Today the power went out for a few hours so I decided to walk the Yellowlegs Savannah Trail. It went up a hill then led into a wide opening full of bogs and swirly trees covered in old man’s beard. The trail was not that well-maintained so I walked as far as it felt inspiring without getting too spun around. The scenery reminded me a lot of the TA. I watched intently on where I needed to step and remembered where I came from through making small waypoints in my mind such as three pinecones on a small branch overhanging the trail, a Van Gogh style tree or mini puddles/ponds that had specific shapes.
I looked into the mountains, feeling desperate for them, my heart yearning, no longer capable of dealing with the comforts of the world. I began to cry as I walked slightly off trail, recognizing how when I feel so unsure of who I am or where I’m going in life that I can walk and the mountains will guide me home. That I know.
My feet were covered and drenched in mud/water. My heart was rejoicing. I loved and appreciated so greatly where my feet have taken me throughout the years. Through emotional pain, I was led to cleansing waterfalls. Through blisters, I was led to pristine valleys. Through cuts, blood and sweat, I was led to remote mountains, untouched by many. The pain seems to go hand in hand with the pleasure.
As per usual, the mud brought visions of Orange Man to my mind. I wonder if he will ever know how much I love him and how often I think about him, playing over and over again in my mind how I could’ve done things differently. I ponder what could’ve been, wishing I could have already been the girl he was looking for, not this evasive, elusive fantasy. I replay visions of the TA, wishing I would’ve held him in my arms when he had asked, but I have to trust what I felt in the moment at the time.
Still, I can’t help but see his face and smile when I close my eyes. I hear his voice, his accent in certain words and it is so soothing. I have visions of us living together happily. I see us laughing and being the best of friends—something I’ve never had with a partner. I keep wanting to write him letters, confessing everything, but I stop myself thinking it’ll hurt him more somehow. Just as I have a way of opening men’s hearts through my writing, I have the same ability to puncture them.
I could see where my train of ‘what if’ thoughts were taking me so I leaned on my support system. I called Hope in the heat of it and she answered the phone in the midst of laughing her ass off with her friend. I loved that about her—how much she laughed uncontrollably.
I began my spiel about Orange Man. “I feel like I should have grown up and accepted what could have been the love of my life,” I said.
She immediately stopped me in my tracks, telling me she didn’t need my whole story. “You are much more awake than I was at your age,” she said. “Trust me, you do not need a Tony!”
Tony was her husband. I often told her how much I desired a man like hers. She had met him at a young age and they’ve been together since.
“Then why does it feel like I do?” I asked.
“Because the ego is never satisfied with what it has.”
“Right,” I said, taking a breath.
I’ve seen it played out like that 1 million times, but the stories in this world are hooking for a reason. She reminded me that these longing love stories/fantasies keep occurring and I keep getting attached to them because they give me some sort of an energetic rush.
“There’s a feeling of ‘I fucked up’ that is hooking you and that’s why the thoughts keep occurring,” she said.
“I keep giving reality to them by not denying meaning!”
“Yes,” she said, “you’re doing great!”
And then we laughed. I always appreciate how she can help me come back to that state of joyousness nearly instantaneously.
McKenna and I stayed up talking a bit before going to bed. The other day she went fishing with one of our coworkers and showed me pictures. She was holding up a small fish and making silly facial expressions, appearing so much like a child to me. Then, she spoke of her boyfriend from back home, getting all starry eyed again.
She has been such a wonderful teacher. She is very in tune with her practices/prayers and embodies an innocence I’m not even sure she’s aware of. I prayed to the Holy Spirit that she would remain in that state and that this first love of hers would be kind to her and not have bad intentions. She is so head over heels for him and her heart is so pure, as if untouched. All it takes is for one guy that you claimed to have loved to betray you. Even watching your father betray your mother could convince you that everything could be taken from you. That whole concept of a fairytale love with only one person could be ripped out from under you and what’s often left is a trail of unsatisfying relationships in adulthood.
I think I had only momentarily experienced that deep of innocence when it came to romantic relationships. I think she would burst out in tears if she only heard about half the shit I went through or some of the stuff I was into. I received a timeline of memories of the men I had encountered in my life and my heart hurt for a moment. Oddly enough, a sense of anger came up as it felt my innocence was far out of reach. I almost became jealous of her naivety.
But then, I was reminded of how resilient I am. Thousands of things could’ve convinced me to have given up on love but I chose to see through it. It was nice to feel McKenna’s joy. Women truly do glow the most when they are in love. They have this brightness to them, this essence that is only brought out when their heart is being held tenderly.
