Two Ghosts From the Past

The melody is beautiful, the singer’s voice sweet. I love country music. I get a little lost in the feeling of it. The lyrics grab my attention.

I take another bite of the dinner I brought home. It’s disappointing. It came from a restaurant I loved once.

There is a restaurant space down the street that seems to house a new restaurant at least every year. None of them ever really made an impression and in no time they would disappear.

We are greeted by a young woman offering a smile and a warm welcome. She guides us to a table in a room surrounded by walls, a beautiful shade of Tuscany red. Water glasses placed on a table covered in a white tablecloth adorned with fresh flowers, linen napkins and silverware that felt substantial. A candle is lit. I sink into a comfortable chair.

The gracious waiter delivered the perfect meal. Salad so crisp, I can still hear the crunch. The warmth of the rolls as they catch the oil from the roasted garlic head. Eggplant parmesan seeped in sauce thick and fragrant, topped with cheese just slightly browned and the eggplant that perfect texture of being cooked just right. What a wonderful experience. I can’t wait to come back.

There is something unexplainable about the magic of a first. It is untarnished by anything that has come before it. It stands alone. A moment immersed in pleasure, surprise, and a deep feeling of gratitude at landing on something that satisfies a need lingering under the surface.

Breathing in the kisses of a man I grew to deeply love. The whoosh of the air and the sound of the electric doors opening into the first job of my professional career. My stomach still hurts as the memory of laughing so hard with a new friend emerges.

I do this. The initial experience searing itself in a memory that won’t let go. I experience something wonderful and then want it to continue. I look forward to it happening again.

I went back two weeks later to the restaurant. It felt different. The energy not quite as dynamic, the colors somewhat faded, the glasses slightly smudged. The eggplant undercooked and somewhat watery and the cheese not fully melted. The salad just past a day of freshness and squeezing the garlic onto the roll did not feel worth the effort. There was a part of me that almost double checked to make sure I was in the same place.

That feeling of knowing that something is no longer what it was. My body sensing it long before my mind understands. The urgent energy flooding calling to me to get up, move away, walk away. Yet, staying frozen as my mind agonizes over whether it is the right decision. So I stay and I churn.

It was just a one-off that he ignored my birthday, all that stress at his job. Yes, even though I worked so hard and my co-worker who barely showed up was promoted, it must have been for reasons I didn’t understand. The friend, who for the third time cancelled our plans at the last minute, really does value our friendship she just wasn’t well organized.

I become quickly invested and attached to experiences, people, places as I am drawn to the pleasure and the connection. Because of that, I don’t let go easily.

Letting go is hard for so many reasons.

I don’t want to give up what was wonderful. I don’t want to feel the pain that comes from the severing of an attachment. The fears that I will never be really successful, loved, or chosen again.

I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to have to muster the energy to try again . And if I try, will it even happen? If I step forward, will there even be anything there?

The truth is, those things I can live through. I have lived through them. The struggle for me is that when I know in my heart that something has changed and is no longer good for me, I don’t trust my own judgment.

The competing voices: “this doesn’t feel right” challenged by “you’re being unreasonable.” “I feel hurt” met with accusations of “you are being too sensitive.” “I want something new” butts up against “you are never satisfied.”

Two ghosts from the past.

I want someone to intervene. To scream, “trust yourself! Stop overthinking! Step forward.”

And so I wait. And all that time, waiting to trust myself and take an action, lost. Hours, days, even years of precious time lost, avoiding a decision I knew I should make all along.

I am embarrassed to say I tried the restaurant one more time. Still clinging to that wonderful first experience. Still hoping it can be recreated. Still not trusting what I already knew — that restaurant I loved no longer existed.

Experience has taught me that what I saw coming does indeed unfold toward its inevitable outcome. What I saw changing has changed. What I feared ending has ended.

Seeing his mouth as he admits that he doesn’t see a future. Walking out of those electric doors with a box of my things. The blank space on my calendar where plans with my friend used to be.

Oh.

I am left vs leaving. Two very different things. Indecision vs decision. Something happening to me vs choosing my own direction. One honors what I know, and one overrides it.

I want to trust myself. Risk making mistakes or looking foolish. Risk that hindsight might shed a different light. The toll of not giving myself permission to trust my judgment is just too high a cost.

The relief of a decision made for me, no longer worth the sacrifice.

The truth is I have made progress. I don’t always do this. I agonize a little less. I act a little quicker. Sometimes, now I leave before I am left.

The eggplant half eaten on my plate feels soggy and flavorless. The roll cold and the salad soggy with dressing. I don’t have to wait any longer.

I turn off the music. The plate in the dishwasher with only traces of the meal that once was.

My eye catches on the coupon that arrived for the new restaurant that opened down the street.