Do you remember what it was like to fall in love? To look at someone and lose yourself in them so deeply with all of your senses heightened to superhuman levels? Do you remember the smell of their cologne or the essence of their genetic humanity that made the whole world magically vanish? The depth of the color of their eyes? The softness of their mouth as they spoke and the sound of their voice that vibrated in your chest as all other sound around it was silenced? I remember this feeling, a feeling I've experienced a handful of times, a beautiful distraction that made me forget where I was, who I was with and what I wanted to do with my life. It put me on my heels and speared me clear through.
All I wanted was him.
However, for a time, I was in no shape to love someone. I could barely love myself after surviving an onslaught of assaults on my heart that left me wondering if I was lovable, or worthy of the gift of my own happiness. After too many dead ends, I realized that before I could love someone else, I had to learn how. Consequently, I left my life undone and ran to a place where I couldn't be found.
I wanted to hide. I wanted to wallow in my own sadness, listening to sappy love songs, watching romantic comedies, and rowing my own boat through a scenic wilderness with just enough transient human connection to keep me from falling off the edge of my sanity. I had readied myself for a lifetime of solitude. While my friends all coupled up and started families, I read water. I learned of eddy lines and reverse hydraulics and what they would do to floating rubber or flailing limbs. I studied cubic feet per second and how a river changed with more or less water. Less was not always more and more was never less. I fell in love with the river, the smell of it, the sound of how it fell over the rocks and how it meandered through changing miles of rolling hills, mountains, deep narrow canyons, over waterfalls, past hot springs, and through flat, open space.
The river ran regardless of the weather, encountering blistering heat where I had to jump in every 20 minutes to keep from melting, and driving rain that required technical tarp set-ups and knowledge of a handful of knots like a clove hitch to accomplish them. I remember the satisfaction of an ice cold, carbonated adult beverage at the end of a long, hot, windy day or hot coffee on cool, misty mornings that served both the purpose of providing warmth to the inside of my shivering body and the comfort of a warm mug in my hands like an old friend.It was this existence that I ran to when my heart was in pieces and I felt both lost and found all in the same place. I wanted this to be my life, away from the scene of a ski town or the drama of immaturity. It was here and then that he walked in and turned me inside out. He changed my world, and drew my focus away from my purpose. I remember how I felt inside, the stupid words I managed to mutter with no force of breath left because I couldn't breathe. I was angry that he took my plans and trashed them with his sparkling smile, tanned body and soft, long, brown hair. I felt cheated by fate and yet, engulfed in his presence. I remember it all like it was yesterday and I was convinced (and hopeful) that I would never, could never, fall in love with anyone or anything like that again. I caved in to love and beauty. I shut my eyes, surrendered to love and solitude with blind faith, and I fell off the face of the Earth.
Years later, I opened my eyes and returned to my hometown after enough time passed that the scars had grown over, the river had healed my soul and it was time to return to the mountains. It felt good to be home. The friends I stayed in touch with over the years evolved into amazing people through their own set of trials and tribulations. We are all older, a little wiser, and far more composed than our younger counterparts. Our kids are now friends and I find that the people I once loved through friendship are now my source of strength as I watch how amazing their kids turn out to be. Love has since changed. It is not the raging storm that consumed my being back in my 20's. It is secure and quiet. Like the river, it is a current that runs deep and drives a solemn path. I have a transformed idea of love and that it's design is not to torment but rather to wash over me and comfort me through times good and bad. I Corinthians is true: Love never ends. The currents of love do not replace another or push others out of the way. Instead, the currents run in layers and flow unchanged. Some currents are deeper than others, some are tributaries to others. I wondered how deep those currents ran, specifically one current, a current I had turned my back on so many years ago.
This summer, I dove deep. 30 years deep. My expectation was that love had diminished in it's power, reduced to a trickle or dried up entirely. Like the river that healed my soul, I owed this current a debt and I came to pay it. I expected that it would be gentle and loving, happy to embrace my return, and happy to see that my navigation skills had greatly improved. Maybe it would have enough compassion to float me once again calmly and quietly with renewed serenity.
Instead, I was blindsided at put-in.
I felt like I was dangling over the top of a Class V drop. My river was dropping fast into a canyon without portage. My stomach fell out, and a million butterflies took its place. The rest of the world faded away. Ambient noise drowned out to a low muffle. I stopped being hungry or thirsty and I felt my heart grow twice its size and beat three times as fast. I couldn't speak. My adrenals were in overdrive and I was double-crossed by my body. I maintained my composure all the while my overactive nervous system relentlessly betrayed me.It was in his mannerisms, so familiar, so known to me that the reminder was almost a shock that I had forgotten. His smile, his hands, his eyes all in collusion against me. I didn't think it was possible that I could so easily abandon my morality, my evolution, my over-principled value system. I felt my hands shake. After a lifetime of pushing my limits, I was grateful that I could conceal what was going on internally. Thankfully, I had lived a life of channeling my surging adrenaline whether it was in a World Cup starting gate, the top of a Class V rapid, or the ER, trying to save someone's life. In this moment, I was trying to save mine and keep it a secret. There was a point where I didn't think my legs would hold me when I stood. I cursed wretched, high-heel sandals that conspired against me.
He looked right through me. I felt completely transparent. It was almost too much for me to bear, and there were moments when I yearned for a rescue, and others where help was not welcome. When we said goodbye, there was a moment I didn't want to let go. The scent of him, the warmth of him, the way my body fit with his, all made me forget myself in that instant. He was beautiful to me, inside and out and I had nothing to defend myself. I looked for any negative thing to counter the upheaval. He's older, perhaps less fit than I remember.... a touch arrogant? or simply confident? But for every dealbreaker, there was something new. He was smarter, more composed, and engaging. He was forgiving, and attentive. All of the obvious grievances of youth had dissolved into deference and divinity, composure and kindness. He was lovely.
And then it was over.
Not too long after I found myself bathing in a current of blissful ignorance, the river changed. It made a couple of sharp turns, and as the river's gradient steepened, it dove into a narrow canyon where I couldn't fit through.
Naturally, I spent a good time wondering how I may have behaved irresponsibly. I even tried to fix what I thought was broken, arrogantly presuming I broke it, only to make it worse. Wounded, and remorseful, I have internalized the loss and found numerous ways to take responsibility for my sadness. Silence is my penance and I am of my own undoing.
I returned home and sang the song of rivers deep. The tributaries of home reminded me that a river's path and power cannot be harnessed, and that believing my best intentions can have an impact on such a force is arrogant and foolish. The river always wins.
"Let the river run, even if it runs away."
"Sometimes you just have to hike out and let the river go its way. Live to float another day." A river of wisdom following me everywhere.
My heart hurts.
I pray that time will diminish my memory of it enough to ease the discomfort. I am reassured somewhat that the headwaters are clear and pristine, warm and gentle and flowing in the right direction. But I am sad that they remain that way only in my absence. Perhaps if I look away long enough, this love, this stream will settle back into its original resting place, unchanged by my attempt to reconcile it, enriched by the encounter, and happy with its own course. Until then, the memory of it carries me downstream and I am grateful that I reconciled my debt to it and gave over to it, allowing that flood of memories to wash the riverbed clean.
No comments:
Post a Comment