Chapter Forty Two; Rejection Sucks and my Almost Stalker Moment

Done. Done. On to the next one.

These are lyrics from the Foo Fighters. I like that band, but they’re pretty raw and not exactly Celine Dion in their approach to love and loss.

They’re also dead freaking on when it comes to two of the most emotionally raw aspects relationships:

Rejection. And his evil twin: Replacement.

It is extremely painful to learn when someone new is standing in the place you once stood. That someone was chosen over you.

Logically, we all know our worth is not determined by the opinion of another mere mortal, yet we’re all guilty of placing exactly that much value on the simple opinions of equally imperfect human beings.

All the time.

We watch our friends go through break ups yet we say, “Get over it, move on, so what if he/she didn’t choose you? Who cares?”

Yeah. Easy to say when you’re not the one who was erased and replaced, huh? (Foo Fighter reference there again for those of you not as cool as moi.)

Here is the deal:

Sonja is reeling. Her divorce has been final for six months. But she just learned that her husband had been cheating on her during their marriage.

He is now living with that woman.

That really sucks.

Because even though Sonja is done done on to the next one herself for the most part, it’s still hard to learn that really, the end of her marriage did not play out how she had believed. Everything was a lie. It was not as simple as just growing apart, or making a mistake.

It was about her being rejected in the end.

And there is nothing more painful.

I had a very ironic experience the other day that reminded me of that fact. My story is not even a part of the same solar system as Sonja’s, but it was definitely a dimension of the rejection universe.

I was innocently driving down the street to run an errand over lunch the other week, mindlessly singing along to my iPod. I stop at a red light, and slowly my mind processes that the car in front of me looks vaguely familiar.

Shit.

DLTC.

But he wasn’t driving.

Well, if he was, he’d since gone blonde and had a sex change.

Holy mother.

I literally said out loud, “Thanks God. Nice sense of humor. I appreciate this. Lovely. Just lovely.”

I called my envy hotline immediately: Susie.

“I hate this freaking small town!!” I gush into the phone as soon as she answers.

“Okay. Spill.”

“I am behind DLTC’s car in traffic,” I flatly confess.

“Okay,” she hesitantly responds, I can hear her processing, “On purpose or accidentally?”

“Accidentally! Good gawd. What are the odds?”

“In this town? Pretty low,” she observes. No shit sherlock I think to myself. She then advises, “Alright, its simple, just turn off the road.”

“Duh, but holy crap, not the worst part: there is a girl driving it.”

“Okay . . .and?”

“I am calling you for support.”

“My support is to advise you to turn. Are you still behind her?”

“I just missed my turn.”

“And . . . why?”

“Because I am a loser,” I readily admit, “Oh, I’m sure it is probably his cousin’s or friend’s wife. He’s a nice guy, probably loaning his car out.”

“Exactly, so why are you following it?”

“Because I have to confirm that theory. I should be able to see a wedding ring, right?”

“Audra?”

“Yes?”

“Turn around.”

“ARGH! I know. Okay, I am turning. I am turning.”

Silence. For five seconds.

Susie inquires, “Have you turned?”

“Nope. I think I am on stalker auto pilot now. Shit”

“No, you are not,” she argues and in true friend fashion gives me an infusion of honest reminders about myself, “You talk too much and email relentlessly and always need to have the last word but in the end if there’s anything I know about you it is that you’re good at ultimately letting go and letting God. You. Are NOT a stalker. Turn around.”

I know she’s right. This is not me. This is ridiculous.

So I turn around.

And I let it go.

But I am shaking. Even though, logically I am absolutely fine. Unfortunately, emotions don’t consult logic when they descend. They just swell up like a June thunderstorm. And precipitation and storm fronts and pressure systems are not controllable. You can take shelter from them, but that’s pretty much it.

And my emotional storm came out of nowhere and grew faster than a thunderhead in July, taunting me with uncontrollable thoughts like:

Erase/Replace?

Already?

I couldn’t really run from these emotions, but I could take cover.

And Susie made an excellent umbrella.

So I turned around, and drove to where I was going. Quit shaking and just took a deep breath. It is what it is. I will never know who this girl is and it doesn’t matter. We’re over anyway so if I have been erased and replaced immediately, what difference does it make?

None.

But even just the possibility of it really hurt.

The fact is as human beings we care immensely about what others think of us. We want nothing more than to be chosen. When we are, it makes us feel special, worthwhile, and loved.

When we are not, we feel exactly the opposite of all those good things.

And as for Sonja, of course she will move on. She will get over it. And someday she will give thanks for all of the events that brought her to the beautiful place she will eventually reside in emotionally. (Right after she burns her wedding album, tattoos her maiden name on her ass and consults a voodoo expert to secure a good curse.)

But for today, she is hurting.

And I must still be too as I was a stalker for all five blocks.

How pathetic.

Sigh.

I guess healing does not come over night.

But it does eventually arrive. The story of humanity promises us that much. And when it does, if we can count on anything being erased, it is the sadness.

And replaced.

With love.

***************************
It was odd to write this essay, because when I did, I was in Vegas. By a pool. Drinking something delicously alcoholic and enjoying the palm trees and a ridiculously pampered week. (I love my day job.)

Because of that, I want to point out the ebb and flow of life. My stalker moment was a moment. And it a passed. I recovered, life went on, and now I am soaking up the desert sun and having a pretty good damn time.

I know everyone is looking forward to potential essays next week about my and Sonja's wild and crazy adventures in Sin City, but I should warn you: So far, probably not possible! Oh, I'm having a blast, don't get me wrong. But something terribly ironic has happened: I love my life so much, that I didn't need a vacation from it.

My life back home is pretty fullfilling. And super fun.

So what does that say about my life? I think I have things in the right order. My "every day" life is fun and exciting.

When the craziest place on earth is a "break"...personally? I think?

I must be doing a lot right!

Here's to life. It's an occasion.

Rise to it!

Later gaters,
~Audra