Things Near and Far

Rather than try and expound on feelings of loss, or trying to substantiate the importance of people, this is going to deviate (surprise surprise) down a different rabbit trail.

But first, few observations:

“Out of Sight, Out of Mind” is something I’ve let color my relationships for too long. I am not proud of this, but I do own to it.
Nostalgia can bite with bitter regret and overwhelm us with relief in the same moment.
I rely on tacit understandings of my emotions too much. I apologize for believing that you are (and then being disappointed that you are not) telepathic…or an empath.
That being said, I met my shadow self this week.

While back in the south, an errand had to be ran that took us back not only to the tiny town that was my first exposure to so many things, but also my old home. The town of Auburndale had always seemed hours away from my dad’s previous residence in Lakeland, and yet it could not have been more than 20 minutes. As we drove through the town’s center, we passed the park I can remember chasing kids around in when I was barely eight years old. The excitement of a new jungle gym, and new friends to teach well-loved games, and the potential of coming back to the park another day if it started to rain—all thoughts I felt rushing back over a decade and a half later. Curving around the pond where I used to imagine sea serpents secretly lairing; past the small collection of brick buildings that was my elementary school, where I had to wear a uniform, told a boy for the first (and last) time to his face that I liked him, and had to witness the unjust death of my first (and only) Tamagotchi; up the hill to the subdivision I learned to rollerblade on Christmas Day immediately after unwrapping my purple and silver wings; to the house (now missing the two trees that had sprawled across the front yard making it look ten times bigger… or maybe that was due to my own height difference) I had last lived with my shadow’s family.
I could see the different stages of her development: she would have stayed friends with Jean from up the street (and probably would have followed her lead to vegetarianism, anyway). She might not have gotten into dance since she wouldn’t be best friends with her cousins. Her brother would have kept smiling, and maybe not have had to accumulate so much sadness to keep his own shadow-self alive. Maybe her mother would have fought and won once and for all over the darkness that tried to shadow her light, and she wouldn’t have to be on the defensive all of the time. My shadow self would still be a nerd, even more so having the direct daily influence of her father. That influence also teaching her at a much earlier age how to keep the darkness at bay.
Would she still have gone to MSU? Would they have eventually moved back north? Would she have become haughty, or unsympathetic?
But even as I could almost see my shadow self around town (where she might’ve gone on a date, or her first job, or with her friends when she snuck out of the house), I simultaneously ached with gratitude that I was not her.
It hit me multiple times this past week: between re-connecting with the California side of the family, going through old pictures, and just goofing off in the hotel room. Especially when we began the drive home, I nearly cried when I noticed the similar habits we’ve adopted from each other.

Words fall short of so many expressions.