One of the most difficult times in my young adult life was Fall, 2007. David had recently moved to Bristol, CT for a job at ESPN and I was in Baltimore, starting my first year of law school. Our still very new relationship was learning what it meant to be long distance, post-college, and very far from home.
All this change alone was intense. Sometime late-fall, it became very emotionally difficult. On one visit to Connecticut, we ordered Chinese takeout from one of two decent restaurants in Bristol. David opened his fortune cookie, smiled, and held it out to me:
I cried. We saved the fortune, hoping it was a sign that this tough time would pass.
And, of course, it did. David kept the fortune tacked to his bulletin board, and it travelled with him from Connecituct to Baltimore to our first home together in DC. Last year, while packing, I tucked it into a scrapbook, along with the train tickets, UCLA memorabilia, and other travel momentos David saved on that board, reminders that the rain did stop, and the memories are awesome.
Fast forward to this weekend.
Friday evening I learned that my second attempt at the CA bar was, once again, an exercise in futility. I failed.
I’m still pretty tender and haven’t emotionally sorted out my supreme disappointment. Writing helps, so here I am.
After the initial shock, the rest of the evening was pretty textbook: called my mom, sobbed. Curled up with David, sobbed. Emailed friends, sobbed. Got a headache, ate some pizza. David, my champion, ever the level-headed and rational partner, tended and listened.
We’d made plans to check out Sausalito on Saturday and it seemed silly to cancel so I could lie in bed and cry. The Bar stole a solid 2 1/2 months of winter exploration, I wasn’t going to let it take another weekend.
So, Saturday morning, while drinking coffee and getting ready for the day, I pulled out Amy Poehler’s Yes, Please. I’d been reading and loving it the last few days and had left off in Part 3: Be Whoever You Are, in the middle of a story of a terrible professional experience. I opened it up to these words:
I stomped upstairs and felt angry for about five minutes, and then I watched the anger travel through my body like a wave and leave. Emotions are like passing storms, and you have to remind yourself that it won’t rain forever. You just have to sit down and watch it pour outside and then peek your head out when it looks dry.
Of course, I sobbed.
And then I read it to David, and cried some more.
And then we got going on our day and drove to Sausalito. I must have said “I love/hate this state so much right now” a dozen times. Sausalito is specatcular. Cavallo Point is gorgeous. This state is incredible.
And even though I can’t quite silence that horrible, hurt, inner voice that’s saying “ya, it’s awesome, and it doesn’t want YOU,” I know that it’s going to be ok. I’m angry because I’m hurt and scared and disappointed, but I can’t be angry forever.
It won’t rain forever.
Especially not in California :)