Sometimes I don’t know why I do it. Any of it. What difference does it really make?  Surely I can’t be along in thinking these thoughts. What do any of our actions mean in the long run?

Someone let me down this week. A friend let me down. Not a close friend or a great friend it turns out, but a friend nonetheless. Someone that I thought was closer than actually was, which added to the hurt.  It wasn’t the first time, and may not be the last. You say, “But Renee, if this has happened before, and more than once, shouldn’t you learn to expect to be disappointed?  Why does this hurt you if you saw it coming?”

Being the logical person that I am, I couldn’t figure out the answer for the life of me. It wasn’t until my bestie pointed it out and told me it’s because I see the best in people, that I view people as they are and as their potential goodness.  She’s so right;  I can’t help it and wouldn’t if I could. It was only just before that that I likened myself to a walking, exposed heart muscle without a protective rib cage. 

I had another conversation earlier this evening with someone who couldn’t get past the logic and to the emotion of why I would feel hurt even while still expecting a negative (in my eyes) outcome.  I couldn’t understand how he couldn’t understand why I was hurt, and his response was, “Well, I guess this conversation is over.”

My friend and I hopped in a cab (at my insistence being the one in heels) and headed home shortly thereafter. Because it’s NYC and New Yorkers don’t know how to drive in an inch of fresh snow, it took just as long as it would’ve taken us to hop on the subway to get home. The whole way home I kept thinking about me as this exposed heart muscle, and how yeah, that’s pretty much what I am. I am out there and strong and vibrant and beating and vulnerable as hell, but I am here. And yeah, I’m going to be hurt maybe more than other protected hearts, but I’m going to feel more of everything good too. I love deeply, I care deeply, so when I’m hurt, I hurt deeply. 

I tried to shield myself with the elements of snow and cold by taking a cab home, but in the end, I ended up at the same place, in the same amount of time. My heart will take me to the place I need to be and at the time I need to be there, and so the question becomes “how do I want to get there?”.  Which way would I rather choose?  Protected and untested, or vulnerable, weathered, strong and capable?  The hurt may be greater, but so will the reward – I will choose the latter every time.