Poem from I Will Not Die an Unlived Life: Reclaiming Purpose and Passion
This is so beautiful that it hurts. I can’t read it without feeling my throat tighten. I can’t get to its end without the words swimming a bit through my tears. It seems written with such conviction, from a place of hard-won strength. It seems vowed with faith and devout intent. It is the mantra I try to keep repeating.
A good friend asked me recently if I would go back if I could. If, knowing what I now know, growing as I am trying to grow, seeing the possibilities I now see, would I un-do what’s been done? I think it surprised her when I couldn’t say, “no.”
Would I go back? I might.
Not because I want The Ex back. Not even because I want back the life we had. But because it still hurts. Because the loss still feels so great. Because my children still struggle. Because I still feel so discarded. Because it’s still just such a damn sad thing. Would I go back? Maybe. I was happy then, before. Or at least, I thought I was happy. (And if you think you’re happy, you are, aren’t you?)
But in absolute truth, that happiness was still. Still and silent. It was peaceful and it was satisfying, but it was maybe just the tiniest bit dead inside. The questions were answered. The path was known. The hunger was sated. Life then (though filled with frustrations and struggles and minor irritations) was easy. Life now … isn’t. It isn’t always happy. This life hurts sometimes. The edges are sharper, the pain is more acute, the challenges are tougher. And yet, the happiness, when it comes, isn’t still or silent. It is loud and boisterous and visible from space.
I try to remember that this is the parting gift The Ex gave me. He took so much. SO much—my heart, my trust, my comfort, my stability, my faith, my belief in marriage as a worthwhile effort, my ability to be vulnerable, my plans for the future—but he left me with this. This awakening. This resolution to stop living my life in a dreamwalk state. This realization, sharp and painful and unexpected, that everything is fleeting. This lesson that nothing, no matter how tightly you hold onto it, lasts forever. This appreciation for the highs and the lows and all fully-lived parts in between.
I will not die an unlived life. And now I no longer have to.
So much of what you wrote rings true. And the impermanence of all things is such a tough lesson to learn…
I admire you for being able to live life more fully as a result, and hope to get there too one day. To appreciate what I have more…
But in the meantime, far from loosening, my heart seems to be hibernating (in mid-Summer, why not hey?).
Anyway, thank you for the inspiration, as always x
Oh, this is beautiful. I’ve long known that poem and, like you, find it immensely moving … love the way you reflect on it in your own life. xoxo
i really needed your comments today. Two years later and yes it so hurts so much, even when i know it needed to happen…that feeling of being discarded is still so palpable for me…it has been two years….when will the sadness go away, or at least dissipate enough
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