Often times I become impatient and wonder where you are, but then I remind myself to have faith in the universe or whatever higher power is at play.

I sometimes dream about the day we will meet, perhaps randomly on a walk at dawn, when the birds start to wake and sing their morning tune. Early enough that the bumblebees are still in slumber on wildflowers and the sun is just peeking over the horizon. Maybe there will be deer, and a blanket of fog.

I know I will be safe in your presence, especially when we argue. I know you will argue compassionately and not use hurtful statements or walk away. I will feel comfortable sharing my point of view and emotions with you, even if they are different from yours. I know that we will learn to navigate one another’s minds and hearts so that we can work as a team, even in our struggles.

Where are you now? Are you enjoying the beautiful weather and colors of the New England autumn? Or do you perhaps live on the west coast among the mountains and aspen? Are you still battling your demons in the darkness, feeling so alone? Are you mending a broken heart and sitting in loneliness and sadness?

Wherever you are, and whatever you are going through, I hope you have faith in our future love and life, whenever that may be. I hope you learn to love yourself and the wonderful warm heart that you’ve been blessed with. I will love your sensitive nature and big heart one day too.

Although we may not be together now, we will find each other one day. Until then, we will continue to work on growing separately.

Sincerely,
Your future love

Sadness clings to skin

Like morning dew

That has overstayed

It’s welcome,

Mixing with mascara

And running down cheeks

Of the heart broken

Woman,

Who blames black streaks

And puffy eyes

On work stress

And getting older.