Wo/Wandering in liminal space

I chose the song as I was washing dishes on a late Monday morning, feeling a little displaced in a moment of liminal time between a life I had not yet finished and a life I was about to begin.

How many lives can I live at once, I wonder.

I don’t think you have to leave
If to change is what you need
You can change right next to me
When you’re high, I’ll take the lows,
You can ebb and I can flow
And we’ll take it slow
And grow as we go
Grow as we go

Tears come easily these days—hormonally induced, but the hormones fall on fertile ground since I’ve always been sensitive and deep-feeling. How utterly annoying, honestly. I tell E (who is just like me) that it is a super-power to feel so deeply, to be able to experience life so richly and fully. And it is. But it is also irritating when you’re just trying to get through the day. I was grateful for that little bit of liminal time, to be able to enjoy the day, rather than survive it.

I spent the morning reading and napping. A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas, one of my guilty pleasures. The series is a fun read and I enjoy indulging in something a little naughty, a little spicy, perhaps a bit saccharine and cliche. It doesn’t stir my soul and there are very few annotations in those books, but you know, sometimes you just want a little piece of hard candy--a little something sweet that doesn't make you work too hard. Especially on those too sensitive days...

I made myself some scrambled eggs, with dill because that is the best herb, and read some more about Feyre and Rhysand and Tamlin. It was my second read-through and per usual, I noticed new themes, new details. It's another reason I enjoy reading books more than once–we're new people with each new read. This time, I saw more clearly that the events of the first book had led Feyre to what was actually clinical depression.

I realized that Tamlin, although clearly volatile and abusive, was broken and didn’t know how to cope. The breaking had exacerbated the dark side of a High Fae who didn’t want the responsibility that was forced upon him and had leaned into the powerlessness that had made him feel. 

I saw Rhysand’s interactions with Feyre as a pattern of support and offering independence. He came across as cold and sometimes cruel in his methods, but all seemed calculated to remind Feyre of her strength, to reinforce that she could make her own choices, and to show her that she didn’t need him to save her. Instead, he would lend his strength to her ends. And her means.

I had just noted these thoughts, letting them slide around my brain and find a place among the other bric-a-brac that clutters it, and the eggs all gone, decided to make a cup of coffee for another spell on the couch in the Night Court. Might as well do the few dishes in the sink while the coffee brews, I figured, and put on some music.

There is no doing dishes without music.

I looked to my Heartstrings playlist and chose Adele’s Make You Feel My Love. Something by Justin Beiber came on next (NOT on my playlist), so I shuffled through until I found Grow As We Go, by Ben Platt. It’s a sweet song and I remember I thought of M when I first heard it, driving along the Ala Wai on the way to pick up the boys from school. It made me cry that first time, too. It’s such a powerful idea, that there’s space within love for growth. I mean, of course there is--that’s part of what love does--but I’m not sure that our modern stories of love leave room for this growth. Growing in love can be hard because we move past who we were when we first fell in love. We become someone a bit different. And of course, as the song says:

You say there’s so much you don’t know
You need to go and find yourself
You say you’d rather be alone
‘Cause you think you won’t find it tied to someone else

That’s more like what our stories say—we must go off alone to find out who we are, to become who we are meant to be, our final form (and even assuming that there is a final form that we reach--I'm not really sure that's true). Eat, Pray, Love; Under the Tuscan Sun; the whole concept of the hero's journey. The idea is grounded in an individualism that sees authenticity as an island and finds no place for the who we are in relation to others. That’s what makes the gentle claims of this song so bold. That first verse is followed by the pre-chorus:

Ooh, who said it’s true
That the growing only happens on your own?
They don’t know me and you 

And then into the chorus:

I don’t think you have to leave
If to change is what you need
You can change right next to me
When you’re high, I’ll take the lows,
You can ebb and I can flow
And we’ll take it slow
And grow as we go
Grow as we go

Of course tears came and spilled all over the place, and I couldn’t wipe them away for all the soap and water on my hands as I rinsed the dishes. But I was prepared! The glasses had come off already. Ha! What do you have to say now, tears?! No salt stains on my lenses! I just let them fall and finished up, remembering that first listen down the Ala Wai. And it occurred to me why the song made me cry.

