Becoming Hurts... Sometimes...

The kids are gone on a camping trip this weekend, and my new housemate said, "You know what that means... Movie Night!" 

Oh yeah! I will always go for that. If the boys are gone, that means one of two things: Either something rated R that I don't want them to see, or a chick flick that they don't want to see. I was leaning toward the former until about halfway through the long drive home from dropping them off. 

Driving along the coast, I was mesmerized by a duet of other-worldly light: a rising moon preening for her penumbral eclipse and a setting sun singing colorful strains deep, deep into the shimmering waters... their combined illumination providing seamless saturation. It was one of those deeply personal moments that feels too big to experience alone... and I knew who I wanted to share it with. But no! That would not be appropriate... yet there was no one else on the earth whom I could imagine understanding, who could hold me without distracting, who could sing along without opening his mouth. "Don't go there," I chided myself, too late. That was the moment I knew what the evening's movie would be: I would torture myself with truth and watch Becoming Jane again. 

The first time I watched that movie, I bawled my eyes out and then blogged, but this time I did not cry--not at all. I guess I was prepared for the journey that was necessary--the reality of doing what one must do--of two separate entities doing what they individually must do, be it for the greater good of society or family or whatever, for propriety, for nobility... in spite of the seeming perfection of their fleeting harmony, doing the right thing. 

Maybe it does get easier. Or am I just becoming numb?

Portrait of Jane Austen, drawn by her sisterCassandra (c. 1810)

Portrait of Jane Austen, drawn by her sisterCassandra (c. 1810)

My previous analysis concluded that Jane Austen was able to stay true to her passion, venting it through her fictional characters. Art flourished because of her passion, while Tom Lefroy settled for a substitute that was somehow less. I said that I could see myself going it alone as Jane did and pouring my passion into my writing. But I haven't really been doing that. I haven't been writing. Not here. Not on my other blogs or in my journal. No progress on my novels or scripts...

Maybe I'm not hurting that much, not because I'm growing or becoming, but rather because I'm stagnant, safe. 

Becoming Bridget: The Tragic Call of Nobility

***Melodrama Warning: I just watched the movie Becoming Jane and I'm devastated.***

On a particularly difficult day last week, I vented a bit on a social network, and one of my friends replied: "...remember, you're a writer, you are supposed to feel more than normal people. How else would you know how to describe it for them?"

Think about it. How many of the the greatest writers of history had pretty, peaceful lives? That kind of existence just doesn't seem to spawn deep, empathetic literature that grabs the heartstrings and makes us feel like the author understands. 

In the past few years, my daughters have turned me into a Jane Austin fan. As I've seen yet another generation of girls moved by what would seem the very particular romance of an era long gone--a generation immersed in technology, women's liberation, and anything-goes morality connecting with extremely verbose banter on the subject of propriety and the ethics of the seeming necessity of gold-digging in a world in which women could not fend for themselves, I've realized how much I too can identify with Jane's characters who yearn for what appears to be ironic and impossible: love, passion, and freedom intermingled with that innate drive for security. 

What incredible timing for a first viewing of Becoming Jane! 

Being new to the single mother thing, and receiving absolutely no support from Todd, I have been struggling to figure out how I'm going to make ends meet. I think Todd's plan is to financially ruin me and then wait for me to beg him to come back with his daddy's money. Unfortunately, my emotional condition of late has not been conducive to finding work, and I am going further in debt while trying to figure out reliable income that doesn't take me away from my kids while they need me most (and that doesn't prevent me from continuing to pursue my passion for writing). I'm starting to see why so many women in this situation are quick to get in another relationship--the prospect of security is alluring when desperation hits. 

But the "typical" route has always been something I avoid at all costs. That's why I said when I was still single that if I had gotten pregnant, I probably wouldn't have married Todd because that would be "trite." That's also why, when we did decide to get married I had to hurry up and do it in May, so as to avoid the commonness of a June wedding. (Instead of rushing, perhaps dragging my feet would have been a better choice, but then that's a different story--good choices were obviously not my forte.) 

