 More Joy |
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On April 25, 1993, we went on our first date. On April 25, 2003, we were planning to get married. Exactly ten years. We were so excited for the priest to share that with the guests during the wedding. I thought about it, and S. suggested it out loud. "Let's tell the priest to say that at the wedding! Everyone will smile!" We didn't realize the anniversary when we first picked the wedding date, but I figured it out when referring to an old journal and we were so delighted by the coincidence. I could spend this day and focus this journal entry on all of the sadness. But I can't. As I told my therapist in exasperation, "I am cursed by my optimism!" I am. I can't help it. I can't help but know how good I have it in spite of everything. I gave him my heart, not once, but twice, and I was so wary and so careful at first the second time around, but he convinced me with his kindness and his love, and I was so sure, and sure that he was sure, and I truly believe that for a long time, he was. And we were happy. And he threw it away, and he threw me away, and he left me. But most of the people I love haven't, and I know in my heart of hearts that they never will. And that's something. That's really something. There will probably forever be a small part of me that wonders what I did wrong. There might always be a small part of me that can never forgive him, but there might also be a small part that always loves him. And I'm just going to have to live with that. I don't know if I'll ever fall in love again. I'm not saying that in a clutching my chest and moaning melodramatically kind of a way. I'm saying it because it's true, and I just can't know. I can't imagine it right now because I don't know how I will ever be able to believe another man who tells me he loves me and wants to marry me and proposes to me and moves in with me and plans a wedding and a life with me and acts every minute of every day as if he has never been and could not imagine being happier. Who, after going through this, in her right mind, could ever believe that again? I know that people do it all the time, but I don't know if one of those people will be me. One of my favorite books is A Swiftly Tilting Planet by Madeleine L'Engle. In it, Charles Wallace Murry goes back in time and changes might-have-beens. He averts disaster and suffering and travels on the back of a unicorn named Gaudior, which means "more joy." He changes the world for the better. I can't really dwell on the might-have-beens. I think might-have-beens might be the primary cause of pain in people's minds and hearts. I don't want to think about what might have been. I don't want to wax poetic about all of this even though I could. I want to reclaim this day. This date. I want it to mean something to me other than all it once meant and all that it might have been. I have always had more joy. More joy than a lot of people I know, more joy than I probably deserve, and more joy than the world has seemed willing to allow to exist. This experience has threatened to change that, to change me, but I am determined to fight for that joy and to fight for myself. I don't want to lose who I am because I know a lot of people love me and I love a lot of people and I know how lucky I am to be alive. So I hope we can all raise a glass tonight no matter where we are and no matter whom we're with. Even if we're only with our dogs or our cats or our birds. Even if we're all by ourselves. To more joy.
© Copyright 2003 elb |
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