That Time I Accidentally Told My (Ex) Boyfriend I Hated His Paradise

Original title: Can I show you what I see, sometimes?

Side note 5/2023 | I remember sitting down to write this and thinking it was going to be a sweet, romantic little sharing and then my writing let me see how I actually felt and it was…well… not that. Oof.

The more I realize how differently two people can experience the exact same moment, the more exhausting it feels trying to explain my perspective to people who think differently than I do.

But that’s something I’m trying to get better at… just putting things into words, and being able to have a conversation.

Let Me See If I Can Let You In…

I’m struggling with some conflicting feelings.

I want to show you a little “night on the town,” if you will, in Okaloosa Island, Florida (USA)… November 10th, 2020 as the COVID 19 pandemic continues to come crashing down on us. The election has just ended. Thanksgiving is just around the corner.

We’re here…

I’ve just moved from the Oregon coast, and I miss it more than I want to admit. (I haven’t admitted that to anyone yet, not even myself.) But I try not to think about that. Florida is… different. It’s warm, too sticky. I feel the air on my legs, smearing ocean mist into the fluffy car seat cover as I sit down. I try not to judge the frizzy, frazzled curls poking in my eyes and tangled in my sunglasses.

“I was made for windy ocean-side cliffs,” my mind begins, detesting this out-of-place awkward sense of self unfolding before we’ve even started the car.
”You were made for sunshine and bright things too,” I counter gently…

I giggle and untangle my hair from the sunglasses for the ten-millionth time, determined to enjoy this outing.

I toss the glasses aside; we both know I’m not going to use them anyway. They’re little more a hair accessory, a way to hold my stubborn curls out of my eyes until they’re finally long enough to tie back again.

Embarrassed at my vanity, I glance down.
Just breathe. Exhale. What’s really important right now?” I ask myself.

Hello world.

I look for lizards around us and, as he starts the car.

Snapped out of my thoughts, I look up to see he’s looking right at me, and my breath catches. Wow, I think. I see thrill, excitement, a tinge of worry… and then relief when I smile back.

The drive is better, the warm, heavy air isn’t so bad when we’re moving.
I’m grateful for the top down on the car. I hate being in the car in Florida, but I love that I get to do it this way.

It’s not sunset yet, and I feel far away.

I keep getting stuck in my shell and I can’t seem to get out… but that’s made worse by the fact that when I have successfully gotten myself out, I hated what I saw and felt misunderstood and more alone than ever. “Maybe I’m just meant to stay in my shell,” I sigh to myself. But as we run our errands and check things off the list, the sun begins to sink and, slowly, I fall back into my body.

It’s a clumsy feeling, coming back to myself on the streets of Florida.

I couldn’t see when the sun was up - everything was so bright, so busy, so dry and blank and dull… I couldn’t grasp it and it didn’t reach out to touch my heart. Going out during the day here leaves a hollow ache in my gut no matter who I’m with. I don’t see art… I see superficial colors and artificial shells everywhere I look… and everyone else is moving so quickly, I can’t imagine they see much of anything at all.

I wonder how much of Florida’s beauty is manmade, and how much of it just looks too good to be true to a girl from Idaho who never knew this could exist.

After a month, it hasn’t grown on me, but it’s his favorite and we’re in a pandemic, so I try to open my mind.

Parts Of Me Are At War These Days…

One side of me is gentle, curious, and happy to tag along and absorb the experience. I’m always learning. I’m noticing the things that light these strangers up - like hot pink paint and neon lights on icecream shops and quirky antiques. And fishing, I add in slight disgust… “Be positive! Stop judging,” my mantra takes off on repeat.

But the other side of me knows what she wants, and she knows this isn’t it. There’s this push and pull because on the one hand, this is an experience. And on the other… being all me is an experience too. I miss my art, I miss my people, and these streets make my heart feel hollow.

I wish I could let go, but my mission in life holds me almost as tightly as I hold it.
I want to get back to what matters most to me, I detest these distractions and disappointing sights.

I’m judging myself for judging myself, and judging myself for judging the world around me, too. It has never been so difficult for me to open up my heart and let a new experience in before.

I’m afraid to wonder at what might have changed to make me so unmoving here and now. Is there something really wrong here, or have I lost some precious part of myself? Where is my loving core?

Finally, The Sun Sets.

My judgment softens as the fairy lights and stars come out.

I always wondered how bright the stars could be in Florida, I smile to myself. They’re better than I thought.

There’s a parking lot with three food trucks that we love. One serves Cuban coffee, and it’s become my heaven in this strange place. I’m more at home in that tiny Cuban espresso than in my bed right now.

Every time I look up, he’s looking around.
Wanting to go somewhere, hoping to meet people, I think.

He’s itching for something new, while I long for what’s left behind… or what is next…. anything that isn’t this hot, sticky, busy mess.

He lights up with an idea, and my heart sinks…

“I’ve only just found peace, please let me be in it fully for just a minute…” my heart whispers. I feel so tired.

But my stubborn head shuts that down, this isn’t all about me.
“What is it?” I ask him playfully, hoping my voice won’t catch. What’s the next idea? I beg myself to be open-minded… and feel a cold shrinking in my heart in response. Nope.

Will he notice my sparkle falling away as he shares his idea with me? I so wish I could just be excited about it, but we’re in a pandemic and money feels tight and I feel so out of place in my own body and nothing here speaks to me… How long can we do this, and when can I rest without pressure to get back into action? Will he ever fully rest with me?

The world is moving so fast. Busy streets, always going somewhere, always something to do.
Won’t someone just sit and be with me, with all their heart, without a care, without a plan?
And just let go?

The truth is that I feel so alone.

It’s exhausting, this swirl of feelings and newness. It’s not at all what I anticipated here in Florida. I don’t want to go back, but I can’t stay here. I’m sinking deeper into my creative work, looking for artists and storytellers who can explain this place to me, help me see it in a new light. There must be a way for me to learn to love it here.

I know that it will pass. I know I am being too hard on myself. I know that I would find joy and peace and freedom in this if I’d just stop analyzing and let myself be.

It’s not a bad experience, being here. It’s just different.

I don’t want to leave this like I’m miserable. The more I wrote, the more I saw how unhappy I am here. I didn’t realize quite how deep it was before I started writing the words. That’s something for me to keep exploring in my journals.

But I want to remember and notice the rest of the adventure too. Like how my company is fantastic, the views are beautiful, there’s swimming and the wonder of finding sea shells unlike any I ever encountered in Oregon… The beach is mostly empty, especially after sunset… And I can finally walk the beach at night, like I always wanted!

I’ve seen dolphins for the first time, and some really cool jellyfish too. There’s adventure around every corner, with little sand pipers and tiny lizards at every step. I love our beach place and the softer side of this experience.

I’m just not sure what to do with all the rest. And maybe that’s okay.

A Note To My Readers:

This doesn’t end here… But nobody seems to share these in-betweens, and I think that’s part of what makes them feel so scary and lonely. So, I’ll be the one to do it. I’ll show you the truth, and not just the white sandy beaches. Just remember, the next time you’re afraid to share that you are hurting… or lonely… or feeling misunderstood… Remember how hearing my story right here made you feel. Was it validating? Was it a relief to know you’re not the only one who thinks the way you’re thinking? Did you see things in yourself or others that you never noticed before as you read my story? When we share something difficult, this is what happens. It’s not a burden, it’s a gift. I hope you’ll pass it on.

Love,

Jessica