I Wonder If You Think of Me.
I spent my Friday evening with a dear friend at Denver’s Christkindlemart. We discussed music from growing up, sacred spaces we’ve found along the way, feeling proximity to God through nature — and so much more.
I shared a story with him about my time spent in California. It was in the summer of 2017, and it was (what I thought would be) the pinnacle of my life. I had just gone viral, I had a great job at a great company, I lived in one of the coolest places ever, and I had virtually zero responsibilities. Life was good. Yet, every single day I felt a crushing lonliness that I didn’t know how to express or cope with. Surrounded by friends, I was isolated. I sought to fill this isolation with adventures, with dating, with hikes, with drives, with anything that could temporarily numb the gaping hole I felt in my heart. In the summer of 2017, I was alone.
I shared a story with this friend about my dating life in California. How I met a couple women (yes, a couple) from my dating resume. How I was talking to a few (yes, a few) back home. And how I inevitably fell on my face when none of those relationships worked out (surprise, surprise). I talked to him about how I faced loneliness without being able to call it out. How I drove down Highway-1 in the start of July and listened to Bixby Canyon Bridge as I came upon the Bixby Canyon Bridge. Recollecting some of these memories still elicited pain — read: cringiness — in my heart. But some of these memories I met with jubilation and cheer.
I shared a story with him about one girl (Err… Hannah we’ll say) who I wanted to date but was too emotionally immature (and immature in most other ways you can think of) for my own good. How it never worked out. How I never ended up meeting her. And how our relationship never materialized, as my ego was precipitous enough for the both of us. And I talked to him about the funny reality of the situation — in how I still think of that potential relationship with rose colored glasses… Not because I miss the person I never met, but because of the impact my younger heart felt because of this. And, for a moment, I thought it was funny that years later I’m still talking about this situation, about Hannah.
Ok, Joe, what’s the point here?
Had my relationship with Hannah catalyzed in 2021, my now 26-year-old self would have handled this different every single step along the way. But, alas, I was 21 when it happened and handled the situation as a 21 year-old might. But… Since the situation unraveled when I was a young man with a young, vulnerable, insecure heart — I still feel the pain of that young heart now.
Am I more emotionally mature now than I was in 2017? Thank God, yes.
Do I still feel weird pain (self-inflicted, that is) from that summer? Yes.
Does it make sense to hold onto irrational hurt years later? No way.
But I’m human, and for whatever that’s worth, it means that pain I experienced when I was an insecure, wavering 21-year-old is magnified years later by refusing to process the situation at that age.
I was praying, writing over the weekend about how — right now — I’m looking at my faults and failures head-on in my last relationship. And it sucks, and it’s hard to see how I refused in the moment to accept blame. And it’s especially hard to swallow as I now understand that I was the issue in all facets known to man. But this in of itself, this self-reflection and this accepting of blame, is a sign that the Flower of Joey is blossoming. A few years late, albeit, but it is blossoming. And that’s a step in the right direction.
I thank God, literally, for giving me my immature self at 21 who made horrible, hurtful decisions. And I thank God for the same me at 26 who made less horrible, equally hurtful decisions. But I’m especially grateful that I can look back at these to versions of myself and finally say ‘i was wrong’ and ‘how can i learn from this?’ because self-awareness is the water that will continue growing me.
And so a casual Friday night turned into a lesson in growth. It served as a reminder that I have old wounds that have yet to be addressed in-depth. It served as a reminder that my biggest obstacle (myself) can also be my biggest asset. It served as a reminder that I’m not perfect, but that I wasn’t made to be. It served as a reminder that I am growing in the right direction.
And I needed this reminder.
