‘Lying on the kitchen floor, grabbing at ankles’, is the way a friend of mine puts it. It’s why she no longer wants to love again. And, as I simultaneously close the doors on my two greatest loves, I am getting a glimpse of what she means. I don’t want to do this again; I never again want to be blinded by love … no matter how sweet it sometimes tastes.
Some people believe that reaching 21 marks your rights of passage into adulthood. I disagree. It is only at 40 that one can claim to be all grown up. It is only at 40 that you truly shift gears. And my gears have been grinding their resistance to learning how to drive vintage. I haven’t come close to learning what I need to know … I have, however, come close to learning what I need to learn.
For starters, if I can’t live an ideal life without attachment, I need to learn to let go a little easier. It took me three years of agony before I could let go of my husband and if my new love wasn’t moving country, I might have made the same mistakes all over again. My life with my husband wasn’t a bad life; it just wasn’t my life. And through this torrid love affair, I have learnt how easy it is for me to slip out of my self. I love too much. I feel too much. I emote too much and, lately, I have been grabbing at ankles.
As I teeter on the edge of my emotional abyss, I try to be mindful of where I stand, of how far I look into the spiralling darkness, and of how I truly feel. I stand firmly in my present, assess my past and, with as little unrealistic hope as possible, plan for a future that brings a new me. And I fight it out with trust! … learning to take responsibility for the things I choose and the things I choose to believe. I have shed my cloaks but, as I stand here naked with just a gossamer overlay of cynicism, I recognise that I love with an often-frightening intensity and it’s not something easily matched. I no longer want to lie on the kitchen floor, feeding on scraps. I want the full meal. And I now want to cook it alone.
I know and I learn and, in doing so, I learn how little I know.
As Paulo Coelho says, “Live fully, love deeply and let go without bitterness.” Once the bitter bile stops rising, I may be able to master the art of letting go … if my heart doesn’t kill me first.
40 and all grown up? I doubt it. But I’m still growing.
