Summer of Facing Fears: Conquering the Terror of Lake Calhoun
Kicking off my "Summer of Facing Fears", this relates to my last blog. (Read it here.) This was my first challenge to myself and it was a tough one. This is an extremely personal one as well. Probably because I'm a sentimental chick!
After my split with my ex, my internal "Map of the Twin Cities" looked like this.
With time, it was downgraded to this.
Who could ever be afraid of a lake, right? Why on earth would something so silly be 1000000% off limits to anyone? What's the big deal?
I mean, sure, some people suffer from agoraphobia and have water anxieties, but are the ever afflicted by one specific lake in one spot? Seems ridiculous.
I was. And I have been. This is a holy ground to me; this is iconic.
After all, who could ever want to avoid something as beautiful as this?
Lake Calhoun has been the source of many places I refuse to go to since my breakup last fall. Refused.
Many people don't get it. "It's just a lake, Abby, tons of people will go there. The chances of you running into him are slim to none." That's not the point. My friends still get frustrated with me because its so hard to convey why and what it actually means.
So let me give you some backstory on what Lake Calhoun once was for me, my heart, and my soul.
I lost my job in February of 2009. I was introduced to my ex in March of 2009, shortly before my 28th birthday. Our courtship was incredibly slow- neither of us liked being set up and neither of us were in "relationship mode" at the time in any way. Still, we liked each other and connected for some reason, though both of us were relatively guarded and jaded. Neither of us were in a hurry. But, despite our skepticism, we continued talking.
By the time the snow melted, we were warming up to each other as people too. The walls came down for both of us. The layoff from my former law firm left me with ample free time and since he was an independent contractor with an erratic schedule, we spent much of our days there. Specifically, he lived about 7 blocks from the lake and we were there almost every day once it started to get mild outside. It also was the exact halfway point between my place and his.
So in May, as a newly acquainted couple, our days were spent near Calhoun. We would hit Caribou for coffee and walk the lake. As the days passed, the amount of time we spent together grew. We opened up more and grew to like each other a lot. And this developed into a slow, understanding, beautiful romance.
By July, we were 1000% madly, blindly, head-over-heels, consumed-with-each-other in love. It was indescribably powerful. Our souls were fused. It was like we had found the other half of ourselves that we didn't even know were absent all that time. We felt everything the other one did emotionally and breathed as one being. It was the most powerful, accepting, deep-felt love in the world and it enveloped us entirely in a warm blanket of comfort and peace. We slow danced in the kitchen to "I'm Yours" from Jason Mraz with goofy smiles. We walked a hundred miles around that lake that first summer with our fingers laced together and would go back almost every night to watch the sunset.
And these were our summers.
We both detested winter and spent absolutely any waking moment we could in the spring/summer walking by Lake Calhoun. Sometimes 2-3 times around per day on the weekends! But more specifically, we spent our time sitting on a certain bench at the edge of the lake and talking for hours as the world went by.
We would share all our experiences, dreams, memories, people in our pasts, and all the things we were so grateful for in each other. Often times we would just sit in silence. We didn't have to say anything. We would just look at each other through the lenses of our sunglasses, smile, nuzzle in closer, and look back out to the reflection of the golden sun on the lake as it slowly sunk in the horizon each night. It was effortless.
As the seasons shifted to fall, I finally found my current job. We moved in together and hunkered down for the winter, all the while reminding each other that the sweet summer was coming again. The sun would be back on our faces in a matter of months, we could be on our bench, and all would be right with the world again. We would absorb every sunny day and every sunset we could feasibly get to together until the leaves would softly change, rustle, and drift away.
And so it was for the next few years.
We survived the winters and each time it would finally be warm outside, we would run to his car with smiles on our faces and drive to reclaim our spot on the bench. Calhoun became our symbol of our relationship, hope, peace, stability, and comfort. 1 year, 2 years, 3 years went by, and we began turning the corner into year 4.
And early last spring, it looked like this after a December shopping trip to the Shane Company.
And we were really shooting for this.
But around September, it all just fell apart through no fault of our own.
It unraveled so fast, it was as though someone slammed a strand of yarn in a car door and sped off at 200 mph. Any adult knows that love alone isn't enough to sustain a relationship. Despite the love we still so deeply had, I watched the things above disappear one by one and was helpless to stop it. The plans we made and that I had seen so clearly in my mind (and made perfect sense in my heart) had been inexplicably taken away from me and there was nothing I could do to get them back.
And by early October, he was gone.
And our bench sat empty.
My heart felt just as vacant.
The last note I left him on our countertop said:
"Thank you for all the memories. My heart will ALWAYS be with you on a bench by Lake Calhoun.
My wonderful,
My beautiful,
My Mike."
I have refused to go back since. It was never about worrying seeing him; it was about going there without him. It was just sad.
I spent the last 9ish months trying not to drive by it. I have gone alternative routes even if it takes four times longer. I have done anything to avoid seeing a single shimmer of water rippling across its beautiful face or a towering white sail through the trees.
Yesterday was the first time I went to Lake Calhoun and I was scared to death of how I'd react.
But instead of immense pain and void, I experienced the warmth of nostalgia and a little sadness of a love that was there but wasn't meant to be. And a new couple sat on our bench struggling with operating their new rollerblades (kind of funny, really). I guess nothing lasts forever.
And more so, I guess life really does go on.
I faced my first fear of the summer and I managed to survive it (other than a mild sunburn after walking around it- probably not terminal). I'm going to face many more, many of which are this week. I feel damn proud of myself for something that would be so mundane to anyone else.
