The Art of Feeling

It’s not for the ring. It’s not for the status. It’s not for the security or for the bragging rights. It’s for the love. And it really is that simple.
I am undeniably proud of myself–for my job, for staying healthy, for how I carry myself, for my mind and my morals, my beliefs and ideals…I am truly and irrevocably happy to be me. There’s only one thing missing: him. Whoever he may be.

I have realized that I have a need to be in control–not necessarily in control of my surroundings, but in control of what I am feeling. I have realized that every emotion I have, every feeling I express, every word that I say has been carefully and strategically thought out. This is in part because of how I want the world and those around me to perceive me.

I have always been the strong and stable one. The one that others go to when they’re falling apart–and that’s okay. I will happily and openly take on the burdens of those that I love, and I know they would do the same for me. But seldom do I have those crippling moments–moments when I break down and need help standing back up. Call it pride or fear, or any other word that describes an innate tendency to be in control…but I rarely let myself get to the point of complete heartache.

So, I decided to challenge myself. I let myself feel.

losing the hazy love-lights.

I wanted someone fresh; someone new. Someone that I had no prior knowledge or opinion of. So that’s what I found. He was different and intriguing–and the situation was exciting.

I went into it with no expectations and an open heart. Whatever I started to feel, I chose not to fight it nor did I think too much about it.

That in itself was a relieving experience. Normally, these feelings would become complicated by over-thinking due to a desire to know exactly what happens next–which almost always results in false assumptions and too high of expectations.

I think we can be so desperate for the all-consuming passion of love, that we take for granted the simple moments and feelings that occur at the beginning; and what happened at the beginning validated that belief. In simple terms, it was perfect.

The affair was a short one. I’m reluctant to say that it’s over because no one can truly know that; but that does not matter. The fact that the “relationship” may not last does not make the feelings and revelations any less real.

‘hope’–you’re a name that I hold close.

For the first time, I stopped thinking. I let go of my control and allowed myself to just feel–and those feelings, the ones that came naturally, felt so real. They felt right, and easy. I did not have to think. I did not have to plan out my next move or wonder what happens from here? I just felt…and that felt incredible. Did it work out with this man? I’m not sure, maybe it won’t. But I’ve realized something–it not working out does not make it wrong. The only way this experience could be negative is if I decided to close myself off because of it. What I allowed myself to feel was wonderful, and the aftermath did sting a little. But imagine what I would be feeling right now if it worked out.

I think that’s what makes it worth the hurt. One day it will work out–and when it does, that feeling will be indescribable in the most beautiful way.

 

“…and indeed there will be time.”

I think a huge part of heartache stems from the feeling of wasted time. All too often people tell me, “I can’t believe I spent so much time on this person.” There’s a sense of fear in investing time in something that does not end up working out because there’s a part of you that wonders if you missed out on the thing that could work out. 

I promise you, there is time.

There is time to make mistakes and redeem yourself, there is time to create and reinvent yourself–you cannot rush that process; and there is time to fall in love, get your heart broken, and fall in love again. I think that’s the key; feel with everything you have, and know that if it doesn’t work out, there’s time to feel that way again. And eventually, that feeling will never go away.

 

 

“And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.”
– The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by C.S. Elliot

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