M is not my first husband. I was married before, at 20, for eight and half years. Although I’m sure I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time (though I'm pretty sure I knew it), it was a strategic move--one made clear-eyed, with a reckless bet on love growing over time. He clearly liked and was attracted to me, but I had held him off, telling him directly that I wasn’t interested in dating. I elbowed him in the ribs when we were at a movie because I thought his stretch was an awkwardly disguised attempt at putting his arm around me. Eventually, I sat him down in a Del Taco and just said things plainly. I had spent all of high school being monogamous, and I needed to be alone. To grow. To find myself. Of course we could still be friends.

He was persistent in his friendship, though, and generous and gentle, and I came to ask myself, “If he is this kind, and treats me this well, am I a fool for saying no?” There are reasons for that question I understand now, over 20 years of life and experience later. Perhaps my answer, “Yes, you would be a fool for saying no,” came from fear, or an aversion to risk (which I still have). Seize the opportunity that is proffered because who knows if another one will come along. And perhaps it was born from that bit of reckless hope—a belief that love can grow from friendship (I still believe this, too). And for the record, I still have reckless hope. Just ask M. Sometimes I use it to annoy him. (He's my favorite person to annoy.)

But as I read that Monday morning, years later in that liminal moment, I realized that my first husband was like Tamlin. Gentle, but broken. We started as a team, and love did, indeed, grow. But slowly, as he talked of protecting and providing, all of my energy was spent protecting him. His emotions, his tears, wildly strong and out of control, required me to be stoic so I could manage them. And all those feelings that I have always felt so deeply, were shoved down and hidden, as I became the rock he needed. After eight and half years of unrealized "I will do betters," I knew I would break. I had given him all of me so he could change and grow. I told a friend I could handle it if he would just stop asking me to be happy. But I couldn't handle it. So I left—because I had been standing stagnant.

Like Rhysand, M was there. Unlike Feyre and Rhysand, though, M and I were friends, not enemies. And M is never cruel. He gave me a place to land and didn’t ask anything of me. I never knew what he was feeling, there at the beginning. He was always taunting, making a joke, drawing me out. And being a bit grumpy if I asked about how he was feeling.

(Huh. Maybe that was part of the draw. I have a habit of falling for prickly men.)

He ignored the strong emotions that had begun seeping out of the stone I had become and just took me at face value, whatever came. And then love grew out of friendship. I still remember the first time we held hands in public. No idea why that was so important to me, so significant, but it was. Maybe because this dude, always so private, finally felt safe enough to make his feelings public.

We’ve been married for 15 years now, with two boys. There are so many stories in those years. There has been so much learning and yeah, so much growing. I didn’t see it so clearly until I was reading that Monday morning, thoughts swirling in my head, thoughts that song sunk into and blossomed. Like Rhysand, M has always given me the space I need to think and become, has always known when to goad me to action and to take risks I wouldn’t otherwise (not always to positive effect, I should say...lol), always ready to be the firm foundation from which I can launch, wild and full of whimsy.

He’s always been large enough to handle the ocean of emotion that has since been let loose to swirl around everywhere. We’ve made big life changes together, survived serious health issues together, we’ve grown into new people together. Maybe it’s because his unthinking confidence allows me to be my deeply-feeling self and my dramatic and expressive nature assures him that he’s the one I’ll choose. Every time. They are sweet and gentle gifts. 

The knowledge sat within me, in the middle of the small tempest I felt as I looked toward this new life, this new change, with a bit of trepidation and a smidge of hope. I’m thankful for that liminal time and the space and quiet to come to such insights.

Ooo, who said it’s true
That the growing only happens on your own?
They don’t know me and you…