A year ago, on New Year’s I sent out my regular massed “Happy New Year’s” text message.
My ex-boyfriend, who I had not spoken to in months, was a recipient.
So we can blame it on the text message - the one last horrah, the one last shot to give it a go.
This morning as I sat curled up on my coach nursing a pot of coffee, not from a hang over as I was exceedingly well behaved on New Years but from chronic sleep deprivation, I could not help but reflect on last year and feel really lucky for how badly that turned out.
I don’t mean to sound like a bad country song but sometimes that man upstairs really has a better plan than you do.
I may have had a bad break-up, which signaled the final end of what seemed like an endless on again off again mess but I also got my freedom. This time instead of breaking up and hurting and waiting for another round to launch, I didn’t feel anything. Not really, not like before. Not hurt or anger or ill-will but just peace. I had discovered that mythical state of closure.
I can’t help but think about that closure this morning and of all the great things that came out of that break-up. It was like relationship swag, a parting gift for the road. Hasta la vesta drama and hello great new friends, a new outlook on relationships and a whole new angle to write about.
I think maybe I drank the happiness cool-aid as the ball dropped, because when I finally pealed myself off the coach to pick up my girl-friend and drive her to her car, which she had stashed a few blocks from his home last night, I stopped to send him a silent thank you, not for the time we spent together, that he knew, but for letting me go.
This year, who knows, I might just take a little break from the fast - it is starting to feel like it is time - and I know that none of my future romantic happiness, which will find me when it is good and ready, would be the same if it was not for all of the trials that came before.
So I am thankful. And ready to stop listening to quite so much country music.