So now, I look at men with great trepidation. Going it alone is scary, but getting entangled with another Mr. Wrong is even scarier. 

There are two types of Mr. Wrongs: (1) the guy who I just "settle for" because I'm lonely, and he destroys my heart because there isn't the deep connection I long for, and (2) the guy I feel a deep connection to but I can't have because it would hurt others if I did. Number 2 is what this movie made me think of... and seeing how Jane Austen--after nobly choosing to walk away from Tom Lefroy--lived out the rest of her life alone, with her writing as the only outlet for her passion--that is what I see myself doing, too. 

Maybe the memory of true passion is better than a substitute. Who was truly richer in passion at the end of the Becoming Jane story? Tom who had taken a substitute? or Jane, who continued her life alone? Both carried the heartache of loss due to that noble choice with them, but look at all Jane went on to create. 

Just a thought. Maybe it's the meaningless effect of the stage of grieving I find myself in presently. Maybe my heart will change someday. But for now, it seems the only way. Maybe it's just the melodrama of the movies--a contrivance of dramatic structure--that says some things only come once in a lifetime, and if their timing is wrong, they are tragically lost forever.... 

Dreamy James McAvoy's portrayal of Tom Lefroy's feelings for Jane Austen was pure adoration. A friend told me that I was too much of a hopeless romantic to be alone for the rest of my life... but watching this movie made me realize that such a statement may overlook the core of such romantic passion--the fact that it might be precisely because someone is a "hopeless romantic" that they end up alone, unwilling to settle for a substitute for what they once glimpsed. Even if painful, the memory can be better. The hopeless romantic, thus, can become the hopeful artist. 

Outside of Time

Time holds me hostage 

for what price?

I'd pay, if I just knew.

No note requesting ransom sent,

My days are fading, only spent 

In the embrace of clock arms set 

To run indefinitely,

and never set me free.

How can they hold, yet

never touch?

I cry, but hear no sound.

Time's arms, like bars, my soul encase,

Future indefinite I face.

I long to rest in such a place

Where arms of flesh can hold,

See love that's true unfold.

Vows conspire with time 

to trap me

in airtight cask, I’m drained

‘til left a void, an empty shell,

surrender hope, abide in hell,

pretend that all is good and well

I truly am alone.

This world is not my home.

Outside of time lies

Hope and mercy.

He bids me wait and watch.

Guard my frail heart and body,

Though my flesh is heaving, sobbing,

And my weary head is dropping,

I’ll wait to see His face.

That’s where I’ll find my place.

Don't Go Breaking My Heart (Part 6) "My Best 'Just Friend'"

Although the details are all fuzzed up in my memory, probably warped by all the tears, I'll never forget the feeling of the day Doug broke my heart. One ordinary day, I joined him at a table in the student union and, with no warning at all, he proceeded to tell me everything that was wrong with me--in one sitting. I can't remember all of the specifics, but I do remember that he didn't want to spend time with me any more.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, a semester earlier, he had talked me into transferring colleges half way across the country. I had done it to be with him. He and I had eaten every meal together since I had arrived at this school where I knew nobody but him. We had spent the majority of every weekend together, and carpooled home together over holidays. Not only was he my best friend, having spent almost all of my time with him, he was basically my only close friend. All of a sudden, in a matter of a few minutes that seemed like a prolonged tortuous eternity, I was all alone, miles from home, and I had lost the love of my life. I still had two more years at that school, and enough of that time was spent in a heart-broken stupor that I didn't make very many friends there.

There were a few guys who asked me out after I stopped hanging around with Doug, they would say things like, "Now that you're not dating Doug anymore..." To which I'd say we never were dating. Nobody believed me. Unfortunately, I did. Looking back it is so sad to me that I may have been "dating" the most wonderful young man ever and I didn't even realize it--didn't realize that we were dating, that is... I knew he was wonderful. Even with the occasional date, there was no one after that, no one who had that staying power in my heart. I often complained that I never got asked out, but looking back I realize that was partially because I didn't have room in my heart for anyone else.

