In December, I was dating someone I really liked. The night we met, there was a ring around the moon. We gazed up at it, the water behind us, and it felt like that might mean something, something good. And it did. But not the way we thought it might.
Instead of marking the beginning of an us, that ring marked the beginning of a me. A me who can walk away for the right reasons, something I’d never done before. I would swallow what I wanted in order to not be alone. Or give him what he wanted and push aside what was best for me because I thought that’s what love meant. But the more you give yourself you, the less you can give up for another. So on New Year’s Day, I walked away. As I drove home, it didn’t necessarily feel good, but it felt right.
That ring around the moon did mark something special – but for me rather than for us. I want the us, but I won’t take the us without it being right for the me.
Walking away is scary, because you don’t know what lies beyond. So far, what I’ve found in the beyond has been better. But it doesn’t matter, really. Because whatever I get – whether it’s a me or it’s an us – will be exactly what I need.