The Feeling of You


I feel most like me when I’m connecting to someone. Are you this way? I see the context of a situation, but then I dip into the subtext. I relish the unspoken world of communication that includes body language, respiratory rates, vibration, and spirit. I adore the way a plant’s tendril will reach for a trellis a few inches away. I like a hand on a cafe table that falls on top of mine at the right time. The feeling of me for a very long time has been waiting for these connections. It has been a longing, even in the face of lovely relationships in my life. The world was living on one level, and I was waiting for them on another. Anything that quenched this was sacred. Anyone that quenched this was equally so, but that meant they walked a fearful wire in my mind.

If I make you Holy, because you bring out the feeling of me, what happens when you aren’t around? What happens when you have an off day? What if you don’t need me to feel like you? The only way people can be made Holy in your life is if you make yourself sacred at the same time, and that was something I’d never tried before. Like I said, the feeling of me was one of expectation, not fulfillment. Why treasure that? Then it occurred to me, thirty-eight years into my life, ten years into a marriage, and four and half years into motherhood that I might change this equation. The feeling of me had to get better without the feeling of you.

Wouldn’t it be great if I decided that and just made it happen? My life doesn’t work that way. It comes as the result of a trigger – many triggers actually. Spiritually, I take this as grand tweaks for the  better. In the moment, however, triggers feel like an energetic black hole opening in the center of my chest. They take your fear and play it out. They take the dish of heartache you sure can’t stomach, and they give you three servings. Why? To teach you the bad taste of your own distorted perceptions. My perception was longing, being left out of the good stuff, not being picked to join, people needing me less than I’d hoped. My feeling was the fear of never getting exactly what I wanted.

Nobody does get exactly what they want, but I had a list of people who I figured had a good chance. Top among them were runners. Runners were unlike me. They had stamina and discipline, so I lumped them into the getters, the achievers, the satisfied. Then, on a random day at the YMCA, I started running. A mile was what it had to be first. Runners can run a mile, I told myself. With no pain, no angst, and no tears I ran that mile and then some. I was a runner! In that instant, the feeling of me was no longer me anymore. It had changed. Better yet, it could be changed again.

That’s when the latest trigger came.


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