One of my favorite parts of any trip, it would seem, are the moments just before bed. Whoever is still awake gathers wherever we are, the walls fall away, and beautiful honesty flows from us like sangria from an overturned pitcher. It happened in January 2008 in Disney World with my dad ... one of the most meaningful conversations we've ever had. It happened at the lake house last summer, when Ryan and I let go of secrets and trusted each other with reality. It happens every time Kelly and I (and whoever we might be with) curl up after a night out, when we debrief the night and put our own reflections in order. It happened in Jacksonville last month, around a Scrabble board or curled up on the sofa with J.J. and Chunk. And yes, it happens every time Racheal and I are together. Our shared wisdom and undeniable truth won't be held back. We let it go.
Two nights in a row, the friend of my heart and I sat, shared and cried (me, not her.) I always carry with me insight from our talks, and this time was no exception. We talked about experiences and past hurts and what the future might look like, and I expressed my belief that, because I still can't see past the pain of a broken marriage, I figured I'd get comfortable being alone for whatever time stretches between Now and Eternity.
That's fine with me, She said, as long as it makes you happy. But if it doesn't make you happy, don't close the door on it.
And the tears fell. It's such a tender subject, still such a fresh wound.
Eventually, we turned in for the night; Monday was an early morning, after all. We said our goodbyes and parted ways, each of us stronger for having spent time with the other. I boarded the plane and waited for the go-ahead to turn on the iPod. The first song up on my Tucson Playlist? Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers' "Leave an Open Door."
I can see a light all around your silhouette
Leave an open door behind you ...
I walked through the damn door, but I left it open, just in case someday, someone worthy chooses to walk through.