And It Would Mean My Life If You Should Run Away, Oh No, Don't Go, Don't Make This Poor Boy Cry, I'll Be True, I Beg Of You, Don't Say Goodbye
This will be my last post for awhile.
I’ve been postponing it for some weeks now, begging Patrick not to let on until I was ready to state what I had to state. But with my twenty-eighth birthday (sigh) soon approaching I reckoned this was as good a time to take a short leave to have a few things sorted out in my life that sorely need sorting. I don’t know if it’s been mentioned before, but my husband and I have been attending a weekly counseling session to put right what went wrong in this marriage. For the most part it’s done considerable good. However, one of his main suggestions--one I’ve fighting like a wildcat against—was that I put away the pen for awhile to stop writing about how I feel regarding Greg and start telling him more. The good doctor thinks it would behoove me to direct some of those ideas towards Greg instead of the world at large.
While this does mean my stepping away from california is a recipe for a black hole, it does not mean anything permanent. I don’t have the faintest clue how long it’s going to be. It could be a couple of months. It could be a year. Who knows? I do know I will be back sometime. Hell’s bells, this has been one of the only comforting aspects of my life for the last few years to ever let it go completely. Like I always say, it’s been a hoot-and-a-half. I’m not leaving this shindig just yet.
If you’d like, you could say I’m just stepping out for some fresh air before rejoining the festivities already in progress. Hopefully, when I do return, it shall be with a clearer head and a much, much, much lighter heart. I hope to regain the honor of once again being called Little Miss Chipper and have it mean something.
I can’t go without saying farewell for now.
This is--what--the three hundredth time I'll speak to you from the podium of this blog and the last I may have the opportunity to speak to y’all for awhile. We've been together three years now, and soon it'll be time for me to go. But before I do, I wanted to share some thoughts, some of which I've been saving for a long time.
It's been the honor of my life to be a writer here. Some of you have written the past few years to say thanks, to tell me how much you identify with my little ‘ole life and my little ‘ole trials, but I could say as much to you. As always, Eeyore, myself, and Toby, have always thought it was our privilege to write for you folks.
One of the things about writing is that you're always somewhat apart. You spend a lot of time going by too fast on a hayride where somebody else is behind the reins, and seeing the world outside your city through fog-ridden spectacles--the comments you never quite got around to responding to, and the question you saw too late and couldn't answer. And so many times I wanted to tell the driver at the reins, “whoa, there,” and do my darndest to connect with everyone of you more. Well, maybe now I can rectify some of that.
My friends and family ask how I feel about leaving. And the fact is, "good-byes are never that good." The good part is Greg, and our marriage. The not-so-good--the goodbyes, of course, and the idea of not having an easy outlet for all that may be weighing me down.
You know, down the hall and up the stairs from this computer is the part of my house where we both sleep. The orange walls, the enormous bed, everything familiar. There are a few favorite windows I have up there that I like to stand and look out of early in the morning. The view is over the garden I planted myself, the lawn I designed myself, on a street I’ve long since called home. But I see more prosaic things: the grass laden with dew as I took my morning jog, the cranky neighbors, and the many, many cumbersome annoyance that make each day special.
There were some days when I forsaked looking out the window because I was too sad, too busy, or too scatter-brained to see all that I was missing out. I’m praying that the time I give up here will afford me that much more time to look out my window at this world that all too often seems to be passing me by.
It's been quite a journey these three years, and Patrick and I held together through some stormy seas all chronicled here on this site. And at the end, together, we have reached the next way station on its journey.
From the very beginning I made a promise not to overburden this site with all my problems at home or by mentioning the special Greg has always had in my heart. Patrick made it one of his main stipulations to me coming aboard and I agreed with it for the most part. I wanted to re-connect and it wouldn’t have done by throwing my marriage or my husband in Eeyore’s face all the time.
However, as much as y’all have seen my life through the microscope I provided you, there’s a great deal of my home life that I left unwritten. So many anecdotes, so many amusing stories, I kept to myself because I made a promise. Along with that, I kept many of the arguments, the hurting, and the tears that my being here originated. I’m not a very private person. But I chose to keep that private as much as possible. It’s been a delicate balance trying to maintain my affection for my dear friend with that loyalty for my husband. Now I fear that balance is no longer maintained.
Chicago was a turning point.
So were these last holidays.
I realized that I no longer had that neutral perspective that I started writing on this site with. I was spending more time voicing everything that I can scuffle up with and not enough time living. I was growing resentful for having all these stored up anxieties that never got resolved. I wrote about them. I wrote about happier times I would never see again. I wrote about being happy… before. I wrote about how I was… before. Instead of living a life, I wrote about the life I didn’t have. Instead of being a person who improved her life, I sought to improve the way I wrote about my life.