I invite and challenge you to face your fears with me, no matter how dumb you think yours are, in the summer of 2013. It can only get better from here.
After my split with my ex, my internal "Map of the Twin Cities" looked like this.
With time, it was downgraded to this.
Who could ever be afraid of a lake, right? Why on earth would something so silly be 1000000% off limits to anyone? What's the big deal?
I mean, sure, some people suffer from agoraphobia and have water anxieties, but are the ever afflicted by one specific lake in one spot? Seems ridiculous.
I was. And I have been. This is a holy ground to me; this is iconic.
After all, who could ever want to avoid something as beautiful as this?
Many people don't get it. "It's just a lake, Abby, tons of people will go there. The chances of you running into him are slim to none." That's not the point. My friends still get frustrated with me because its so hard to convey why and what it actually means.
So let me give you some backstory on what Lake Calhoun once was for me, my heart, and my soul.
I lost my job in February of 2009. I was introduced to my ex in March of 2009, shortly before my 28th birthday. Our courtship was incredibly slow- neither of us liked being set up and neither of us were in "relationship mode" at the time in any way. Still, we liked each other and connected for some reason, though both of us were relatively guarded and jaded. Neither of us were in a hurry. But, despite our skepticism, we continued talking.
By the time the snow melted, we were warming up to each other as people too. The walls came down for both of us. The layoff from my former law firm left me with ample free time and since he was an independent contractor with an erratic schedule, we spent much of our days there. Specifically, he lived about 7 blocks from the lake and we were there almost every day once it started to get mild outside. It also was the exact halfway point between my place and his.
So in May, as a newly acquainted couple, our days were spent near Calhoun. We would hit Caribou for coffee and walk the lake. As the days passed, the amount of time we spent together grew. We opened up more and grew to like each other a lot. And this developed into a slow, understanding, beautiful romance.
By July, we were 1000% madly, blindly, head-over-heels, consumed-with-each-other in love. It was indescribably powerful. Our souls were fused. It was like we had found the other half of ourselves that we didn't even know were absent all that time. We felt everything the other one did emotionally and breathed as one being. It was the most powerful, accepting, deep-felt love in the world and it enveloped us entirely in a warm blanket of comfort and peace. We slow danced in the kitchen to "I'm Yours" from Jason Mraz with goofy smiles. We walked a hundred miles around that lake that first summer with our fingers laced together and would go back almost every night to watch the sunset.
We both detested winter and spent absolutely any waking moment we could in the spring/summer walking by Lake Calhoun. Sometimes 2-3 times around per day on the weekends! But more specifically, we spent our time sitting on a certain bench at the edge of the lake and talking for hours as the world went by.
We would share all our experiences, dreams, memories, people in our pasts, and all the things we were so grateful for in each other. Often times we would just sit in silence. We didn't have to say anything. We would just look at each other through the lenses of our sunglasses, smile, nuzzle in closer, and look back out to the reflection of the golden sun on the lake as it slowly sunk in the horizon each night. It was effortless.
As the seasons shifted to fall, I finally found my current job. We moved in together and hunkered down for the winter, all the while reminding each other that the sweet summer was coming again. The sun would be back on our faces in a matter of months, we could be on our bench, and all would be right with the world again. We would absorb every sunny day and every sunset we could feasibly get to together until the leaves would softly change, rustle, and drift away.
And so it was for the next few years.
We survived the winters and each time it would finally be warm outside, we would run to his car with smiles on our faces and drive to reclaim our spot on the bench. Calhoun became our symbol of our relationship, hope, peace, stability, and comfort. 1 year, 2 years, 3 years went by, and we began turning the corner into year 4.
And early last spring, it looked like this after a December shopping trip to the Shane Company.
And we were really shooting for this.
But around September, it all just fell apart through no fault of our own.
It unraveled so fast, it was as though someone slammed a strand of yarn in a car door and sped off at 200 mph. Any adult knows that love alone isn't enough to sustain a relationship. Despite the love we still so deeply had, I watched the things above disappear one by one and was helpless to stop it. The plans we made and that I had seen so clearly in my mind (and made perfect sense in my heart) had been inexplicably taken away from me and there was nothing I could do to get them back.
And by early October, he was gone.
And our bench sat empty.
My heart felt just as vacant.
The last note I left him on our countertop said:
"Thank you for all the memories. My heart will ALWAYS be with you on a bench by Lake Calhoun.
My wonderful,
My beautiful,
My Mike."
I have refused to go back since. It was never about worrying seeing him; it was about going there without him. It was just sad.
I spent the last 9ish months trying not to drive by it. I have gone alternative routes even if it takes four times longer. I have done anything to avoid seeing a single shimmer of water rippling across its beautiful face or a towering white sail through the trees.
Yesterday was the first time I went to Lake Calhoun and I was scared to death of how I'd react.
But instead of immense pain and void, I experienced the warmth of nostalgia and a little sadness of a love that was there but wasn't meant to be. And a new couple sat on our bench struggling with operating their new rollerblades (kind of funny, really). I guess nothing lasts forever.
And more so, I guess life really does go on.
I faced my first fear of the summer and I managed to survive it (other than a mild sunburn after walking around it- probably not terminal). I'm going to face many more, many of which are this week. I feel damn proud of myself for something that would be so mundane to anyone else.
I invite and challenge you to face your fears with me, no matter how dumb you think yours are, in the summer of 2013. It can only get better from here.
Hey there!
ReplyDeleteI have a quick question about your blog, could you email me please? Thanks!!
Melanie : )