Rooted, I used to think.

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The Birthday Dance - Friday, Dec. 20, 2019
You and Me - Tuesday, Dec. 17, 2019
Resilience - Friday, Dec. 13, 2019
Anniversary - Thursday, Dec. 12, 2019
Still Happy - Tuesday, Dec. 10, 2019

Wednesday, May. 08, 2019 @ 11:21 pm

“That neighbourhood is great. The bus service is awesome. I’d just hop on the bus to go down to the yoga studio.”

“Which yoga studio?”

“The one at fourteenth.”

“Shannon. Do you remember me from there? Tuesday night power class.”

“Yup. I totally do.”

We are sitting on a log at the beach. My shoes are off, and I’ve buried my feet in the warm sand. We look at each other. How does this happen? This city is surprisingly small. Or maybe not so - maybe we find each other because we are on the same path.

We end up in a Persian restaurant. We order two meals and share them, me sliding the vegetables onto his plate and him sliding the chicken onto mine.

I ask him what he thinks that he could have done differently in his 15-year relationship. He responds with humility and self-awareness.

“What was missing for you, in your 14-year relationship?”

I take a deep breath and look directly at him.

“Emotional intimacy and tenderness.”

I tell him more. I say it all with steady sureness.

“He had become so angry. The situation was hot and volitile. I had to tell him that I was leaving, and I had to do it in person and in private.”

“Were you afraid?”

I look at him and my heart is pounding, re-experiencing the fear. I nod and look down, afraid that I’m going to cry.

He responds with compassion and empathy. Deep compassion. He holds space for me.

I look back up. We make eye contact. I can see that I’ve broken down a barrier. This is what will differentiate me from the others, this he will remember.

“I don’t like small talk,” I joke.

“Me neither.”

He walks me home. We stand in front of my building, the moon a hanging crescent, the tree rustling softly.

“You’re a thinker,” he says. “I like that.”

“I think you’re interesting.”

“I think you’re interesting too.”

We hug. I tuck my face into his neck. He doesn’t let go. Neither do I.

“See you again soon?” he asks.

“I’d like that.”

Roots | Shoots