To put it another way, I was the person at the window and not the person outside I once was.
Back in 1990, when I was more wicked and less tall than I am today, it was all so different. There were some who stated I never sat still. I was a feather on the wind never to land. I was busy living to ever stop to contemplate it. “Breanne doesn’t think; she just goes.” That’s what my teacher actually wrote on my report card to my parents. It was meant as a critique, but I took it as the greatest compliment ever bestowed on me. I had a smile on my face and nothing could wipe it off.
And in all of that time I won a nickname, "Little Miss Chipper" But I never thought it was my smile or my personality that made a difference: It was my spirit. I wasn't chipper always, but I always tried to make others as such, and for the most part I accomplished this goal. My reputation wasn’t won through naivite or innocence. It came from the heart of person who longed to be happy--from my experience, my wisdom, and my belief in principles I’ve believed in all my life. They called it “my just going.” Well, I'll accept that, but for me it always was easier than that. I felt more at ease the more people I could make happy.
Common sense told me that I would be this person the rest of my life. I thought I was on a course that would never be deviated from. I was a log on the great river of life, floating away happily.
The lesson of all this was, of course, that when you’re happy life seems much simpler. From the perspective of the little girl I was, I could never conceive of a time when life would become so complicated as to be unmanageable. I couldn’t see anything more troublesome than not getting what want, being punished by my mother, or having a little ‘ole spat with Torry. That’s as heartbreaking my world got back in those days. There was nothing worse than that. Conversely, as my life began taking on added pressures, as I began shaping into a more complicated and well-rounded person, I refused to adapt. Before long my lazy float down the stream became a tumultuous ride through some rough waters. It wasn’t quite rapids and it wasn’t quite plunging off a waterfall, but it was somewhat more complicated than I was used to. Instead of the ride-or-fall mentality of my youth, there were gradients I hadn’t factored in. In my case, I still thought I was on the same ride.
But life has a way of reminding you of big things through small incidents.
Writing here has been a series of small incidents that have led to a better understanding of the kind of gal I’ve grown into. It’s not the person I thought it was. Yes, I’m still a person who likes to be on the go. But I think I’ve matured into someone who gives depth to her decisions as well. I ruminate and reflect more. It has a lot to do with trying to see who I was before. Every time I would write a story about five, ten, or fifteen years ago I would see how much of me still remained. Then I would start to see how much of me was different.
I am different. I’ve evolved. Things I’ve done resonate more all of a sudden. Maybe they’ve always resonated and I never saw it before, but I’m seeing it now.
I've been asked if I have any regrets. The biggest regret I have is not being a better wife. Greg’s a good man. A great man. He deserves better than me. And if the choice is having an outlet for all these kooky ideas rumbling in my head and sticking out a marriage that is often times harder work than my actual job, I choose love. Not because I feel I should. Not because I feel it’s what is expected of me. But because that’s what I want. I don’t want to have any excuses if and when it does come to an end. I want to know I gave it my full attention.
And that's about all I have to say tonight and for awhile. Except for one thing. The past few days when I've been at that window upstairs, I've thought a bit of the "world outside my mind" The phrase comes from the header to california is a recipe for a black hole. I always thought it a made-up phrase Eeyore just put to paper one day. I never gave it serious thought. Now I’m starting to see more and more that there is a whole world outside my mind.
And how stands this world on this spring night? More turbulent, more shaky, and unsure than it was three years ago. And how stands the young wicked woman known as Breanne? About the same. But more than that; after three years and three hundred posts, she still stands strong and true looking down from her window, and her glow has held steady no matter what storm. And she's still a beacon, still a magnet for all that she once was, for all the years she spent becoming as strong as she is today.
Yet she’s also out there again. She can say she’s out in the world at large. And it feels good to have that directionlessness back, that freedom back. She’s always been at peace running through life rather than standing on the sidelines of it. She still likes to write… but she knows her writing will be the better once she has something to write about again.
I've done my part. And as I walk off into the city, away from all of you who I consider my friends, I take comfort in the fact that I’ve done a good job. Not the best. Not the greatest. But I’ve done a decent job at being who I am and transcribing it onto paper. My friends: I did it.
I’ve written everything here that I wanted to say.
At least for now.
And so, thank you all. You have my gratitude. And I wish all of you a sweet good night. As always, I can only be me--no more, no less. And right now the me that leaves you is the me that's ever hopeful about a great many things.