I just spent the last four days with my best friend, Heather, in beautiful New York. She flew here from Portland, where I have spent some of my favorite days in the past. Where a flurry of love affairs, projects, outings in parks with friends, long drives with Mom had occurred...where Washington meets the border of Oregon. Where time will tell if I am ever to go back there.
We picked up right where we left off. I finally could share a table with her in my new city. I gushed about everything. About the way New York has a way of eating time. About the friends I've made, the ones I've lost, and the moments that all add up to my first year in our nations most magical city.
And of course, the most recent man who "broke my heart".
I had been lost in thoughts of him, well thoughts of me and him, and it was good timing to have Heather here with me to help ease some of that tension. To have someone close to me who I could articulate my feelings to, someone who knows everything about me and my past.
We'd gotten into a dialog of me feeling dreadfully rejected by a guy who I wasn't that into, anyway. The simplicity of being unwanted by someone (anyone!) was far more painful than the matter at hand. I was desperately trying to find the things that were wrong with me, so I could quickly fix them to become the someone he wanted.
This got me thinking...how many times in my past have I spent a whole week dwelling in the shadows of rejection? How many of those weeks would run together and completely destroy an entire season? I nearly fell out of my goddamn chair when I tallied up the days I would never get back.
Was it really worth the second thought when that one guy, from that one band (or bar, or party, or...) stopped texting me after midnight???? Very doubtful.
Was it really worth Heather's time???
*above photo of me on the Brooklyn Bridge, by Heather
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