There’s a certain joy and lightness that takes over your body when you finally expel that last bit of excess luggage weighing down your emotional and mental being. Your chest expands and you feel the warmth of the sun canoodling with your soul. Your feet nearly dance on the pavement as you move down the street. Once again, you can breathe.
I am finally free. After years of grappling with an on/off relationship, I am free of its restraints. The desire for it quietly slipped from me, almost unnoticed, and yet its departure left a void, a newly vacant space to be scrubbed and redecorated. The universe abhors such a void and rushes to fill it with the goodies you truly need in your life. However, we humans, being rather inept at clearly seeing what we need in our lives vs. what we want in our lives, rush to fill the void with various time-wasters like alcohol or bad reality tv shows or we leap back into the very thing we struggled to escape from.
I am finally free and I nearly stepped into yet another relationship. This is not what I want. Oh, for a few minutes I thought I wanted it. I considered it long enough to agree to a date with this man- a good, solid man, by the way, but as the new week began and Saturday night started to become a reality, I grew physically ill with the type of stomach churning that does not produce butterflies, but makes your nose crinkle. The type of ill that makes you shift in your seat because you can’t sit still with the unease. Friends told me that if the proper chemistry was present I would have been antsy in my pantsy for the weekend to arrive. Maybe they’re right. I have no idea.
I do know that the universe knew I did not need another relationship to take someone’s place. Deep down, I must have known it, too. Subconsciously, I’ve been preparing myself for the final departure for quite some time now. This week the remaining space clearing commenced and I swept out the last of the offending motes that lingered from the malfeasance. I feel different inside, like someone cracked open my chest and scooped out the last particle of resentment and malignant debris. I feel relaxed. Settled. It’s not me trying to “work past” the old issues or blanket it with a pretend happiness. I’ve done that in the past. The sun would press into me and I would feel it on my skin, but it couldn’t reach my encrusted heart. I was weighed down.
The weight has blessedly evaporated. This is a momentous occasion for me. I haven’t felt this light in nearly five years. It’s my time again. I feel the void beginning to bubble with “romantic relationship-free” possibilities, writing and art, and I’ll be damned if I allow another relationship to eat up this space. Right now, I want it for me.
I must be doing something right because last night, after an unexplained extended absence, whispers from my muse tickled my ears. It’s been ages since I’ve felt creative juices effervesce within, like someone uncorked a bottle of Cristal in my belly. Inspiration can once again breeze into me, swirl through my veins, and linger for as long as it pleases because I no longer house tungsten-laden extraneous rubble.
I am free, and all I can say to myself is welcome back home.