The Fall and The Lesson

Photo: Photo by Maria Teneva | Unsplash

You asked for my number when our mutual friend told you about me. You offered to pay for a week long holiday at the destination of my choice if I met you there. When flights were a bit pricey, you chipped in nearly $200 so I would go. You knew next to nothing about me.

Never mind the fact I was an American living in Ohio, and you'd never traveled to North America, let alone the US. Or the fact that you were an Austrian living in Germany.

You penned a lovely email explaining your intent and asking permission for me to join you. You promised to be a gentleman. When I forwarded it to my mother and she agreed with me going, you sent flowers thanking her for her approval.

You video chatted with me nearly every day until the trip. Our first awkward 7 minute video chat quickly became an hour, and then longer.

You signed a contract ensuring my safety at my asking. A promise to ensure I had the best time on my trip with you. I did it to be funny - perhaps even as a bit of a test. And you aced it. You got my silliness and my sense of humor and my intrigue grew.

You met me at the airport in a black car and brought me to our apartment with two beds as I'd requested. You booked couple massages. A show for my recent birthday. Hours and miles/kilometers walking the city to scour rooftops and cocktail bars.

You researched everything. You planned everything. As you often said, you gave me results, not options. And you knocked it out of the park.

You held my face in your hands and told me I was beautiful. You touched my skin and told me it was soft. You told me I was a girl you could see yourself falling in love with. You loved the taste of my mouth. The bend of my right ear. How I fit in your arms. You shared all of this with an intensity and openness I found captivating.

You were a gentleman. You reached for me when we hadn't touched for several minutes. You said all the things a girl craves to hear and I believed you. I fell in step with you, my heart open wide and full of hope.

You took pictures with me across the city. Our matching smiles, my hand on your chest and yours gripping my waist. You held my hand under tables and across. With every step we took, you held my hand.

You kissed me over and over at the airport for our departure. Looked back two times, and then a third as I left for my gate. You told me these were the five best days of your life in years. You left me a voicemail before I reached my gate telling me how happy you’d having me around you.

You mentioned you had time off the end of August. You hinted toward another trip together. I asked you to come see me. As crazy as it was, let's just try and see what it could be.

Then you became overwhelmed.

Flying across the world to share a holiday with a complete stranger was not overwhelming. Telling her a thousand lovely things, spreading a million kisses across her body was not overwhelming. Continue to text and video chat her every day after was not overwhelming.

Until it was.

And your long messages and hour long video chats became a handful of words. When we spoke for the last time, you admitted to fear. To getting in your own head. And needing to pull back.

And the hope is crushed. My heart hurts a little. Part of me is not surprised. Desensitized maybe. Because you aren't the first to sweep me off my feet only to abruptly let me fall. And my 36 year old heart winces in knowing you likely won't be the last.

In the excitement of capturing a boy's eye and enjoying his attention, I remembered it feels good to be held, and sometimes we need it, even if we know it can't last. That I continue to thrive in being seen for who I am, despite how complicated that may be. I feel like I'm getting closer even if I'm not there yet.

That I can laugh and connect and daydream and wonder. That I like my hand in another's, and I enjoy savoring his kisses when he pulls me close for no particular reason at all.

I learned I'm not too broken to be brave.

And that my hope outweighs my hurt.

That parts of me want to be hate, but I remember that hate is heavy and not worth holding on to. That anger sometimes is just sadness in disguise. And something can be real and surreal and deep and fleeting all at the same time.

I realized sometimes you hold the present accountable for the mistakes of the past. That disappointment from old hurt can bleed into the new so much that you can't really sort out where one stops and the other starts. And when it washes over you, you have to sit in it, holding your breath until your head comes back to the surface and air can feel your lungs again.

I am reminded that some stories have happier endings while some experiences end without a satisfying conclusion. And that actions will forever speak louder than the compliments they whisper or the sweet nothings they text.

I know I'll keep trying and putting myself out there and learning what parts of a human make me better. I'll redefine must haves and deal breakers.

In this experience, I called it brave but wondered if it was also desperation. Maybe a mixture. But above both of those things, I am still hopeful. I still will put my heart out there. And I keep believing that one day, it will be a connection, and an experience, and a story with a lasting ending.

And no man on any continent can take that from me.

Cheers.

I’m not too broken to be brave.

Montreal 2019