Eventually, loneliness took over. I was trained as an actress, and I learned how to bring that skill to play in my everyday life. At a college theatre festival, I was "discovered" by a Hollywood agent. It was so cool, because my style was different, more subtle than some of the stage prima-donas from my college theatre department. So, these girls who always beat me out for roles on stage didn't even get a second look and I was the only one from my school who got a call back. I remember one of them saying, "Something must be wrong!" hehe

Anyway, in one of the acting sessions led by this agent, I met a super-gorgeous guy who looked like a young Christopher Reeves. My agent thought I looked a lot like another celebrity and so he called us by our look-alike's names. As we were directed in a steamy soap opera scene, I felt sexy for the first time. There was almost enough physical chemistry to get me a PhD! I recognized the power of acting. Even though I didn't know this guy well enough to love him, I realized that I could make him want me, which was quite the adrenaline rush after being "un-wanted" by the one I wanted.

From then on I practiced my acting in everyday life. I learned to pretend that I liked things I couldn't care less about. I mentally put costumes on the guys around me too, imagining them to be what I wanted them to be. At a College Theatre Festival Afterglow party, "Christopher" and I were (as I was later told by my husband who first saw me there) "all over each other." We made out on the dance floor, making no effort to conceal how into each other we were. It was 100% physical, and it was a show, too. I was entering my if I can't get the guys I like, I'd better learn to like the guys I can get phase, and I knew I needed practice "getting" so I became less discriminant about who I flirted with... after all, it was just practice.

It was during this time that I met Todd. He says it was love at first sight for him. I was cast in my first paying acting job at a theatre over 30 miles away from where I was going to college. Being a poor college student, I readily jumped at the invitation to carpool to rehearsals. A classmate of mine who had also been cast in the play said he thought the guy he was carpooling with wouldn't mind if I joined them. That guy was Todd. He said the minute he saw me walking down the hall with my classmate to meet him, he thought, I'm going to marry her.

In other words, he liked what he saw, vaguely remembered watching me make out with another guy on the dance floor, and wanted some himself. Um, in my opinion that's not love, it's another four letter word beginning with "L," surrounding "us" and ending up all mes"T" up. But, it was another opportunity to practice. I knew this guy was so far away from my type that I'd never marry him, but he could serve as a rehearsal partner. The problem is, when you get into acting in life, playing a role 'round the clock, you can start believing the things you are saying. In no time, Todd had managed to un-invite my classmate from our carpool so he could be alone with me. It felt so good to be wanted, and I knew that there was no hope to ever have the one I wanted, so I settled and two months after we met, Todd and I were engaged.

Our engagement was not an easy time. We were forcing something that probably never should have been, and trying to play the roles of two compatible persons. We couldn't agree on religion. He was in some freaky old Catholic cult that believed they were the only chosen ones. They did their services in Latin, the women wore head-coverings, and the priest told him that unless I converted from my pagan protestant past, renouncing everything I had ever believed as heresy, we would not be able to be fully blessed by the church... and him marrying in my church was an out-of-the-question abomination! The priest even said that my mother's long-sleeved 1950's wedding gown was too risque for their level of holiness, because the sleeves were lace and the skin on my arms might show through.

The hypocrisy of Todd's living in sin with me and then marching off to this judgmental, hyper-legalistic sect for confession just to climb back in bed with me was too much--especially given the fact that the church refused to marry us unless I also committed the sin of lying. It seemed we were going nowhere, so I ran away.

One of my best friends worked for her dad's company several states away. She said she thought I needed to get away from Todd and offered me a place to stay with her and a job working for her father. I was going to give the engagement ring back to Todd, but he insisted that I keep it, saying he wasn't giving up on us yet. So I packed all my belongings in a single footlocker and left on a jet plane with no intention of ever going back again. I wore the ring, still playing a role... engaged, but disengaged.

