I believe there are any number of people who could be your lover and your love. Sometimes timing tells you who to love or who not to love. Sometimes love is a decision and you love the one you’re with. Although I don’t entirely unbelieve in soul-mates, I don’t think there is only The One.
And yet.
There was a man. A man I never forgot.
We dated years and years ago. It was love. It was terrible timing. He was the last man I dated before I embarked on a married-with-kids life with someone else.
We met again. When I hugged him, he smelled the same. He smelled good. He still wears the same cologne and in an olefactory second my life kaleidoscoped: for years, every Christmas, I bought that cologne - his cologne – for someone else. Unconsciously. I didn’t even know I was doing it until I smelled him, again.
I wanted X to smell like Y.
I wanted X to be Y.
I knew this already. Even while enmeshed in my family life, I googled him. I checked for him on Facebook. I asked mutual friends about him. I heard he was married and living in the same neighbourhood as me.
After my split, I thought about him a lot.
I thought about our first date – the most romantic date of my life – and our kisses – the best of my life – and how my three page, 100 item list of Things I Want in a Partner was, essentially, a portrait of him.
I thought about all the little but grand ways he tried to make my life easier, when we were together – a really, trying, exhausting time of three jobs and pending grad school – and how I have always wanted that kind of support. How I am looking for it, still.
I was having coffee with a friend, who said, oh guess who I saw yesterday? And I said Y.
Neither of us had seen him for years. She said, how could you possibly know that? I said, because I’ve been thinking about him. I said, is he still married? Is he single? If he’s single, I’m going to marry him.
She said, he’s single. And he asked about you.
I said, give me his phone number.
We went for a drink, the three of us. To catch up. The two of us – Y and I -sat close, talked all night, talked with our hands and our hands landed on each others arms and wrists and touch was part of the conversation and our mutual friend sighed Why am I here? and texted friends all night.
And I thought: it is not just me. It is him, too. It is still here. It is here, right now, with us, and of us.
I told him everything – every detail of the last two handfuls of years – except the thing I most wanted to say. I wanted to tell him something – the truth.
That I was sorry. That I needed to say I was sorry.
That he had offered me everything I wanted and I was unable to accept it.
That I didn’t know what to do with his competence because I don’t know what to do when a man doesn’t need me.
That I had felt like I wasn’t showing up.
That I was sorry – not so I could shoe-horn myself back into his life, but because it needed to be said.
But I said nothing.
And then…nothing.
So maybe it was just me. Okay.
That certainty, that surety, that he was for me and I was for him, for always: I was shaken. I couldn’t shake it. Despite the manifestly unshaky evidence -nothing - that it was only me feeling this way.
A year passed. I left an unprepared, rambling mess of a voicemail.
Two weeks later, he called me. He was tired. I could hear it in his voice.
We met. We had a raw conversation. We opened Pandora’s box and told the brave truth about who we were, to each other, then. And now, even though now was not to be, because he was not free to love me.
I looked at him and it was love, again, still, for me. At the bottom of Pandora’s box was hope.
That hope, like water, was hard to contain in my porous membrane and it spilled all over the place. At a lunchy-brainstorm-afternoon-with-kids, I poured out my hopeful, storytelling heart to Danielle LaPorte, who doesn’t believe in meant-to-be, and she looked at me with tears in her eyes and made me promise to invite her to our wedding. She loves weddings. (I don’t.)
But he had a life, and someone, and so of course it was not to be. It was all my own fantasy.
What???? What about that little rock of certainty, my little nugget of knowledge that we were supposed to be together? Where do I go from here?
Nowhere. I walked away from my imaginary future, but not really. I hoped. I wished. I wrestled with my truth and wondered: what do I do with my certainty that he was The One?
I go back to where I started, to what I really know when I scrape back the stories: that there is no One. No pre-destined. No meant to be.
Like this:
We’re not from the same tribe, are we?
Feline. Bear.
Fire. Earth.
Arrow. Tree.Finally, I revel in that.
We are choice.
Precise and free in the choosing.
Not slotted, or arranged, or karmic.
Not mated, or introduced.
Not even necessary.Rather: Essential, my Love.
Rather: Chosen, my Love.
With select scars and stories,
full of rise and honey and dreams.Chosen.
And that, my Love,
is everything and more.- poem by Danielle LaPorte (for my Operation Secret Valentine)
And now, I’m not sorry. I’m grateful to have been haunted by – and have exorcised – this ghost.
