“Patterns can be analyzed, but ask to be felt.”
This is a lesson from a lived experience, not a universal prescription.
When life happens.
The last time I reached out to her, it was her birthday.
When the reminder graced my screen, I remember a smile taking shape.
For someone who never forgets a face, a moment, or a story, I have always been quick to plead the Fifth when questioned on all things birth.
So to have carved out space for that reminder was my intention in action.
After thanking me for the birthday message, she wrote back letting me know she would call.
But that call never made the trip.
And I figured,
with her adjusting to a new place and season,
how could she possibly remember her own intention?
And so my old, reliable adage of “life happens” was quick to swoop in and soothe away that twinge of neglect.
Fast forward to when I was nearing the final scribbled page of my navy, gold-embossed journal she had gifted me.
I found myself left with gratitude,
This time,
with thanks.
A happy surprise it was,
soon followed by a message letting me know she would call.
But that call never made the trip.
And so this time,
I didn’t just let the old adage have its way.
I allowed for both to be true:
Life happens, and the neglect was felt.
The friendship had reached its season’s end,
and there was no need for me to prolong what could not sustain it.
And so,
like the falling leaves of autumn,
I released her.
The patterns that release us.
From thick, braided yarn that interlocks in rhythm along a crochet sweater
to the birth of new wood that forms layered rings around an aged oak tree,
patterns can be found all around us.
They move with repetition,
revealing what may come next.
They live not just in the man-made and the natural,
but also within us.
They are the very threads that bind
emotions to thoughts,
thoughts to behaviors.
And behaviors,
with enough repetition over time,
can become fully formed habits.
With minds that naturally seek out protection and certitude,
one would assume that patterns would be a gift received with open arms.
For the parts of us that are self-aware, this gift can be most welcome.
And for the parts of us that are still finding their way,
it can often be missed, resisted,
or reasoned.
Patterns still thrive even when there is no one there to witness,
but would rather have an audience
to call them out.
Relationships with others,
be they decades old
or just entering a honeymoon phase,
offer something unique that a relationship with self cannot:
Opportunities for exchange.
Opportunities through another person to reveal more of ourselves,
regardless of who is the recipient of those revelations.
From these exchanges,
emotions are expressed,
words are spoken,
and intentions are made.
They become the promises and impressions that our minds can either
observe without judgment
or project with interpretation.
Interpretation where
emotions become potent,
words carry depth,
and intentions bear potential.
And if ever behaviors fail to live up to that potential,
we may find ourselves in a tug-of-war where honest emotions that start to rise never quite make it to the surface.
They are quick to be pushed back into darkness by the rationalization of our own thoughts and wounds.
Instead of accepting reality,
we continue to build more convincing narratives about who we believe the other person to be rather than
who they have consistently shown themselves to be.
We search for cracks in the foundation
only to reinforce it.
Often it isn’t a fear of reality
but a fear that the interpretation we built around the person
was wrong all along.
That the desire for the relationship we hoped to have
could only exist in possibility.
And if we were wrong all along,
can we be trusted?
There is a certain kind of grief that awaits with that knowing.
Which is why the journey to that acceptance is so often delayed.
And so the question becomes clear:
What if we allowed ourselves the possibility of grief?
Not that we hope for or expect it.
But that we are better prepared for whatever weather lies on the horizon without running from it.
That we can step into relational experiences and patterns,
ready to face any breeze, gust, or storm.
Instead of keeping ourselves bound to analysis,
we can reach for the keys
that never left the back pocket.
We can finally release ourselves from responsibility for others’ patterns
and freely surrender to the honest feelings that result from them.
Once we do, the questions we start to ask
no longer tie our worth to the patterns.
They center us.
From there, we can start to ask if we feel safe:
Do we feel elevated
or shrunken?
Do we feel at ease
or unsettled?
Do our thoughts leave us with a smile
or with lines of constant worry?
Do we feel considered
or neglected?
Are we more of ourselves
or less?
Patterns reveal a truth that interpretation alone cannot reach.
They do not exist to indict or pass judgment on our complexity or history.
They are simply information.
Information that is best channeled through
the weight of our breaths,
the shape of our expressions,
and the rhythm of our heartbeat.
They do not ask to be explained away,
only felt.
All that remains
is to trust in that feeling,
regardless of hope, possibility,
or the weather.
