The One That Got Away

A while back I was watching The View and the gals were talking about the concept of "the one who got away". Of course this pushed me into pensive mode (as almost just about anything can) and I turned on the kettle, preparing to settle into an extended period of quiet rumination over several cups of darjeerling tea. So imagine my surprise when my planned hourlong contemplation ended after 3 minutes. As I pondered the men - and the boys - that I've had the pleasure and displeasure of knowing in my life, I knew who he was instantly.

"He"... "him"... my one that got away. It was obvious. But there was something particularly strange about the person whose name and face came hurtling toward me. It was pretty easy for him to have gotten away, because I'd never held him in the first place. Yeah... my one that got away is someone I was never actually with. Never went on one date. Weren't even friends really. More like friendly acquaintances. I really don't know if he even knew I was alive back then really, I mean, REALLY knew. Yes, we had some laughs and a couple of nice conversations, and we crossed paths in our artistic lives briefly, but that was it. I barely knew him. And yet what I DID know completely bowled me over. He was smart as a whip. He had a sense of humour freakishly similar to mine. He was super talented. And kind, so very kind and sweet. And gorgeous. But not frivolous, skin-deep gorgeous. More like the external manifestation of a gorgeous soul. The kind of physical beauty that HAS to be, because there could be no other possibility than for it to reflect the beauty within. Years later, I still think he's one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen.

As happens often in this life, we lost touch for a long stretch of time only to reconnect after so very much in both of our lives had changed. By that time, even if I had wanted to make him "the one that didn't get away a second time", that option no longer existed. Like many of my peers, he had transitioned to the life of marriage and family. But unlike so many of the others, I remember clearly the moment I found that out. I remember how stunned I was by the quiet heartbreak that I experienced in that moment. I hadn't spoken to him in years - why did I care? It's not like we had ever had anything, anything at all. And yet, the finality of that information solidified for me what I'd always known... that if he'd ever shown any interest, any at all, he could have been it for me. 

Never in my life had I felt that someone could be exactly the person I'd been "waiting" for - not even anyone I'd actually dated! But there was something about him. I knew it. I felt it. He leaked into my blood. And I wrote songs about him... always the giant red flag that tells me I'm fast becoming a goner. He captured my heart, without ever trying, long before it had made any logical sense for him to have done so. But it was not to be. At least, that's what I tell myself to try to make the "what ifs" less. Now when I think of the life that he has, I feel such joy for him. I always wished him great happiness, and he has found it. I have asked myself once or twice, actually that's totally untrue -- many, many times -- what might have happened then if I'd asked him out? Or told him how I felt? Of course I can already guess the answer to this question: abject humiliation on my part, coupled with the horrid awkwardness of watching him try to diplomatically tell me what a nice girl I am while at the same time emphasizing that a we was never going to happen. 

Okay, so maybe it's a good thing that I saved us both that mutually mortifying moment. But I still think about him, and am happy that he's happy while I at the same time wonder if I could have made him happy too. Then I scold myself and tell myself that the universe is unfolding as it should. That's what it says on my bedroom wall, so it must be true...  I know that until I come across the one who doesn't get away, Mr. One That Got Away will seep into - or sometimes flood, depending on how strong the mental dam is that day - my consciousness. And I will shake my head, partially in resignation and partially in an attempt to literally chase said thoughts out of my brain. I will try not to regret, not to wonder, not to wish I had enough tin foil and paper clips to construct a time machine in my kitchen sink and revisit the moments with him. 

Those were moments in which I could have said something. Those were moments in which I fled in fear from possibility.  The One That Got Away was a powerful lesson.  In owning your thoughts. In what can happen [or not] when you don't. In the pain of passion suppressed. In doing things while you have the chance. In regret. In heeding your inner voice. In seizing the day.  I tend to share my emotions now, I've been called crazy for doing it.  Claiming vulnerability is hard, but I no longer keep my heart in a jar.  Things don't always go the way I want them to, but I believe that to express love and affection is why we are on the planet.  Now I live in my feelings, even if they are mine alone. I wear them and speak them -- at least I strive to.  Sometimes I am terrified, but I try to hold the truth up to the light.  I do try.   There is power and progress there.  I am grateful for every forward step.

xo TT