I’m seven days into my thirty-seventh year and I’m kissing my illusions tenderly and setting them free. Letting them run wherever they need to be.
The One. Meant to Be. The transformative power of my kiss. Hope.
Faith, freedom, lucidity and choice are far more powerful than spindly hope and whimsical tales.
I hope.
Oh hell. There it is again.
Simply beautiful Kelly!
You know what they say about hope:
“Hope arouses, as nothing else can arouse, a passion for the possible.” – William Sloane Coffin
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 5:33 am
@Shannon O | Confessions of a Loving Wife, oh that trickster. hope.
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oh honey, I KNOW this story. I had this on-off thing with this man I was certain was the one. I even resorted to consulting a psychic to confirm my dream. This is so completely out of character for me, but I was lost. I needed that hope.
And when I finally set him free after nearly three years of maybe-maybe not, I was able to just be. And then I met someone who could work with what I had and not with what I could be. And he is nothing like the other. But I never doubt him. Ever.
The myth of the one is exactly what it says on the tin.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 5:33 am
@sas, honestly, I feel like going through this was a good thing. It helped me put this myth to rest.
And everything has been much easier – and a bit more fun – since I started trading in reality.
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Just love your honesty. So many of us can relate to your story. I most certainly can. I too, hope…
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 5:31 am
@Tracy Todd, thank you, Tracy. I’m doing some scraping of the barnacles. Expect more.
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A post of morning gorgeousness. Thanks.
God, the power of the One. Longing driven like a blade through our chest. It’s a wounded kind of hoping, a search for a perfect lost paradise that intellectually we know never existed in the first place, as if rationality has anything to do with it. To let go means to grieve — for our f*ked up childhood, the parent(s) who didn’t love us properly, whatever it was we thought we could fix (resolve the present, heal the past) through the awesome power of the One. Sometimes it’s easier (if in a wretched and slightly demented kind of sense) to live in the longing than to deal with the having.
A fantasy is a living thing, we attach to it. When it dies, we hurt.
But: faith, freedom, lucidity and choice. Hardwon, and worth the cost.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 5:31 am
@Justine Musk, answering you, really, truly, fully is another piece in itself.
“To let go means to grieve — for our f*ked up childhood, the parent(s) who didn’t love us properly, whatever it was we thought we could fix (resolve the present, heal the past) through the awesome power of the One.”
Yes indeed.
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ok that moved *something* in me, but right now i have no idea what. thankyou
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Paddy
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 6:36 am
@Paddy, ok, i think instead of wanting all the futures X’s to be like a certain Y i’ve collected all the best bits of various W,Y, and Z to make a hypothetical Y. i still hold onto various moments of the past, all they’re doing is distracting me from looking forward
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 6:43 am
@Paddy, yep. I know that alphabet.
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I believe in soul mates, sure, but I also believe that there are things we’re meant to do in life and that those opportunities never cease. Ignore your calling all you want, it will keep coming around again and again, sometimes in different forms until you finally take it. People, places, things, everything. We might miss a boat, but we never miss the boat. Remember what’s lost and look out for what’s coming.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 6:42 am
@Carlos Velez, “Remember what’s lost and look out for what’s coming”.
That is just about perfect, my friend.
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Men and women really aren’t so different, when you scratch deep enough.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 8:09 am
@Dave Doolin, ‘course.
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That was moving to say the least. I doubt there is a person who’s not had The One Who Got Away (AKA The One, but I was stupid enough to let them go). Thanks for an awesome story…
Getting rid of that ghost is hard, but it definitely helps most of us grow and define ourselves, our wants and our needs. I look forward to seeing more as you scrape those barnacles.
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kellydiels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 8:59 am
I am suddenly overflowing with stories and a-ha moments. The noise in my head is quieting. Scraping is good stuff.
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Knowing, all-too-close-to-home tears when I read this, Kelly.
Yes: “Faith, freedom, lucidity and choice are far more powerful than spindly hope and whimsical tales.”
Yes: “I hope.”
Yes, dammit: “Oh hell. There it is again.”
Thank you – sort-of. Truly.
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kellydiels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 9:00 am
mmmmmmm Ronna. We really know, don’t we? Same page. As always.