Funny how the other "lunatic" stories I told yesterday fit into this one. Over Christmas, the phone sex just wasn't cutting it, and I knew I had to find a way back to my fiancee. That's when I hitched a ride with the total stranger, who could so easily have made a move on me while we were traveling an empty, snowy freeway in the middle of nowhere. He took me safely to Todd, and I spent that Christmas wallowing in mistletoe and holiday sin. That was enough to hook Todd. I had practiced well. A couple frustrating months later, Todd came after me, compromised his religion, and we started planning the wedding. It was during those tumultuous, but insistent, months that we encountered Ms. "Have you ever been in love?" and ample other warning signs, all which we ignored in the mad rush to beat the triteness of a June wedding by marrying in May.

One day, after I had been married for at least five or six years and had a couple kids, my parents called me and said, "Hey, guess where we were yesterday?"

"Um, I don't know... Where?"

Their answer blew me away. "We were just passing through Doug's home town and recognized that house where we used to pick you up when you'd carpool home from college."

Oh no, I thought.

"Well, we decided to stop by and see if anybody was home... and GUESS WHAT?"

Oh dear, I thought. "What?"

"Doug was home visiting his folks."

It was surreal.

"I had some of our pictures from your wedding and of the kids in a little brag book in my purse..."

NO!

"... it was so nice to have had them handy like that."

Sigh. Contact had been made. He knew where I was and had seen into the life I didn't want him to know I had. In the back of my mind, I wanted him to be left wondering... Is Bridgett still single? What if I hadn't said those cruel things, and instead told her that I was in love with her? I wanted him to pine -- to remain single and miserable in a false hope, just as I was married and miserable with no hope.

I had a sweatshirt that Doug had once joked about stealing from me. I couldn't wear it without thinking of him and it was painful to think of him. Yet I continued to wear it occasionally because it was better to have the pain and feel that there was still some thread of his existence left in my world. Suddenly I felt the need to be rid of it. I could have donated it to Goodwill or thrown it out, but somehow I wanted to make a statement along with purging myself of the pain. Packaging the sweatshirt, along with a pair of earrings Doug hadn't bought for me, but had helped me pick out, I mailed them to him care of his parents house, promising myself that I would never contact him again.

As the years wore on in a marriage that was far from happy, I would think of Doug, and I feel a bit ashamed to say that I didn't wish him happiness. I tried to push him out of my mind, but he would always come back. Hurt and even anger were the primary feelings I would have when he came to mind during that time, but one day I had a spiritual turning point... I was convicted in my heart that the anger was sin. I asked for help forgiving him, and my heart broke all over again, but this time in a positive way. It had been hardened, not letting anything in or out, but when it broke this time, what poured out was forgiveness and something else... I was compelled to pray for Doug. Day-after-day, I would be reminded to pray for him.

Several years later, I learned there was a reason for those prayers. Doug had suffered a couple of tragedies back-to-back. He had eloped and married a young woman whom he thought he knew, only to have her serve him an annulment a few days later and attempt to turn all of their mutual friends against him. Then he battled cancer--at the same time I had no contact with him to know about the cancer, but was compelled to pray for him constantly. I found out about the cancer when I finally broke down and wrote him a letter in which I told him that he had hurt me deeply, that I didn't fully understand what had happened between us, but that I forgave him and hoped he could also forgive me for any hurt I may have caused him, and I told him that I had been feeling led to pray for him a lot and hoped he was okay.

What followed has been a gradual restoration of our friendship. Being married, I work hard to keep it platonic (which we've had plenty of practice at since we were never physically involved.) After years and years, I'd say Doug is still my best 'just friend.' I still love him and sometimes ache, knowing that because of my impatience and inability to communicate truthfully, something deeper that might have been will never be.

Doug broke my heart twice. The first time it was by his rejection and I hardened my heart as a result. The second time was when he let me know that he still cared. That "break" has become more of a melting. And even though I can't express it as deeply as I'd like, and must hide under pseudonyms to say it... "I love you, Doug. I know I always will."