- Gender and Relationships
Regret In The Desert
...I pretended because the reality is I'm 2,000 miles away...
First off this isn't well written. It isn't meant to be. It is an outpouring of regret. I hope you read it an are able to change the patterns in your life.
I've rested for a day after a very long drive back to Pennsylvania. I've realized a few things. No. I realized a few things before this. During the drive to Colorado I could think of only one thing. What was missing and regret. How could I let it slip through my fingers? Honestly, I pushed it away with every part of me. All because I was terrified of not being enough. Terrified of not being good enough. Terrified of rejection and failure. If it never started it could never go bad.
Once in Colorado my body began to feel better. The mountains and the rock filled my spirit. While in Eagle Valley a friend and I went climbing. I wanted to finally climb a beautiful finger crack. As we hopped on a warm up climb, I noticed the fear I've become accustom to limiting what I am capable of doing. The next day we went back to La Mas Fina and I again allowed fear to control my actions after only 14 feet. I was frustrated. Not because I couldn't do the moves but because I wasn't allowing it to happen. I wasn't allowing the flow I could feel to just happen. Leading to more regret. By trying to protect myself beyond all actual real danger I've been causing myself greater unrealistic strife. We packed up and I left for Moab.
After finding my friends in the desert, I began to feel a peace flowing through me in the quietness the desert gives freely. That night fear found me again. I met her and a friend as they finished up their meal. As I sat asking questions and trying to sound and look happy for her my stomach was turning, my palms were sweating, and my words fumbled out. "I miss that hat". Who says they miss a hat? I tried to hide disappointment and regret with positive words. "That's great", I say. "I'm so happy you're happy." The thing is, I really am happy for her happiness. So, I put on the "everything's awesome" personna and play the game I became so very good at the last 8 years.
The next day 4 other friends and I went climbing in Indian Creek. The surrounding buttes were amazing. The sky was beautiful and sun filled. Laughter and try hard sounds filled the air. It was a great day with underlying thoughts. "I'm too late. I didn't get better fast enough. I have to say something. I have to do something!" I yelled and groaned on the route I led. Not so much because of fear, rather the anger and frustration I was feeling with myself. I had 33 hours of driving to find the right words and it was too late.
The next day another friend and I went bouldering at The Crack House. The Full Crack House is a beautiful 85' line. The first 40' are hands and heel hooks leading into a beautiful roof crack through a corridor. I pushed and pushed getting farther with each attempt. I was filled with energy fueled by a decision that I would tell her no matter what. We finished up our day at another bouldering area before meeting them at a local spot. Every single time I see her my hands sweat, my heart pounds, my stomach flips and the words I am usually so eloquent with disappear and I turn into a bumbling idiot and leave quickly and awkwardly.
I was to leave for Pennsylvania the following morning but decided to stay a few more hours and soak in as much time with her as possible. We ended up climbing the entire day. Her friends left early on. People calling her my girlfriend or me her boyfriend and I didn't correct them. It felt good. So, I pretended because the reality is I'm 2,000 miles away and she has another. I used to not care so much about the other people involved when I was younger. I acted on my emotions and wore my heart on my sleeve. Then the end came and I spent untold amounts of time suppressing my emotions. I can't hurt if I can't feel. A long hug goodbye at the foot of a sandstone wall in the desert and here I am. Writing regret. Filling pages with words that should have been spoken.