The Fade Out

I rode my bicycle to meet a friend for lunch, today, at the Flower Child. I have recommitted to getting exercise of some sort everyday, as the past few weeks have seen my legs grow soft, yet again. For me, soft legs and soft arms are indicators that I am growing weak, which is not a good condition for this 61-year-old body worker. As I tooled down the wide sidewalk on Arapahoe, I had a sudden moment of clarity. I’ve dubbed it . . . the fade out.

In that moment of clarity, I realized that the obsessive desire to call the ‘ex’ was gone. I realized that we had our time, and that time had completed. I also realized that all I needed to do, from here on out, if an urge to call him were to come over me, all I needed to do was play out the scene like a first drink; at this point, nothing good would come of it.

Instead of clinging to a fantasy, I rode my bike into reality. He just isn’t in to me. And honestly, from my side, I am no longer into him, anymore, either. With that thought, he became a diaphanous fade out slinking from my mind. Good by dear one, good bye.

So, the first test of this theory of mine came two days after the big Aha! During a phone conversation, I learned that a new friend found the ‘ex’ to be hot and definitely on her radar as an attractive man around 65. The conversation continued and it was clear what “on her radar” meant. I made a feeble attempt to encourage her curiosity and then we got off the phone. Within moments I was in a full on panic. I wanted to call him and try to claim him for my own. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted.

Every fiber in my being was on alert. Every synapsis that was the ‘ex’ fired. Every heart song that used to be his started screaming. I had the phone in my hand. And then I remembered . . . first call, first drink. If I call nothing good will come of it. First call, first drink. If I call, I will relapse into the muck and mire of shame. First call, first drink, and I will have given him my power. He’s the first drink. Play it out.

So I called, friends. No answer. Another no answer. And then, the voice of my sponsor. Praise Jesus!

I explained the trigger, and its intensity, with a quivering voice, tearful shame and reluctant relief. She said all the things I needed to hear and then told me that I had to move my body; it was flooded with the biochemistry of a huge trigger and I needed to move the body to move the emotions. So I did. I rode and sobbed my way to a favorite scared place on the creek. I cried and cried and sobbed some more.

And then I prayed. And then, I saw the life all around me hopping and buzzing and dancing on the beauty of the flowers. I heard the songs and babbles of magnificence. And then I felt the gentle embrace of so much more than meets the eye.

Hi! My name is Michele and it has been 30 days since my last phone call to someone I used to call ‘Beloved.’