As I write this, fall has momentarily breezed into the Big Easy giving us a brief taste of what's to come in the next few months.  The humidity is low, the breezes cool and the sky is a clear, cobalt blue.  I turn off the a/c, open my windows and once again spend an evening on my front porch, hoping to catch sight of the flock of wild parrots in my neighborhood.  These days, sprinkled between oppressive heat and the brief cold of a Louisiana winter, are my best days, when my love for New Orleans is strong and true.

But we all know that these are the dog days of summer, that there will be more hot days ahead, and that the perfect weather, like even the truest love, can't always hold.  In love, I sometimes miss the enjoyment of the moment in my anxious, headlong rush for the stability of attachment.  Maybe I should view love as I do the weather - enjoy what I have, while I have it, accepting that another front is always on the horizon?

The reality of a break-up, however, is usually a lot messier than simply "letting go and moving on".  I've suffered some break-ups that were brutal and cruel - tears, public humiliation, cyber-stalking, old-fashioned stalking, drunk-dialing, drunk-emailing, just drunk.  Bad scenes, every one.  I've heard of "amicable" break-ups, of remaining friends, but I never seen it and, frankly, I don't think it actually exists.  Because one person always loves more, is willing to try harder, swears they'll change, can't let go - no matter how stormy it gets.

During my worst break-up, from a man I loved for many years, I was shocked at how many of my friends, when they heard the news, told me I should just "move on."  Move on?  To what? As if what we had could so easily be put aside, my tie to him neatly severed, my emotions switched off.  I suppose they pictured me shaking off the emotional detritus of my ravaged relationship and beginning my new life, the one without him, clean, whole and unmarred by my past.  Or maybe they just didn't know what to say; quietly happy it wasn't happening to them.  Either way, there is only so much solace you can give to someone going through a break-up.  And, in the end, kind words, support and vodka can only do so much to dull the sharp edges.  What I've lived and learned is really just an affirmation of an old lesson – that it takes time.  And, while most people suggested moving on, finding someone new, forgetting about him entirely, someone offered this:  "take all the time you need to get over him."  That was the advice I clung to on dark nights when I couldn't remember or forecast a single sunny day; that it was okay to take time to work this out, to come to peace with it, to accept it and, finally, finally, to move on.  So, I pass along this advice to anyone going through a break-up: Take your time. You'll come out on the other side stronger and wiser, but it's okay to do it at your own pace.  Just… take your time. And then let go and move on.

I have my own pace for letting go of a love and it's often slower than I, and my very patient friends, would like.  But with the change in season has come a change of heart and I've realized it's time for me to let go of the sultry, sweet, salty heat of my summer (see Attachment).  I think I'm ready for fall.

Be well,

BE