Lead, Kindly Light

When I passed by the investment bank where he used to work, simply by chance last Friday, I remembered meeting him there for Shakespeare in the Park on a Wednesday last June. After about two seconds of hesitation, I swatted away the mental pings of doubt, and reached into my purse for my phone, and called him. Then, walking to lunch from a seminar in Chelsea on Saturday, I walked past Bombay Talkie where we ate on the second floor and the Blockbuster video store where we got “Blood Diamond” on a rainy evening after work. I think that had been the day when he first realized things were getting serious – and that that was impossible.

Later on Saturday, I glanced down the street toward the higher-numbered avenues and could see his condo by the water. That whole neighborhood was once familiar to me. I scheduled a Sunday dinner. It certainly wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I did it because I wanted to, and the “wanted to” was strong enough to become a “had to.” But now that I’m back from dinner, I’m not sure what exactly I think about what. Hard to believe, but it has been over nine months since we last said goodbye at that coffee shop near Union Square. It was a sad and somber farewell; we parted and agreed not to be in contact for a good long while. Then I went to see the July 4 fireworks on FDR Drive and sparks flew in other directions where they shouldn’t have, because I wasn’t careful. That was another thing that certainly wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Anyways, after six months, I called him at his home in Canada, and we talked for a little while, but not long. That brief conversation convinced me that remaining friends was not an option out of our reach, and that’s part of why I felt it was a good idea to meet up this weekend. If we were going to fully step into friendship, then okay – we should start by doing what friends do, and meet up for dinner to catch up on the last year.

We met up in K-town today, and I was happy to see him, and happy that he was happy to see me. Echoes of that old feeling of happiness returned…except for when things fell apart, most of what I remember about my short with him is just… being happy. Stupidly happy, foolishly happy, unreasonably happy.

Any relationship outside of Hollywood is unsustainable when driven largely by that kind of unfounded happiness–the kind of blind bliss that makes one ignore the importance of significant realities such as closely-aligned values, common goals, similar priorities, and all the other things that make relationships function well after the happy bug fades away. And, I think, therein lies the problem: whatever we had was cut off so quick that the happy bug never had a chance to fade away. But the happy bug doesn’t belong! And I half-regret scheduling this meeting, because it woke up some of the happy bugs from their hibernation. I should have left them in peace.

It’s not that I want the relationship (if you could call it that) back. There are a host of reasons for this. But there’s something addictive about the happys, even though I fear them now. Perhaps there is truth to what my dear friend told me forthrightly this last week: “You set yourself up to get hurt this summer.” He may be right, but part of me wishes for that freedom again. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever be willing to feel that way again, or if I’ll be capable of falling that hard again because I now fear inability to get back up, unharmed. Whoever it is in the future has got to be able to make me feel safe and shielded, loved and protected.

The only reasonable explanation I can come up with for my conflicted feelings is that this person brings me back to the time when I didn’t fear the happys, when I let my guard down and let my heart’s imagination fly, and allowed myself to be open enough to get really, really hurt. He reminds me of that better, purer time when I was stupid enough to expose myself to emotional danger. Now I tend not to let people go there – even though I wish I could be more trusting and less cynical.

And part of it is that he’s not a bad guy. He’s still just as nice, handsome, well-mannered, admirable, good-natured, agreeable, and wonderful as he was before. He’ll make a fantastic husband for some lucky girl. When he tried to put in a plug for moving to Vancouver, my heart almost fell into an old trap. I had forgotten about that little vein on the right side of his forehead that sticks out when his eyes crinkle and he laughs, and seeing it today made me jump a little inside. When he told me to be careful because he worries about my work as a criminal lawyer, I had to work to not internalize his concern. And his life still holds the promise of a great, exciting adventure ahead. BUT–

I know he’s not for me, and not just because I don’t fit his parents’ racial standards. I know it I know it I know it. The intervening months have educated me enough at least to know that we wouldn’t be a good match on a number of practical levels; the happys only get two people so far — but not far enough.

“Like a river flows to the sea
So it goes, some things were meant to be…”

And some things were not meant to be. I need to learn the difference, and live by it.