;)
Saturday
May092009
For You
Saturday, May 9, 2009 at 3:04AM
I have this habit of marking dates and times in my life around events rather than calendars. It's kind of like how, once I drive somewhere one time, I can get there again at any point in time but I could never ever tell you how to get there, simply because I've created my own private roadmap with landmarks that mean something only to me.
So the night before last, when I was mapping out the next day's events and I realized that tonight was my kids' spring fair at school, I remembered that it's been just about one year since your whole world bottomed out.
A year ago, the person that I just barely was getting to know disappeared completely. It's not like I've known you all that long or all that intimately, but in the time I have known you, I feel like I've gotten a pretty good handle on your story mostly because it so blatantly mimics my own. But only in the cliff notes, of course. The chapters have been written differently, the characters changed, but the story is nearly the same.
Since that night that everything went so very wrong all at the exact same second, since that minute that my phone rang and you did something you'd never really done before and asked someone for help, the you on the other line has faded into obscurity and given way to the you that, a year later, hardly resembles her former self. In a year, you've done impossible things, improbable things, uneasy things and truly brave things. I've watched you teeter back and forth between the life you knew and the life you wanted. I've watched you, one by one, burn down the straw walls holding up the house of you and rebuild them with bricks that no amount of huffing or puffing is going to blow apart.
I see you traveling down much the same road I did at your age, and I've tried to keep my mouth shut and let you do things your own way because dear god, no one likes an overbearing know-it-all. And so I listen. I listen to your stories, I read them, I hear them through the grapevine and I learn things from you. I see that your strengths lurk in the exact places my weaknesses go to hide, and I learn from you as you pile up and sort out the exact shit I'd swept under the rug to be forgotten about until a later day. I see you wrestle the demons I've already exorcised, I see you walk over the roadblocks that had tripped me flat on my face, and I realize that you are leagues ahead of where I was at the same point in time you are now.
I honestly don't have any business even thinking about all of this; I'm just some wanna-be blogger chick who only really knows you on the fringes, but I like to think that those of us who share this common thread are stitched together by it, that we're all a part of each other a little bit. And the fact that when it all crashed down for you, that I was the call you made, and the fact that I have spent hours, nights, days, thinking about your life in relation to my own, tells me that maybe I'm right. I watched you have to move beyond the house that you and I and all of us who share this common history build for ourselves. I've seen you start to lay a new foundation for your life with real, solid people. I've watched as you've let yourself start to cultivate your own garden, and I've seen you bloom. I've watched as you've dug your roots into the earth and started the very heavy business of growing upward, soaking in the breeze around you and opening up under the warm sun and reaching for the sky.
And it's been an incredible thing to see.
The road that you and I and so many others are walking down, this path of reckoning, this improvised grace, it may never be easy and it may never come naturally, but we keep walking it anyway. We know we have to, for our children, for our souls, and through stubborn will we continue down a road that feels right but not necessarily natural. Undoing is so much harder than doing, unlearning is something we have to teach ourselves while the learning just happened to us, and the one thing that makes even the hope of this succeeding is that we have each other. We can look to each other for strength and inspiration and understanding and for reality.
You do that. You give people, others like us, others who are just starting down the road you fell on head first one year ago this weekend, hope. You give them the hope that it might be hard and it might really really really suck balls, but it can be done and it can be worth it. You are a reminder that it's possible, that lives can be reconstructed and stories can be rewritten and lives can be redefined, if you just try hard enough. If you just realize that you are worth it.
You, my dear, are worth it.
I'm leaving you nameless. Because your story isn't mine and I have no business telling it. I just wanted you to know that someone noticed, that someone is quietly keeping score for that you are beating the house.
So the night before last, when I was mapping out the next day's events and I realized that tonight was my kids' spring fair at school, I remembered that it's been just about one year since your whole world bottomed out.
A year ago, the person that I just barely was getting to know disappeared completely. It's not like I've known you all that long or all that intimately, but in the time I have known you, I feel like I've gotten a pretty good handle on your story mostly because it so blatantly mimics my own. But only in the cliff notes, of course. The chapters have been written differently, the characters changed, but the story is nearly the same.
Since that night that everything went so very wrong all at the exact same second, since that minute that my phone rang and you did something you'd never really done before and asked someone for help, the you on the other line has faded into obscurity and given way to the you that, a year later, hardly resembles her former self. In a year, you've done impossible things, improbable things, uneasy things and truly brave things. I've watched you teeter back and forth between the life you knew and the life you wanted. I've watched you, one by one, burn down the straw walls holding up the house of you and rebuild them with bricks that no amount of huffing or puffing is going to blow apart.
I see you traveling down much the same road I did at your age, and I've tried to keep my mouth shut and let you do things your own way because dear god, no one likes an overbearing know-it-all. And so I listen. I listen to your stories, I read them, I hear them through the grapevine and I learn things from you. I see that your strengths lurk in the exact places my weaknesses go to hide, and I learn from you as you pile up and sort out the exact shit I'd swept under the rug to be forgotten about until a later day. I see you wrestle the demons I've already exorcised, I see you walk over the roadblocks that had tripped me flat on my face, and I realize that you are leagues ahead of where I was at the same point in time you are now.
