It felt like Mr. Weird Science was holding my hand every step of the way; right up until my one-way flight to Turks & Caicos where I'd become the Pilates/Fitness Instructor on a private resort island. For months, he patiently listened to all the stories I concocted about how moving to a remote Caribbean island with a population of three hundred would be an abysmal experience fraught with boredom and loneliness. How I'd be stuck in a creative vacuum with limited inspiration or means of self-expression. How I'd miss dance tremendously! And how foolish it would be to walk away from my private massage practice only to be faced with rebuilding my business (and life!) again in two years. And while he recognized the validity of my fears (because it would be a gigantic life change with inherent risk and loss), he also painted the picture of "possibility". He helped me to become more expansive in my thinking and focus on the creative ways I could take advantage of this brand new lifestyle and slow, island pace. He reminded me of the privilege of simplicity plus the invaluable time and space I'd have for introspection, clarity, creativity, and the focused energy necessary to continue developing my entrepreneurial vision; all without the distractions and financial pressures of the city. Speaking of which, the opportunity to eradicate debt. Of course, these were the very things that lured me to accept the position in the first place. Inside I knew it was a fantastic, once in a lifetime opportunity. But fear of change, fear of the unknown and fear of loneliness clouded "possibility" with unsettling doubt. Not to mention, fear of trusting my own intuition. Sadly, this was still my biggest obstacle since my divorce.
But besides soothing my frayed and tattered nerves, Mr. Weird Science was also there to do the heavy lifting when I needed man power to move the big stuff out of my apartment. And when I simply needed to be held in silence, he wrapped his arms around me too. It felt like the closer we got to my departure, the closer we became. As if the anticipation of absence made our hearts grow fonder. "There's gonna be a real void in my life when you leave", he admitted. I felt the same way.
My last two nights in the city were spent at his place where I marinated in his 6'4" frame of yumminess; completely present, inhaling him, memorizing how every single part of him felt and tasted until the morning he drove me to the airport. There, we stood outside of American Airlines departures where we hugged and kissed goodbye -- for the next two years. But it wasn't one of those long, romantic goodbyes like the movies. In fact, it felt a little distant. As if our souls had conspired in advance to emotionally detach themselves from one another -- as a protective mechanism. Because detachment would be easier than being present in the reality of goodbye.
It felt like the end of an era. We'd danced this dance of "friends with benefits" for two years and this was quite possibly the end of our song. Who knew what would happen next? He could fall in love. I could fall in love. Or, maybe we'd stay in touch for awhile until he slowly fades into memory as my first attempt at emotional vulnerability since divorce. And my first foray into physical intimacy since my ex-husband. Maybe he was my "lesson". Maybe he was "the one that got away".