Eight days ago, my separated partner and I said goodbye—for now.

“It’s so hard to believe it is over,” I texted a friend last night in part, to keep myself from texting her. “Nearly two years together. And friends before. Gone. Just like that. So very, very, very strange.”

I just can’t seem to wrap my mind around it.

I wrote in a previous post (The Solidarity of Surrender) that my girlfriend and I separating, or considering such, as we each had our own journeys to take and weren’t sure we could take them while in partnership together. And after careful consideration, we separated romantically but stayed in connection. At first it was limited, but we both hung in there with kindness, care, and support—for six more months.

“It took us three months to break the relationship down, and three months to build it back,” I said to her, observing how our relationship had evolved over that period of time. The process went from excruciating (for me) to quite miraculous. Our love for each other even deepened, we both noted, and we became closer than ever before.

So what happened?

It turns out, contrary to what I have always believed, that there are some things people cannot work through together. Sometimes, no matter how much you want to, no matter how hard you try, there has to be a full stop for certain things to shift.

Even though some obstacles we saw before still persisted, what we’ve been through doesn’t feel like lost time. In fact I can’t help but wonder if, during these past six months, we were guided to build a home foundation to which we will someday return. One that is incredibly steadfast and strong; we just have to go furniture shopping on our own for a little bit.

Even so, I’m finding it all hard to process. I keep watching my mind go back and forth over and over again. It bounces between holding hope we will come back together, to trying to force myself to face the fact that it’s over and I have to let her, and any visions for the future, all go.

Today I realized both are varying degrees of control. Which is typical because my mind is convinced the uncertainty will kill me. (See previous post Uncomfortable in Uncertainty.) Needless to say my mind, statistically, has a terrible record. NOTHING has turned out the way I think it will. 52 years, and my “predictometer” has a ZERO percent accuracy rate. Yet amazingly, it still pushes out a good solid try.

But the alternative, of just being with all these feelings in the moment, feels supernatural.

Come to think of it, I always wanted a superpower. Of course I hadn’t intended (<—couldn’t have imagined) it would come like this.

“Your thoughts are the architects of your destiny.”
—David O. McKay