The Hardest Thing

Everyone wants to see the happy ending.  To see all loose ends tied neatly together in the end.   It's the formula for all good movies or ones that do well at the box office.  Good is subjective, of course.

I get it.  Movies are supposed to be our escape.  A distraction.  A time to put away critical thinking and just accept that which we see on screen is not a reflection of life but moreso, a microcosm of how we wish life was. 

Life is messy.  Chaotic.  Dramatic.  Up.  Down. 
Happy endings run about 50/50.  Probably less.

I got stuck on some romance movie recently as I was flipping through the channels.  Can't even tell you the title because I showed up mid-movie.  It was the attractive crying actress that made me pause to watch.  Her friend leaned into her and started parroting the most annoying movie cliche ever used... Some variation of that If you love someone, let them go.  If they come back, they are yours.  I turned the channel that very second.  I knew the rest of the movie.  Boy comes back.  Redemption.  Girl happy.  Vindication.  Happily ever after. 

To call something a tired cliche is redundant.  I realize that... but this old movie line often used by the inexperienced at life crowd to cheer up a hurting friend is a tired cliche.  It's bullshit, really. 


I've probably had over 50 best friends in my life.  For as early as I can remember, I've always looked for someone in my life to slap that label on.  Once that current best friend slipped out of my life, I looked for a new one.  It was important to me to have a best friend.  Maybe, it's just a result of being one of those no dad, latchkey kids who constantly sought attention and acceptance.   Defining myself by whom accepts me.  Having a best friend makes us special to that one person.  Best means everyone else is a little less important. 

I think we all have a need to feel important.  To, at least, one person.  I, also, think it's important we go out of our way to fulfill that need in them.  Regardless, if it's reciprocated.


Most of my life lessons come from two places:  my failures and my old black lab, Buddy.  Self awareness doesn't take us too far if we aren't aware of those around us.  What better example of how a life should be lived than a dog? 

Man's best friend is a well deserved title.  It was for Buddy.

His natural curiosity and inbred need to be free often led him to ignore my demands to stay.  On a few occasions, I foolishly took him outside without a leash and of course, that led to him running away.  I've got a dozen stories about how I believed I had lost him forever.  If a dog chooses to disappear once you've given him the opportunity, we are at their mercy.

The beauty of dogs is they want to come back.  On their terms.  When they are ready.  And they will come back.  Always.

I can't say I believe this holds true of people.  We have self-created obstacles of pride, pettiness, stubbornness, and foolishness that dogs don't possess. 

We act like letting go is a choice.  Some badge of courage when we succeed.  That's bullshit, too.


If you love someone, you can never let them go, not even for a second, or they're gone forever. 
It's a cynical way to view life but it's safe. 

And well proven.

I used to think the hardest thing I've ever done is say goodbye.  Be it, the day I took Buddy to the vet to end his suffering as his cancer riddled body doomed him.  Or be it, the last night on earth for my best friend as he staggered away from my car like a wounded cowboy stumbling off into the sunset.  Or be it, those I loved but knew we were just not meant to be....

But I was wrong.

The hardest thing I've ever done involved silence. 
Those times where I wasn't afforded some closure.  
Those I simply chose to just walk away from without the kindness that goodbye allows us. 
And those moments where the universe had decided tomorrow simply wasn't in someone's cards.

Not saying goodbye is the hardest thing I've ever done.

If you love someone, don't let them go.

Anyone tells you differently, its bullshit.

Somebody told me

Somebody told me there'd be days like this.  Years like this.

Save those pictures, she said.  Someday, they will be all that's left of me.   

We were discussing this pathological fear of intimacy some have.  She, on the couch and me, across the room in a folded chair.   Lots of irony in that conversation.  Months later, we laughed about it as I was putting my pants on. 

Should have saved those pictures as the ones in my mind are slowly fading like an old polaroid. 

The spotlight always shines brightest on the socially anxious.  Only in their minds, of course.   Somebody warned me we would come to this.

Save those pictures, she said.

The written word will be a lost art.  Save my words, she said.  Save my letters, she added.

I started to hoard anything sentimental.  From anyone who loved me long enough to send something.  Or say something.  Texts, emails, pictures, cards, letters.  Save those things you cannot buy, she said.  Save those things that come from a place of love, she added.

Her hand was on my inner thigh and she leaned in.  I learned about butterflies that summer.   She looks old now.  Tired, I mean. 

Should have saved those pictures.  Youth escapes us quickly.

Somebody told me there'd be years like this.  Nights like this.   

Midnight is where the day begins.  She wore lemon.  
Save these lyrics, she said.  They will have meaning later, she added. 

I wrote a list of things to talk about just before calling.  That level of neurosis is normal at that age.  Eventually, we outgrow the discomfort.  So, I thought.  Save that innocence, she said.   Save that humility, she added.

Somebody told me we would have years like this.

We were discussing time.  Time heals all wounds.  Idle hands, devil's workshop.  Better late than never.   Time flies when having fun.  Back and forth, throwing cliches at each other.

Time is the enemy of the busy, she said.  And the lazy, I added. 

I have to go now, I told her mid-conversation.  Unforeseen irony.

Save those pictures, she said.  Someday, they will be all that's left of me, she added.

perfect world

Perfect world, all I wanted was a seamless transition.  Some hope and a little less ambition.  Do I listen to my intuition and ignore this premonition?  In a perfect world, there is no opposition. 

Who knew letting go is easier than the chase? 
Hope is either a slow death
or it disappears without a trace.
Its been one year since my fall from grace
It was the right thing to do
but something still leads me back to you.

In a perfect world, she'd love me.   Without borders or ambiguity.  With no one else above me. 

A perfect world without enemies like the gnawing notion of inadequacies and jealousies.  Where fantasies become destinies and futures never become histories.  Perfect world without all its scars and miseries.

from excitement to apprehension.  unreleased sexual tension and some lukewarm affection.  easier to walk in the other direction.
from apprehension to doubt.  easier to just get out.
from doubt to optimistic.  questioning what is realistic but in the end, we become monolithic.
from optmistic to desperate.  easier to just exit.
from desperate to pathetic.  easier to just forget it.

but something always leads me back to you.
something tells me that all of this, everything, every moment of our lives
was leading me to you.
Perfect world, tell me what I should do.

Hope is a slow death
or it disappears without a trace
Who knew letting go is easier than the chase?