almost The One.

How do you call it when you realize he’s not the one? What if he’s almost the one? What if he moves you, and inspires you, and holds you down, and is your friend, and makes you feel safe, and shares common interests, and is great in bed? What if he’s sexy, and funny, and charismatic, and talented? What if he’s all these things? What if he’s everything but the one? How do you just walk away from him and all his splendor?

Well… you make sure that you’re sure about the notion to walk away, because things won’t ever be the same once you do. If you’re sure there’s something telling you this isn’t it, then you trust that instinct. You’ll need to be pretty courageous to actually leave.

I got involved with someone after separating from my ex-husband. I hadn’t intended to get close to him or anyone for that matter. My objective was to be totally involved with myself.

(good ol’ intentions. ain’t good for nothin’ most of the time)

It ended up being a great companionship. He was a refreshing reminder that I still had a lot of life in me. We spent a lot of time together, and I was grateful for his friendship. Our lives paralleled in a lot of ways: careers, arts, children, pasts, hurts… It made for passionate conversation and a great fondness between us.

I eventually opened up to him about the paternity thing. He was speechless, and I wasn’t sure whether he would stick around after that.

Turns out he did. He became my backbone. And I needed one, because mine was useless after the whole ordeal blew up. I’ll never forget standing in my kitchen one evening. I was repeatedly cleaning the same areas trying to keep my mind off my situation. It wasn’t working. Sadness filled my body and spilled from my eyes. I couldn’t stop them, so I let the tears fall. I refused, though, to make a sound. I didn’t want to alert him that I was having a weak moment. He always reminded me of how strong I was, and I wanted to uphold that perception. I was slumped over in my own misery when he entered. I hadn’t heard him, but I felt him when he lifted me into his arms. Suddenly, it was safe to release sound.

Our bond was pretty sacred. It’s as if he came into my life to help me find myself. He truly brought me back to life. He re-introduced me to myself. He was the beginning of Brandie, freely. I will always hold on to that.

At times I would imagine a future with him, but the truth is… I always knew instinctively that it would never be.

I can’t explain it, and I sometimes wonder if he also knew. We were great together in so many ways. We had similar souls, like soul mates. Maybe we were soul mates…

I tend to believe you can have more than one in a lifetime. For instance, my best friend is and always will be a soul mate of mine.

But being soul mates, or being extremely compatible or fond of an individual does not have to mean they’re the one. And I stand firm that you know when you know someone is right for you. The feeling comes easy and doesn’t have to be forced, convinced, or defended. You know? It just is. When something or someone is right for you, it just is. It’s a simple feeling that doesn’t take much effort if any at all.

In this case there wasn’t that easy, natural feeling. Yes, we had a lot of essential pieces, we really did. But for some reason all the pieces didn’t fit together seamlessly. It was probably that some were missing, and I don’t think we ever identified what they were. I just know that after a certain amount of time I began to feel that we were wasting time and going nowhere fast.

You know, it was pretty tough. I mean, part of me just wanted to stay there. Stuck going nowhere. At least I was knew the direction we were headed. Nowhere seemed less frightening than somewhere.

I wasn’t so courageous, to be honest. I tried to convince my instinct differently. I didn’t want to start all over again. And it was more than just that. I had developed an adoration for this man who had been there for me when I needed someone most. I didn’t want to lose my confidante, those safe arms, my friend.

But I was more afraid of losing myself. Again.

So, how do you call it? How do you just stop something when it’s good?

You make sure you’re sure.

Put your trust in your gut. (gut = spirit of discernment)

And you just do it.

But only when you’re truly ready. You can’t be halfway in and halfway out. And you have to refuse to offer too much of an explanation, because if you begin to defend yourself you’ll end up having to counter argue. You may end up being swayed to go back on your decision. When you let go of something completely, you should no longer be able to touch it. No holding on with one finger.

Let go. It’ll be okay.

You have to be mentally prepared for the double guessing and the false sense of regret, because it’s gonna happen. You have to understand that you’re gonna be sad and miss the good thing.

But you have to believe it’ll be okay.

You have to. I had to.

Because it truly will be okay.

I can admit that I missed him. I can also admit that because it was such a good thing, I never think back on it without a smile taking over my face. It was a good thing. I can admit that.

But I’m glad I trusted my gut. Because when I made the decision to call it, something that was good and right entered my life.

There are lots of experiences to be had in life. The key is to have the experiences; not let the experiences to have you. That simply means to accept what is. Don’t add to, or take away from it. My mom always says, “Look at your hand. It’s a hand. Not a foot, not a leg. Don’t wait around for it to do something it wasn’t designed to do.”

It’s not that the hand is useless. It just serves a specific purpose. That’s the same way experiences are in our lives. You know? They serve a purpose.

I’m braver because of my experience with him. I was courageous enough to call it even though he was almost the one. And everything turned out okay.

He wasn’t even mad. I guess he had the same notion as me. I wasn’t the one either.

What if we had both gone on pretending?



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© 2018 by Brandie Freely