The Glass Wall

What brings you comfort? What have you leaned on the most over the years to still your restless soul? Was it a person? Possibly a place? A pet? Most likely you align with more than one. I certainly have people I look to for support when I’m needing to feel held, together, usually. Since, like you, I have multiple resources for ease, I’m going to touch on two that I’ve recently had to deal with the loss or altered reality of.

They are two completely different stories that happen to slightly intersect. First off, a person. Let’s call them A. (I’m going to use a gender neutral pronoun to protect their identity.) We all have rollercoaster relationships that come in many forms. Some of those are friendships, some are monogamous relationships and some are, let’s say, romantic friendships. A blend of sorts. All are deeply important and relevant in their own unique ways. Over the past two years my relationship with A has been one of the wildest roller coasters I’ve ever been on. As much as I was afraid to get on this ride, I’d throw my hands up all the same, fully anticipating the next violent drop over the intoxicating highs and sudden jarring turns. This was my favorite ride. I felt alive with A in ways I just didn’t in my everyday life. Even the grief was some of the most penetrating I had ever felt. The problem was, I’d leave all my experiences with A feeling empty. We’d always start our time together by feeling on top of the world. We were more ourselves than we were with many others. We’d let loose, laugh, and shut out the rest of the world. By the end of it all, I’d always think to myself, I need this. And it’s going to end soon; how can I make this moment last longer? Right before our time together would draw to an end, I would always perform one last courageous act of attempting to get one of my needs met - my need to feel held. By either a desperate reach for a hand or hug followed by silently sitting in the unsettling feeling of my eagerness. Usually with my eyes tightly closed. Desperately trying to stop time. Never successfully doing so; I’d reluctantly open my eyes and the movement was gone. Two of the bravest things any of us will ever do is be honest about our needs and examine the actions we take to fulfill those needs. I had held in my need for so long, attempting to choke it down instead of acknowledging it. In an act of desperation I would seek it out from the exact wrong person. It’s not that they didn’t indulge me, they did. But there was an obvious disconnect. It’s as if what I was searching for in those moments with A was just on the other side of a glass wall, planted on the seat next to me. I couldn’t quite grasp it. When I would try to catch it, all I’d feel was the cold hard surface of the glass wall between us. I’d breathe a deep sign and draw a little heart on its surface, anyway. Which led to unfathomable feelings of shame. It felt shameful to be that vulnerable. It felt even worse to know I kept looking for it in a place I knew, If only subconsciously, I would never find it.

Then there was Beverly. My 2005 Dodge Neon. The EXACT car and maybe only car I specifically did NOT want. I had just moved home to California from Portland, and while I had gotten away with relying on the public transportation there, I wouldn’t be able to do the same in my hometown. A car is a car when you need one to get to work and at the time I was working three jobs in three different cities just to afford Bev. It was only my second car, ever, and the only one I had purchased myself. I made it a point to be very proud of this purchase believing my gratitude would help keep my new car in good running condition. This coming from the trauma of my previous car being in and out of the shop more times than it was worth. I drove Bev back to Portland, I slept in the backseat, drove all my beautiful sisters around; my dog, Tori, and I went everywhere together in this car. I started and ended relationships behind the front wheel, drove it on many adventures to the coast, to new cities and all over California. When my living situation wasn’t consistent, Beverly was. I had wild nights, painful nights, and some of the best moments of my life in that car. Many of those with A in the passenger seat. I had Bev for four years. Last night, in an untimely manner, I found myself having to say goodbye to my beloved Beverly. I know what you're thinking - that’s an awfully large attachment to have to a hunk of metal. But it’s so much more than that. My gratitude for my car carried over to the overwhelming gratitude I have for the life that took place within and and without that car. You can’t put a price on that. Beverly felt like home, like love, like living.

What do these two stories have in common? What did I align with the most in these two sources of comfort? Ultimately, they were misguided searches for wholeness and freedom. Freedom to self express, freedom to love and live and freedom to be seen as I am. With A I felt like I could be myself, have fun, feel alive and if I was lucky, I might get to feel held as well. As much as I love the person there were things I felt when I was with them that I truly reached for. And then there was the fear of letting go; letting go of what that relationship meant to me. Letting go of the years that took place driving Beverly. As much as I’d love Bev and A to be a part of future memories, neither are a necessity. I am the memory creator. The love and gratitude I felt for them originated in me. The light I see in A is simply a reflection of the light that resides in me. The freedom I found in Bev is freedom I can access at any time. I am only bound by the limits I create for myself. You and I have inexhaustible power. The thoughts you think, which are really just habits you’ve formed, are the only thing keeping you from understanding that it’s not a person or place or thing that gives you what you need - it’s you. You assign the meaning. The feeling, the emotion, the resonance; that all comes from you. What would happen if you turned it toward yourself? If you realized what you see on the other side of the glass wall is just a disillusioned reflection of you? It’s okay to want comfort and to be held but you do not need it from an outside source. It’s safe not to judge yourself for needing. It’s safe not to resist what you are feeling. Feel it! Cry about your broken car. Mourn the relationship that couldn’t make the cut. Let it pervade you. But don’t let it take you down. It’s equally important to remember how to pick yourself up once you’ve let the pain hit. Don’t get into the habit of manifesting more of this kind of pain by spending too much time with it. Don’t analyze it. Don’t keep it alive when it’s already gone. Focus on what you loved, the feelings you cherished and the freedom, comfort and laughter you experienced. Mediate on those feelings. Bring them back into your body awareness. And don’t forget to smile. Because as you’re holding that joy in your heart, the Universe has already begun working on bringing A and Beverly 2.0 into your consciousness. And it’s gonna be good.