It’s a funny thing when your heart makes decisions for you without even bothering to consider how it might affect your life. Like deciding that a certain person is someone you could really be with, like forever, regardless of the fact that you’ve never dated, don’t live in the same place and said feelings aren’t exactly mutual.
It’s an even funnier thing when your head gets in on the game and makes you start pulling pieces out of thin air to start creating this puzzle of how your story is going to be with that person. Every kind gesture, common courtesy, phone call. It’s all adding up to the big picture that will someday be your lives together. Right? Isn’t it??
And the funniest thing of all? The icing on your proverbial wedding cake? When this person you’ve created this happy little idea of a relationship with finally sees the light and figures out who The One is. And it’s not you.
In the blink of an eye, your half built puzzle is in pieces. You’re crushed. You’re going through a breakup that never even happened and wondering how you got to this point in the first place? Small moments you had turned into “signs” reveal themselves for what they were, small moments. Those conversations that you told yourself were obviously about you, were obviously not.
You want to be mad at this person! Mad at them for wasting your time and leading you on and not picking you. Mad that they didn’t see you there all along. That they weren’t working on the same puzzle as you. But quickly you realize that you can’t be. It’s not their fault that your heart and head have been playing tricks on you. You’ve been duped.
So you lock up your heart and get your head screwed on straight again but after some time you end up in the same place, with another person. Feeling all the same ways about someone who feels all the same ways about someone else. And this time is worse than the first. A little voice in your head tried to warn you all along but your heart was louder. And you find yourself coming out of the fog wondering how you got here, again.
Then, wouldn’t you know, it happens for the third time. Because the third times the charm of course.
So what do you do? You write about it. You write about how your heart has betrayed you and you’re clearly the victim. About how confusing it is and how weak you must be to let yourself get to such a place. The ridiculousness of forming something out of nothing at all.
You’re mad at your head and your heart for playing these tricks on you. Or more so, that you let them. You realize that letting them build these puzzles without your say had been easier for a while. Easier than putting yourself out there or smiling at a stranger or saying hello in a bar. And yes, coming to that realization is a grand and freeing thing, but it doesn’t make the feelings you had lessen any. They were real and you had them for real reasons that were not created from nothing and there’s no shame in that. It’s simply a shame that you hid behind them over and over again.
And then, you move on.
It’s a funny thing when your heart starts building puzzles for you. It makes pieces fit where you know they don’t. It convinces you that it can see the big picture out of all those tiny pieces. That it knows how the puzzle will look in the end. Be in charge of your own puzzle. Life can be silly and maybe somewhere along the way some old dusty pieces that you had moved on from will resurface. Just make sure to have a say in the matter. Choose where you want the pieces to go.
Since joining my gym back in October, for somes reason, I hadn’t been taking full advantage of all the classes that are offered with my mymbership. So about a month ago I started browsing the schedule to see what there was. Most of the morning cycling classes were full and during the day I’m usually at work. Then I noticed an 8am yoga class offered on Sundays. My initial reaction was oh hell to the no. There was no part of me that wanted to make sure I was anywhere at 8am on my day off. The 9am class seemed more reasonable, but alas, it was full. I begrudginly signed up for 8am.
