Magnetic Desire - Part 3

“What happens if I try?”

“You are in denial of a past that is affecting you still. Your childhood experiences are too traumatic to deny and unless you work more consistently on your healing, I need to end our relationship.”

Her words release the fragile bubble of air of hope I hold in my heart. I’m stunned, confused, paralyzed. I control the urge to take back the moment, to find words that explain, to make sense when now nothing makes sense. Instead, I don’t complain, I don’t argue, I don’t fight. I withdraw into the protection of dismissive reality I have always known and turn to my place of solace.

I run.

Kenneth Hahn Park is situated on 400 acres of reclaimed land once the home of a huge oil field of pumps and wells in mid Los Angeles. It’s my go-to place when I feel the need for trail miles. I’m feeling the need. In the aftermath of a brief rainstorm, a strong breeze blows from west to east pushing me, nudging me uphill with less effort. So I dig in harder, trudging faster, on my toes, up, up, up, quicker, quicker, quicker. The ground is moist, the brown earth soft beneath my steps. The sky is a flawless blue and the brightness from the crystalline sunshine highlights every blade of grass, every leaf, every single strand of wild flower revitalized by the rain. Deerweed, once green now a fading yellow, floats in the breeze, drooping in the pathway. The yellow tendrils tickle my shins, my calves as I scurry past. The foxtails are still moist, so their barbed hooks do not stick to my socks, my ankles, my skin.

It doesn’t take long, but I am no longer noticing the nature scene unfolding before me. And as my feet carry me effortlessly to the outer perimeter of the trails, my mind draws me inward to places I fear, to places better left avoided, to places I wish would just stay hidden.

But thoughts are just words linked into sentences by some unseen force to form a gallery of  pictures. Maybe I remember, maybe I’ve never seen, maybe I can’t imagine. And here we are, with future scenarios only imagined from past failures and I fight to not fall into a morass of despair.

The more I run, the less frenetic my thoughts become, the less the thought pictures manifest themselves, the less I feel anything. After enough time on my feet, the neurotransmitters bathe my mind into numbness where pain, despair, hopelessness flow into this wide, wide shallow sea of resignation becoming my insulated reality. From this vantage point, I can hold off crippling emotion, holding relationship difficulties at arm’s length, never having to confront painful reality.

This is me.

I run further, occasionally taking notice of my surroundings, unconsciously checking my breathing, my stride cadence, my heart. The inner mantras that have kept me alive for so many years come to mind.

“I’m OK. I can handle this. I can do this.”

Nothing gets confronted. There is no acknowledgement of emotions borne simply out of being human. No, it all gets thrown into the sea of resignation. With the rising and ebbing tide of consciousness, outlines of scenes left unresolved emerge from the murkiness, revealing a hint of memory. And just as soon as the amorphous shapes become recognizable, shallow water just widens, the shadows of confrontation sink into the mire, everything dissolving into undefined dismissiveness. Hopefully this will all just fade into a disjointed memory with no thought of what could have been.

I’m running now in full-on flow state. My running process is automatic, moving with no thought of how my body is reacting to the physical exertion. My inner voice is almost silent, my thoughts are focused on just being in the moment, feeling the breeze, the sun, the cocoon of warmth surrounding me.

And then, something happens.

There should be that dull aching feeling of resignation. But it isn’t happening. I can’t stop thinking about her and I can’t stop thinking of what could have been. There is instead, the slightest glimmer of a positive thought. I dare to think outside of angst.

“What happens if I try?” 

What happens if I seek help in bringing to light the drowning memories, unshackling the ghosts of trauma past? Is it possible that the negative spiral I have seen past relationships go down can actually be reversed? 

My gait quickens, my speed increases, and there is a fresh scent in the air I didn’t notice before. My arms begin to pump causing my legs to move faster, my feet to snap up and down, quicker now with conviction. 

Do I smell optimism? I am actually, imagining, imagining a different arc of life that doesn’t end in the previous inevitable. She is the greatest person I have ever wanted to be with. She is the most treasured relationship that I will protect and nurture at all cost. She is the most affirming, considerate, authentically compassionate, loving person I have ever had the opportunity to grow with. She is the one I will change for.

This is not just the wanderings of a runner’s mind high in a flow state. This is a full-on manifestation. As my fluid strides continue, I am now recounting snapshots of fun times and snippets of joy-filled conversations. And the gut feeling, an almost electric giddiness charges up from my gut, through my heart, through my chest, forcing laughter at the possibility. Yes, yes this can happen. Yes, this is possible. 

At the northeast corner of the loop trail I’m on, I reach the summit of a small hill. The climb was not taxing, but I am noticing the view. I’m about 12 miles to the southwest of downtown Los Angeles and the hilltop view of the skyline is unseasonably clear. Because of the recent rain and the present breeziness, the glinting skyscrapers and office buildings are sparkling clear with clean details. I’m awed by the rarity of this view. On this small rise, looking down on the city below and beyond, I have a feeling of power and agency.

 

I’ve stopped running and while staring out at the cityscape, I’m envisioning a different story, one that I did not imagine at first. Feelings of resignation and inevitability have been replaced with hopefulness and assurance. Yes, this will happen. Yes, I can do this.

I begin to head back down the hill, following the path eventually circling back to where I had started. I am purposely taking slower steps, a slower cadence of pace, enjoying the moment, replacing resignation with resolve. Did the sun just get brighter? Is the sky the most perfect blue I have ever seen? Now, the yellow strands, the deerweed, the foxtails reach out caressing my legs softly whispering, “Hope, hope, hope.”

This is a novel attitude for me to have. I am at peace for committing to fighting for a relationship. No matter the cost, no matter the obstacles, I am determined to do everything I can to grow with this person. I will do anything for us.

This is my magnetic desire.