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Great post – we’ve all been there, sadly (happily?) Amazing to hear you’re choosing to live in reality – it’s much more liberating and waaaay less taxing.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 9:14 am
@kareem, YES!
And you just said something that meant a lot to me: “we’ve all been there.”
I wonder sometimes when I write these personal stories if it is too much navel-gazing or if there is value in the journey and the sharing. When you say something like that, I realize, ok, there IS value here. Because we’ve all been here, and being able to talk about it helps us connect. And what else is there, really?
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I used to think that there was just “one”. I met her, and loved her for a long time. Didn’t work in the end. Since then, I don’t think there is one. I think of other women I’ve loved as much as I think about that “one”. There are women, and the way they effect me, and what that means to me.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 11:36 am
@Deacon, and thank goodness, right? Thank goodness.
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Have you ever met someone, or even just exchanged a glance with them, and thought…in another world, this person might have been that one.
Something you can feel it in your gut, but can’t really explain in words. It’s the person you dream about even though that person doesn’t have the same face in every dream.
I think there are many “one’s,” and that makes me both sad and happy.
I believe in rebirth, so sometimes I wonder if the connection I feel is from another life I lived, or maybe one I’ve yet to live.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 11:41 am
@Nathan Hangen, I think that’s why I’m digging Danielle’s poem so much. There are many ones. The only one that matters is the one you choose (over and over again, every day).
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I believe in love. I don’t believe in soulmates, so much as kindred spirits.
I have experienced this too, with a few people. They are so wonderful. I want to bask in them. But the timing is wrong.
When we connect with someone that we’ve known for lifetimes, it’s the hardest thing to not get to feel that love we’ve felt from them before. It’s the circumstancial inability to live in communion with that love again. So very hard.
But the good news is, the way this universe works, Carlos is right, it’s going to come around again.
Wishing you peace and comfort and real wonderful love soon.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 11:49 am
@Bridget, I think I’ve got all three. Peace, comfort and way more love from way more people than I could ever have imagined. And Bridget, what a a beautiful thing to wish for, for me. Thank you so much.
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Beautiful musings Kelly. And . . . strangely grown up and complete, despite the longing and the absence of fairy tale ending. thanks.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 9:06 pm
@ami | 40daystochange, you make me giggle. I *am* feeling strangely grown up and complete. Even happy.
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Dear Kelly -
Thank you for telling my story – every woman’s story.
We have all had a love like that.
I found out recently that the love of my life had died of cancer.
I liked the ending -
“Yes, dammit: “Oh hell. There it is again.”
Thank you – sort-of. Truly.”
Love never ends. I believe we will meet again somewhere.
Don’t you?
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There are a few (less than a handfull) of people that I have met in my life, that I have had that experience with. Where communication went beyond words and the world felt bigger and more free just from their presence. Soul mates? probably the closest I’ll ever know. I loved these people when they were in my life, and miss them still. There are others out there. I’m sure. It is but to stay open to meeting them.
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 22nd, 2010 at 9:05 pm
@Sanford, “It is but to stay open to meeting them.”
Sanford, beautiful. I may have to print that out and pin it somewhere I can see it every day.
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In working with a couple of clients who were fixated on the “one true love” that lived in their past it became very clear that who they were pining for was not that person at all – but for who *they* were when they were with that person. And that person is always available to us, s/he just needs to be uncovered, rediscovered.
So as the wonderful poet June Jordan says (and this is uncanny as I just quoted her earlier today on twitter – what are the odds?)- We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.
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“That hope, like water, was hard to contain in my porous membrane.” You reading my mind again?
Thank you. This is just so true.
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You made me cry this morning Kelly… I grapple with this in my heart often. Is there a “the ONE”? How can I feel it, if he doesn’t? And if there’s not… what is there?
How do you know “chosen” isn’t a pretty way to say “settling”?
I often feel cynical as I struggle with these ideas; hope for me means believing that this struggle is really a way to break down walls in and around my heart, to expand my ideas of love and loving. My hope is that this struggle will teach me the truth of love… but in the middle of the process, often it feels like a futile and hopeless fight.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 24th, 2010 at 6:48 am
@Shauntelle, abandoning the myth of the one has been a revolution. Instead of abandoning the idea of love, I’ve opened myself up to seeing I have it right now, in so many ways, from so many people. I was discounting their love because it didn’t come wrapped up in “forever”. I have never felt as loved as I do, now.
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You had me with every aching, tender word.
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