This is the beginning of a post I started and found in my drafts folder:
Everyone who has ever used a computer (or at least a PC) has gotten that message that x software has an upgrade available. I hate that message, and postpone upgrading as long as possible. I wonder what the upgrade is going to offer me when I already have a perfectly functional piece of software. I think it’s part of me being a Taurean and not liking change.
I approached relationships in the same way. When I got into a new one recently, I didn’t expect it to be that much different from the old one. I mean, new face and hopefully good times, but same general pattern. I was not aware that I was in for a serious upgrade.
The rest of the post was supposed to be about how much more awesome my new relationship was compared to my old one. In brief: very much more. My last relationship was full of drudgery and depression, and though I clung on with all my strength, there was very little to cling on to, and he just disengaged. Needless to say, things are very different when you’re both in love. Nobody disengages, and you’re a lot happier to be with each other.
I rather like the idea of this post–it is an interesting reflection on how far I’ve come and how much happier I am, and rather hopeful, I think, that things can get better. I admit I didn’t think they would. I thought what I experienced was simply how you get treated–not true!
But as I went back to add, I realized all the details I thought I would bring up, comparisons which were so fresh and specific in October, have faded away in February. I also found another post where I was planning to write to my ex via the blogosphere and tell him all the angry stuff I never did because we tried to be friends for awhile after (and failed). But again, I find myself stumped as to what I would say. I’m simply not angry enough to write that letter anymore.
My last (and only other) relationship haunted me like a shadow for years. It ended surprisingly and badly, and killed my confidence in a lot of ways. I would constantly draw from it and think about it. What went wrong? What was wrong with me? How could I stop that from happening again? Why couldn’t he love me? Why was the next girl he met ‘the one’? I exorcised my feelings for the guy in a healthy amount of time, but there was so much unresolved, so little closure that I still felt it at the dawn of my new relationship.
Now, though, that time seems very far away indeed, a distant and irrelevant past. I can’t recall why it made me upset. If I think about it really hard, I can sort of remember some details. But they don’t seem important anymore. I’m happy. I’m getting married. Ten years ago no longer matters–I was a kid then anyway.
Surprisingly, I find myself in a place where all that heartache doesn’t matter anymore. My ex pops up every so often under the ‘people you may know’ banner on Facebook. I think to myself ‘Why yes, I do know him.’ I even find myself half curious about what he’s up to. But in the end it doesn’t matter. In one of my other favorite books, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Johnny Nolan breaks up with a girl by saying “You go your way, and I’ll go mine.” That’s what we’ve done. He’s somewhere, doing…something chemistry related. I’m leading a good life. We’re not part of each other anymore.
So in the end, I’ve gone beyond a software upgrade. I’ve gone for a whole new operating system, and it’s so shiny and efficient that I forgot all the bugs of the old one, or even how it operated. Does anyone even remember Windows 3.1? Exactly.
And that, my friends, is what they call closure.