Spun Out, Soaked and Saved

I'm practicing paying attention to my emotions and feelings. Well, neighbor, let me tell you — I went on quite a ride today! They grabbed me by the heels, held me upside down, and shook HARD. Damn!

The physical adrenaline rush alone was enough to keep me zooming for days. My instinctual, habitual, fear-and-people-pleasing-fixing brain pathways were LIT UP. I mentioned a few days ago how I’d serendipitously reconnected with some old friends and acquaintances, and I was looking forward to blossoming renewed connections and sharing and — holy shit — so much for those delusional expectations! I can say more clearly now: I have opportunities galore to practice my new skills... with some old fart friends.

This morning, I received a text message informing me that being friends with me would "compromise their values." Strange doesn’t even begin to cover it. I started tracking the feelings as they arrived: first up, adrenaline — with no particular direction to the energy, just ZING. Next came defensiveness and explaining — a flashing impulse to set the record straight. I was obviously and egregiously misunderstood, right? OF COURSE the best, most normal thing would be to correct the error! Immediately! Vigorously! Off I'd go, building an argument, constructing examples, spinning up explanations like a maniacal cotton candy machine. Surely, surely I was the victim here. Surely!

Along with defensiveness came a big fat serving of "being right" and "looking good." How could she think that of me? She didn't even talk to me about it! Cue the old familiar soundtrack: wronged, misunderstood, mistreated, unfair, blah blah blah. SPINNING.

I took more than a few deep breaths. I managed — miracle of miracles — to stay standing as the observer, not the participant. I allowed. I accepted. I talked calm and peace to myself. I let the justifiable rage and righteous upset float on by. There I sat — on the riverbank, smiling gently — when grief came roaring in next.

Tears. Sadness. Ached-out heart. Sadness for the state of affairs: that people can be so attached to their own beliefs. That connections can close so fast. That intimacy and friendship can turn to dust with no conversation. But I didn't let the "Why? Why? Why?" machine fire up too hard. Deep breath. Tears. Another deep breath. Another wave passed.

And then — finally — gratitude. Gratitude that the would-be friend at least recognized their discomfort and acted with integrity. (Or, you know, acted in some way.) I'm guessing it wasn’t an easy message to send. At least I hope not. Gratitude for the clarity. Gratitude for the closure. Gratitude for the truth that hurt but freed.

Then, forgiveness. For her. For me. For the pain-bodies and trapped emotions that collide all day long in all of us, just trying to do our best.

I'm noticing echoes now — echoes of the first flood of feelings: defending, people-pleasing, fixing, justifying, explaining, spinning wild reasons and scenarios in my head to prove (to whom?) that I am right, wise, good, fair, better, smarter...

STOP. Practice. Practice. Practice. Out of the floodwaters. Back to the shore.

What an amazing experience. Thank you, old friend for a smashing, parting gift. Out of the water, onto the shore — over and over — until the message finally tattoos itself into my neurons: No need to dive down that dark alley. No need for the spinning. No need for external validation to know my own worth.

I am also exceedingly grateful — and here, I one thousand percent concur with David Sedaris — WHAT DO PEOPLE DO WHO CAN'T WRITE ABOUT THIS SHIT??? Thank you, Spirit, for giving me the glorious outlet of writing.

No need for more wondering, questioning, analyzing, or proving. Just standing here, letting the waves break... and roll on down the river. Grateful. Forgiving. Free.

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