Big dipper.
Is it worth it?
That’s what I asked myself over and over while driving home from work today.
I’ve spent the last 60 some-odd days progressively rekindling a friendship with my ex-boyfriend — the intention being that if all of the stars in our galaxy aligned, perhaps we could once and for all merge our lives together.
- Undisputed trust, check
- Unconditional support, check
- Loving companionship, check
- Open communication, check
Let’s take this delicate journey one day at a time, while fostering these critical, non-negotiables… before blasting into the [currently jilted] space of a committed relationship and beyond. And if it is our destiny, materalize an eternal blessed union.
That is where my heart has been simmering on a very low, steady temperature setting. Until, now.
My head is back with vengeance.
When we first reconnected, I learned he might be relocating for the equivalent of a job promotion. But the business opportunity was in such an infancy stage, not to mention so was my consideration for even fathoming a legitimate chance at survival…that I didn’t spend more than 30 seconds reflecting on the geographic repercussions it would have on our situation.
Could we continue our voyage – the intensive equivalent of physical therapy for two souls – long distance? If I initially couldn’t conceive of us actually withstanding a reconciliation, I definitely did not grasp doing so in different area codes.
The psyche is such an incredible phenomenon.
I don’t harbor resentment, on paper. But I think deep down, entrenched in my memory’s crevices, there are residual bits of exhaust that pollute a fresh start. Case in point — the moment I learned that this move may actually happen, the haunted past flashed in front of my eyes.
“Oh my God. I’m here again. He’s back. But, he’s also leaving.”
Not once, but twice Mr. Big has reunited with me in our shared city, only to pick up and dip out for a job opportunity shortly thereafter.
Three times is a charm. Three times is a mind fuck.
I understand, genuinely and whole-heartedly that this is a fortuitous overlap in our lives at the moment. There wasn’t a mastermind plan devised to simultaneously attempt winning me back, with one foot already secretly out the door. And, frankly, if our inconsistent history wasn’t a reality, I’d be calling shot gun in the Uhaul truck, bags packed….I could use some new scenery myself.
But our road less traveled has a lot more miles to go before I’m willing to sacrifice another drop of blood, wipe of sweat, or bucket of tears. If it were up to him, we’d be house hunting, I’d be negotiating a job transfer to keep my position and work remotely, and the future would be ours to create. Yet he is fully aware that ‘day by day’ means just that, and it surely doesn’t mean follow in his footsteps.
My intuition and I had a chat a while back, after we met with the Couch Counselor. Do I take a leap of faith and see if this dude really is for real? Or do I walk away before anyone gets hurt — with no casualties or additional battle wounds to show? The jury of one voted to take the plunge under these conditions — strict internal supervision, daily emotional inventories, and professional advice to boot.
It was worth it to me. To take the risk.
But now you throw 200 miles, or possibly 500 miles in the mix, and my reliable navigation system has shit the bed. Can it be done? Sure, people do it all the time. But given our extenuating circumstances, mixing regions isn’t ideal. Not having a roadmap to steer this 8-year-in-the-making relationship rehab was overwhelming enough, and that’s only with a 10 minute commute.
We could potentially lift off into what feels like outer space. Which, ironically, is the closest natural approximation of a perfect vacuum. It has effectively no friction, allowing planets and their family of neighbors to move freely along the gravitational path. If only it were that easy…
As I sit here wondering where in the world universe we’ll land in — one day, one month, or one year from now — I can’t help but wonder if this next trip will be worth the risk. Will Mr. Big stand by my side, near or far, proving me wrong. Or will he literally become The Big Dipper.
And then I’m remembered.
Shoot for the moon. Because even if you miss, you’ll still land among the stars.
