Recently an experience left me feeling extraordinarily disappointed. And yet it is my great expectations that caused this disappointment - great expectations and an enormously overactive imagination that reflects past experiences to suit me. And rarely are they based in reality. But they carry me to places I find I must revisit and this was one such place.
It is never surprising to me when expectations are dashed but I am still saddened when this occurs. I met someone from my youth recently. Not someone I knew well at all, mind you, but someone I had idealized over the years. He was from one summer back in 1974 and I was dating my boyfriend, turned-husband-now-ex, at the time. We worked together. We became friends. He tells me we spent much time together having lunch and getting to know one another at breaks and such. I don't recall having spent that much time with him - but from the impression he left with me, it clearly must have been more than just a passing chat at the coffee cooler. He claims to have been pretty infatuated with me. But he never acted on it. And I chose to continue dating my steady.
In truth it was a brief - but memorable -encounter for me; one that left an indelible imprint on my memory and if I am honest, maybe even on my heart. And for some reason, now seemed like the perfect time to try to find him. I took a chance that he would recall who I was. to my amazement, he did. And to wonders of wonders - it turned out we lived in the same county - 3000 miles away from that summer of 1974.
But what begs definition is why I felt the need to reach out to him? What human frailties that I possess causes me to seem to need to recall people in this way? It isn't the first time this has happened - sometimes the person that I have spent years in wonder over question doesn't recall me at all. Turns out that he did, in fact, wonder about me as well at times over the years. But why was it so important?
What were my expectations? I can honestly say that I didn't have any about where it would lead. I really just wanted to connect with someone that impressed me at a time in my life when I was impressionable. I realize now how young and naive I really was back then. I saw the world through my own innocence. It isn't that I was wrong in my evaluations of him then but I was completely off-base in my thoughts about who he might be now. Of course our experiences - both his and mine - built our individual realities.
In part, what was such a huge disappointment for me is that he has no idea who I really am today after the three hours we spent together talking. He shared all about himself; his life and experiences - all genuinely interesting to me, certainly. But what he learned about me was only a minuscule sampling of who I am, what I've done with my life; my accomplishments, my failings, my strengths and weaknesses - all because he didn't ask. And when he did, he didn't listen...the conversation quickly turned back to him. In not asking many questions of me I was kept from sharing my best. Frankly, when I told him what I was now doing for a living his overly negative reaction left me feeling defensive - which he called me on - and wishing I could retreat to another corner of the world rather than share more, I decided I would do nothing to try to convince him otherwise. I allowed him to diminish who I have become in an instant. And in that instant, my memory of him was diminished.
The layers that could be peeled back to find the interesting, engaging individual that I am was lumped into a stereotypical idea by him about my profession. I allowed him to question my very being and in doing so, I couldn't sleep well that night. He had gotten under my skin. He really isn't anyone to me; really just a stranger – rather like an internet date...he isn't someone I've loved and lost, or who has loved me. Instead he is a figment of my creative mind.
He fell short of my memories of him. I'm fairly certain I did, for him, as well. I'm 35 years older now, and far heavier than I was then....and as sophisticated as I consider myself to be, sometimes I'm still the fragile, innocent young woman of my youth...but I'm certain that the layers that create the depth I offer were not apparent on that Saturday.
What I was reminded of was that I can't go back home. It is never as it once was...and the romantic, always willing to get back on the horse, wonderfully Pollyanna that I am wants to believe otherwise.
Yes, he might be someone I could enjoy knowing...and maybe even like again...but it would take greater effort to navigate the chapters of our lives that have become our reality since we knew one another all those years ago. Some may call it baggage. Others might find it simply riches of experience. In our case, we've both had great achievements and tragedies to color our worlds...but those worlds are worlds apart and without taking the time to know more, likely always will be.
Besides...I'd have to go behind him and leave more money for a tip to the waiter due to the fact that he sees little value awarding a tip based on percentages. And he'd have to go around apologizing for my profession.
Seems my memories of who I believed he was failed me. But I have to believe that God and my best friend knew what they were doing in keeping us apart back then. And maybe, just maybe, I knew as well.
Both of us had the power to change the result...back in 1974 and perhaps even again last Saturday. Both times we chose differently.
He will always hold a piece of my heart...a reminder of my innocence. I hope that I can still do the same for him...and from this point on, I chose to remain living in the present.
Because you can’t go home again.
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