Iteration 1.4

Some days I feel the weight of living several lifetimes inside of one, and today is one of those days. If we consider childhood its own lifetime—and I do—an argument could be made for several, really; but one will suffice, and that was Iteration 1. Then there was you, Iteration 1.1, and there was symmetry on every level. I died with you on January 6, 2004—only no one told my body.

When I sobered up on February 16, 2018, I had a bit of a breakdown while walking out of a jail, broken and barefoot on a cold winter night. It wasn’t the cold; it wasn’t the pain of detoxing from the alcohol and opioids; it wasn’t the fact that I was looking at real prison time; and it wasn’t for any reason any sane person would ever struggle with. I broke down because, for the first time since that cold January morning in Englewood, I realized it wasn’t 2004.

I lived that moment over and over for fourteen years in my head and never told anyone. I would frequently forget where I was because, in my mind, I was always in Colorado, no matter where I was or what was going on. I had a break because I had lost fourteen years, and it all hit me at once. I had remarried, started and closed a business, taken over a large division of a Fortune 300 company, had two wonderful kids, divorced, and fallen far, far from the grace I had once known. And I did it all while still tangled up in you—I missed the whole ride.

I didn’t know how to let you go. It turns out that letting you go was never required; you’ll always be a part of me, even in Iteration 1.4.

When I was in rehab for the fourth time, I met a man I was willing to talk to. I told him the whole story. I had not been honest with or spoken to anyone in fourteen years, and that was the beginning of my freedom.

Rumi said, “The beauty you see in me is a reflection of you,” and I see your reflection everywhere. I no longer believe that we ever die; we’re just transformed. I have a beautiful life today, and there is nothing incompatible about happiness and sorrow. I can love deeply because I have loved and been loved deeply, and lost, and I’m still here. Knowing that life carries on has removed some of my fears. I know it does because I still see you in the crowds; I see you everywhere.