I’ve had a lot of time to myself lately. Which means, a lot of time to think and feel. Dangerous, right? Right. It’s also meant a lot of time to write, albeit it very intermittent due to pain (I haven’t been able to peck out more than about 150 words in one sitting – torture for a writer). I have six posts sitting in my drafts folder in various stages of appropriateness for public consumption.
A little over two weeks ago, I wrote a post about missing people – three specific individuals in my life. It was a thinly veiled way of passive aggressively attempting to get their attention without actually putting myself out there and being vulnerable. If any of them read it, they would know without a doubt I was talking about them. I let it sit in my drafts rather than hit the “Publish” button.
And then I thought and felt, as I’ve been known to do. Which is when I realized that if I really missed these people as much as I had written that I did – if I truly craved them back in my life – then publishing a melodramatic blog post wasn’t the solution. If I missed them, I had to let them know directly. No more fear of whether they actually missed me too or had instead forgotten I ever existed in their lives. No more excuses of “Well, if they wanted to talk to me, they’d call.” After all, couldn’t they be thinking the same about me? Didn’t that make me a hypocrite?
When enough time passes, that initial contact can be awkward. Whether it’s been three weeks, nine months or more than a year. Maybe you’ve spent all your time thinking about them; or maybe for the most part, you forgot them too. But then something pops up in your mind or in your day-to-day activities that reminds you of them – a song, a scent, an inside joke that no one else will ever understand – and you physically ache because of the hole in your life that they used to fill.
Since that revelation, I took the chance on two of those three people. I rehearsed what I would say (because of all the thinking and the feeling) and then before I could turn back and put it off another day, I let my thumb hit that contact in my iPhone and held my breath and felt sick to my stomach waiting for the voice on the other end.
Obviously, what I rehearsed in my head (or, um, out loud alone in my house – shut up…) never made it out of my mouth. Because as soon as I heard their voices, I couldn’t stop smiling, much less get out a proper sentence. After the slightly awkward beginnings, the rest of the conversation flowed like we’d spent no time out of each others’ lives.
I took a chance on missing people. I took a blind leap that if they meant so much to me that I was aching to have them back, there had to be a pretty decent chance I meant that much to them too.
And I’m so glad I took those two jumps. It was terrifying to think of; I could have had my heart (not to mention ego) splattered on the jagged rocks of being ignored, of being forgotten. But instead, I was caught in the comforting arms of “I’ve missed you too,” and “I’ve been thinking about you, but wasn’t sure if it had been too long. Thank you for taking the initiative to call.”
Nothing good ever came out of everyone being afraid, of everyone hiding from possible rejection. Someone has to take the chance, to make the move. Why not let it be you? If it means enough to keep you up at night, it means enough to make the call. Worst case scenario: you don’t hear back or get the response you wanted. But maybe you’ll get some closure, or at least a good night’s sleep knowing you didn’t just let it slip by.
As for me and that third person… I still haven’t taken the chance on calling them. Maybe soon.