Hope and Fear

Many things cause me to hope. A gesture. A word. A smile. Each can induce a feeling of optimism. After writing my blog last night, I had a conversation with a friend that caused my hope to diminish ever so slightly. She, being one of my trustworthy friends, will always give me a straight answer. I shared with her my attraction (if you read my second blog, you know what I'm talking about), told her of some events that I've found encouraging, and how I felt that the carefully constructed shell I'd built around my heart was finally cracking. She said that her optimistic side is shouting "YIPPEE!" but her pessimistic side doesn't want me to get hurt. I am grateful that she cares for my happiness and doesn't want to lead me into a false utopia. In all honesty, I had been floating on cloud nine all day, until I heard her feelings. I felt my euphoria crumble. My mind was then flooded with unhappy memories that occurred almost two years ago. A time when I allowed my heart to fly free just to be shot down. What cruel irony.

I met a young man who I found extremely attractive. He seemed somewhat shy, or is that arrogant? That's beside the point. Well, I started getting to know him at early morning meetings. At the time, I was the secretary of the choir and therefore wrote the agenda/minutes. I enjoyed adding nonsensical phrases or funny quotes to the otherwise boring material. One afternoon, he dared me to somehow tie "red hats" into the agenda. The next week, he was surprised to find that I had accomplished the task above and beyond his expectations. This sparked a weekly challenge. Since I was interested in him, it didn't take much to accept each one with glee. The hour after the meeting became one of my favorite parts of the week. We would sit and talk; it was so comfortable to talk to him. This is when he started another game of question and answer. We asked random questions, learning more and more about each other. I loved these games. Eventually, the questions became more and more personal. I shared more about myself with him than any guy I've ever known. I developed an emotional attachment. How can you not, when you're sharing so much of yourself? We went on a few dates that were very enjoyable. I felt myself falling...hard. When I love, I love deeply. I believed that everything would work. He was so perfect.

As I dealt with this emotional relationship, I discovered he was dating someone else: One of my good friends. Being a true friend (I hope my friends view me that way. I never want people to think I'm not genuine), I will NEVER go for a guy if I know one of my friends likes him. Believe me, not all girls are like that. I had a few friends that once they found out I liked a guy, they went for him...and usually snatched him. Learning this heart wrenching news, I confronted him. Yes, I actually let him have it. But I didn't do it for myself. I wanted to stick up for my friend. He said that he never meant to lead me to believe we were anything but friends. Everything he did, the way he acted, the way he treated me with such respect, told me that he liked me. I was wrong. I felt my heart shatter. What had I done wrong? Was it something about me? I'd shared SO much of myself only to be rejected. These are questions I repeatedly asked myself during the following months; dare I say years?

Yesterday, I spoke to another friend who was frustrated about how people have a hard time getting "over" relationships. I explained what I'd learned from the heartbreak. When a relationship ends (emotional, physical, etc), it doesn't matter how amicable the split, it is the same as losing someone...a mourning process if you will. I went through the grief. I experienced every emotion imaginable. I was angry with him, felt sorry for him, cried for him, loved him, hated him, and now...I'm over him. But during this period of bereavement, I built a wall around the shards of my heart. I would not allow myself to be deceived again.

Today, even now, I fight with myself: mind vs. heart. My family and friends caution me, wanting to allow my hope to soar, but within walls carefully constructed. Is that truly the way to fly? How can a bird learn to take flight if it's always in a cage? And yet, how can I allow the exposure of my most vital organ? The door of the cage is standing open, but the bird is pressed firmly against the bars. I don't WANT to feel this way. I want my heart to be able to expand to its full capacity. And so I stand, scared and hopeful. I have one foot in the door and one foot out.