The Greatest Love Story

Good morning from the broken hearted.

I heard someone say once that our hearts cannot actually be broken. Our hearts are invincible. But sometimes they really feel broken. Maybe it is the same principle as a germinating seed that cracks open to sprout. Maybe our hearts break open as we grow. And that breaking hurts.

In the past I have been afraid on this blog. I have been vulnerable. But today I want to create something new. I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll recognize it. We’ll see.

Now it’s time for a little story.

Several years ago my husband and I were separated. One morning as I laid alone in my twin sized bed, staring at the ceiling, I realized I had been here before.

I was living in another basement (I hated basements). I was feeling hopelessly alone, once again. And I worked at another mediocre job that paid barely enough to survive.

I had experienced all of these things too many times to ignore. Almost as though I had been living my life in a circle, going around and around. And the common denominator in this circle of life was me.

Somehow I had created this life for myself and set it on repeat. I wasn’t sure how I had created it, but I was the one in charge so I was the only one to blame. This also meant I could create something different if I paid attention to my choices.

Thus began my journey of creative intention.

You might assume I’ll get all magical here and tell you how I’m living the life of my dreams making millions while living on a steam boat off the coast of Fiji. But that is not where this story ends.

This story ends (or maybe it begins) with me waking up this morning, a little too early for these tired eyes. Staring at the ceiling of my third floor apartment, I work at a job that is actually pretty great, but I am alone, again, still. Bitterly.

Perhaps I chase men away. Perhaps I don’t really want to be with anyone. I thought I was doing things differently, but I still end up with the same thing. Feeling very sad about all this makes me want to do something about it. And the answer is the same answer it has always been, write.

Writing is the answer. Writing will save you. And yet, I run from it.

I fall into writing’s open arms, weeping, and saying it is all I’ve ever wanted. Then I chase it away, saying its not good enough, or I’m not good enough, or I lose the fire and I’m just not feeling it, or a whole host of other things.

Writing is the rocky romantic relationship I can’t get off the ground. Circles and circles. Maybe when I have a healthy relationship with my writing, healthy romance will show up for me. No matter how cruel or pathetic I am, writing always forgives me.

So I’m starting here. I want to forge a new path for us, my writing and me.

Perhaps this will become the greatest love story ever written. Perhaps. Anything is possible.

Exhausted but semi-hopeful, and yes, that is a cold sore of stress