Where do I even begin?

I was home-bound from Indianapolis around 5:45 tonight. I began the journey with a sunken heart, newly aching from the latest frustrating conversation with my (still feels weird to say this) ex-fiancé. Not that I blamed him for saying anything he'd said to me. His words were not at all unkind, but still firm in their intention, and that intention was one to which I was less than receptive. Every correspondence with him made my denial of the situation less viable, less sustainable, and this last one made it that much more abundantly clear that things were over between us. We'd never be back together. Ever. I mean, EVER.

So, I got in my hot stinking old bitty of a car, rolled down the front windows a crack, and started driving, playing India Arie's soul-crushingly gorgeous rendition of "Heart of the Matter" on repeat on my ipod, and I began to sob. It was like one of those so-pathetic-it's-funny moments in a romantic comedy, where the main character is blasting the saddest song ever, cry-singing along, making hideous faces and getting too choked up to eke out those particularly poignant lines. God, I was a disaster.

Anyway, I don't know if I was too busy crying, or if I was stuck behind a semi-truck at the wrong time, but somehow I missed my exit, and I didn't realize it until about 20 minutes later when I started seeing signs for towns I'd never been to. Crap.

So I called my sister and her husband for directions home, and we figured out which exit I should take to get home a different way. Cool.

And you know what? Best thing that could have possibly happened.

I got off at my exit and turned right to get on the new road, and as soon as I did I spotted a vaguely-authentic-looking Mexican Restaurant. I had barely eaten all week, so I thought I'd give it a try. Mexican food always hits the spot with me. I walked in and asked for a table for one (feeling soooo sorry for myself, "Woe is me, I'm all alone now and this is totally symbolic, and it's probably the first of many, many times I'll eat alone in my life, blah blah blah." What a whiner, right?) and I got what I perceived to be a raised eyebrow from the seating host, but I did my best to shake it off.

I looked at the menu, trying to decide what to eat. Couldn't get what I usually get at Mexican restaurants because I usually eat at these sorts of places with Him (that's the ex-fiancé, not God Almighty, mind you) and anything I used to eat around Him would make me so depressed I'd want to pour the extra-hot salsa in my eyes. So I looked for something new, ultimately settling for something I knew he'd hate (enchiladas smothered in a white cream sauce) and there was something mildly cathartic about that. Bonus that it ended up being delicious. There was also something quaint and refreshing about being called "señorita" repeatedly by the male wait staff. Kinda made me think, "Fuck yeah, I AM a young lady." I pretended for a moment that I was on a mini-vacation in some adorable Mexican town, not in rural-ass Southern Indiana sweating my ta-tas off.

After I'd eaten and paid, I got back in my car to commence the rest of the trip. I knew where I wanted to end up, and I knew what road I needed to be on to get there, but I still had no idea what was ahead of me, and part of me thought, "Maybe I should back-track. Maybe I should just find my way back to the road I know." But something in me said not to do that. Apart from being a giant waste of time and energy, the way I knew would be decidedly less adventurous. And I needed an adventure.

I scrolled through my ipod looking for some good driving music and settled on Tears for Fears. I hadn't listened to them since maybe high school...no particular reason why; they just sort of fell out of my mind-stream as my musical taste shifted more and more toward that running-through-fields-of-daisies, soft-guitar, absurdly-lyrical Indie genre. But Tears for Fears seemed like a good idea, maybe because I grew up in the 90s and all of my iconic stock images of people driving down highways are somehow associated with a particular brand of soft-rock leftover from the previous decade. Whatever.

I started driving again, and I found myself amidst a breathtaking landscape. The road was winding, and hilly, and surrounded by mature green trees. It was so beautiful, I couldn't help but smile.

And it got me thinking. This road was exponentially more beautiful than the road I would've taken if I hadn't missed my exit. Sure, it was longer and the speed limit was lower, but it was GORGEOUS, and I didn't even care that I didn't get to go the way I'd planned. And maybe this was a sign from the universe-- a sign that the way I'd planned wasn't the way I was meant to go. Sure, it would've been fine. It would have taken me to my destination, and it would have been direct, and convenient, and I would never have known what I was missing if I hadn't gotten lost. But It wasn't the best. And even though I was nervous about it at first, this new way was so much better.

And maybe, just maybe, my life would be like that too. This week I was so certain that the best part of my life had just ended, but maybe it's just beginning. I feel like being with Him was like reading the best book I'd ever read, only to find that the ending was abrupt and disappointing. And I wanted there to be a sequel. I wanted the author to write more, so I'd know what else happened, and so I could feel again the way I felt when I read the book before it ended. But the author said, "Sorry fans, no sequel," and instead of closing the book and moving on, I just kept re-reading the last few pages over and over, hoping more words would materialize, or that I'd find some hidden meaning in the text that made things more clear.

What's clear to me now is that I need to close the book. It's written, and published, and it won't be re-written, and there won't be a sequel. But there are other books, just like there are other roads, and other men. And maybe what I felt for Him, while it was unmistakably love, was also fear. Not fear of Him, but fear of the unknown, and what existed beyond and outside Him. Fear that this relationship was the absolute best thing I could find, (because it WAS wonderful) and that if I lost it, nothing remotely as good would come along.

I still don't know that it will. But I have hope that it will.

I will always mourn the loss of the amazing times I had with Him. I felt, and still feel, that he was my best friend in the entire world, and we had inside jokes, and experiences, and places we called "ours," and I absolutely ACHE knowing we'll never have those things again.

And while I'm sure it will take quite a bit more time for me to fully heal from this loss, and to fully accept my new truth as a human being, I can feel that I am finally beginning to. And that is something beautiful.