I honestly don't have any business even thinking about all of this; I'm just some wanna-be blogger chick who only really knows you on the fringes, but I like to think that those of us who share this common thread are stitched together by it, that we're all a part of each other a little bit. And the fact that when it all crashed down for you, that I was the call you made, and the fact that I have spent hours, nights, days, thinking about your life in relation to my own, tells me that maybe I'm right. I watched you have to move beyond the house that you and I and all of us who share this common history build for ourselves. I've seen you start to lay a new foundation for your life with real, solid people. I've watched as you've let yourself start to cultivate your own garden, and I've seen you bloom. I've watched as you've dug your roots into the earth and started the very heavy business of growing upward, soaking in the breeze around you and opening up under the warm sun and reaching for the sky.
And it's been an incredible thing to see.
The road that you and I and so many others are walking down, this path of reckoning, this improvised grace, it may never be easy and it may never come naturally, but we keep walking it anyway. We know we have to, for our children, for our souls, and through stubborn will we continue down a road that feels right but not necessarily natural. Undoing is so much harder than doing, unlearning is something we have to teach ourselves while the learning just happened to us, and the one thing that makes even the hope of this succeeding is that we have each other. We can look to each other for strength and inspiration and understanding and for reality.
You do that. You give people, others like us, others who are just starting down the road you fell on head first one year ago this weekend, hope. You give them the hope that it might be hard and it might really really really suck balls, but it can be done and it can be worth it. You are a reminder that it's possible, that lives can be reconstructed and stories can be rewritten and lives can be redefined, if you just try hard enough. If you just realize that you are worth it.
You, my dear, are worth it.
I'm leaving you nameless. Because your story isn't mine and I have no business telling it. I just wanted you to know that someone noticed, that someone is quietly keeping score for that you are beating the house.
Reader Comments (38)
There is NOTHING 'wannabe blpgger' about YOU.
Another fabulous post, leaving me only wanting more.
XO
B.
This post is what makes you a considerate and thoughtful wonderful person.
This is why you are awesome.
great post mr.lady...you are a wonderful person...I hope your friend sees that!
And may we all have a "Mr. Lady" in our lives.
Something we all desire...to know that someone sees our sucesses...You are a true friend...
Marking time for others is one of the kindest things we can do for our loved ones. Beautifully written, my sweet friend.
Wow, I am in awe that nameless has someone like you in her corner.
What a great gift.
You should really acknowledge YOU for that...as I am right now.
Grasshopper, when you are able to take this pebble from my hand it will be time for me to leave.
Moderate that!
I hope to God that you are always in my corner this way. No matter what.
You are awesome, you know that!
It's amazing, this blogging stuff.
Because when you take a chance like this... you tell someone's story without naming them, and you echo the truths in their story and remember how they relate to you, and you dare, in this day and age, to show that there are still people, no matter how we know them, that are remembering...you do something else too.
You say it to the rest of us. Those of us who may not have someone marking the time for us, but who see ourselves in your story and her story and in all the stories that you share. And who can imagine that in holding the stories you hold, you, by proxy, hold our stories too.
And so, for myself, and for anyone else for whom this applies, I say, simply: Thank you.
What an absolutely heat felt tribute... I may- or may not know this person, But many many fall into the 'mold'
Great! Great write-up
I just started reading your blog and I have no idea to whom you are referring. But as I stand and watch my own house fall to pieces because of lay-offs and unemployment, your post gives me hope. It has helped me to remember to keep perspective and nothing broken has to stay that way. There is always a choice. Thank you. I needed to remember.
You're a wonderful person.
Ah, lovey, you make me cry......
You're an awful sweet lady.
I recently discovered your blog and I'm really loving it. You're a great writer and from all acounts, a great person as well.
Nice. Whoever she is, she has a great friend to turn to.
I have no particulars about who you are referring to, but this is such a great post. I don't know if I ever told you that I still think your reading at BlogHer last year was just amazing. (I wasn't there, but I saw it on a website) And that you care so much to write this for this person? Just beautiful.
I love you even more tonight than I did last night.
you are made of awesome.
just wow, can't say much more.
That was beautiful, touching and a great tribute despite the fact that we don't know the particulars of who your talking about, which I feels makes this your post even more thoughtful.
Happy Mother's Day.
I just cried a little, and I'm okay with admitting it. Love and stuff.
aww. that is beautiful.
This? Is amazing.
Makes me want to call my friends, just to make sure all is right with their world.
Great post.
I just recently began reading your blog and I am drawn back day after day. Friends are a valuable thing; True friends are a rare commodity. Your "nameless" is blessed to have you in her life. May we all hold our friends so dear.
Nice to see I'm not the only one finding the benefits of child labour ;-)
You. are amazing!
Everyone should have a 'Mr. Lady'. You are such a wonderfully special lady.
Hugs to you and to 'nameless'
I bet you just made his/her day...week...life by being someone that noticed. That is beautiful.
You are such a wonderful friend to notice this and give this person props. I had a major breakdown in my life back in 2005 so I know how important it is for people to notice these things. You are continuing to remind your friend that there is hope.
you, my dear, are amazing.
that was so touching.
♥
I don't know this person, but I hope she knows how goddamned lucky she is to have you in her corner. And you know? I am sure she does.
you are the best. truly.
:)
<3
That was beautiful. You are truly wonderful Mr. Lady ;)
uplifting. support. you rock.