Between 37 and 39

This one is a letter to vitahaecmimusest. Feel free to skip over if you're not him. 

Hey Sir.

In 2015, I visited Edinburgh for the Fringe Festival. Kind of. I just wanted to visit the UK. This was a wonderful experience, but I can't really write about it coherently. Here are some fragments:

- Before I left I left your lighter in a hollow tree by the triplex I was renting in Government Hill. Truly it was the most beautiful place I have ever lived. And the site of some very sad feelings, but the view of the city and the walks I used to take while on the phone with my family - and sleeping in a loft - I miss those things. The tree was ancient and seemed to know what it was doing. You'd just gotten married, I think, and I was extra sad (and angry) because less than a year before (I think? The timelines get blurry.) you'd written me exactly twice to tell me you weren't going to abandon me again. There was the feeling that maybe your wife didn't want you to write to me anymore? Fair. There was the feeling that you'd not only abandoned me again, but I wasn't worth the conversation I assume would have happened:

    - "Hey ma'am, I thought I could be your friend again, but I can't. There's just a lot to process here and a) you're toxic and just too much; I feel bad for abandoning you again but feel worse having you in my life, so - later days! b) after everything that's happened I just don't think we can be friends again; I don't know how to do it anymore and there's no point in trying c) something else." 

    - In any case I thought I wanted to cut a piece of my heart out and bury it in this tree. The tree would know what to do with it. It must still be there. Maybe someday I'll drive up there and try to recover it, because I still miss you. Lighter or no lighter. Scrabble around in Government Hill like the crazy lady I am and stick it on an altar I may someday make. Christ.

- I met my current husband shortly before I went to Scotland. He wasn't a fan then and isn't a fan now of changes like that. But, in short, in my lived experience - people die all the time, leave all the time, and if we are alive all we are is lucky. So take the damn trip to Scotland. Even if it's uncomfortable and scary.

- Right around that time one of my cousin's eldest daughter went missing. She went on a roadtrip with her then-boyfriend and he killed her and committed suicide. It drove my cousin to the very limits of grief. I think about them both an awful lot. Especially because I have a daughter now.

- On the trip I discovered that I have a very hard time with traveling and feeling okay. Almost the entire time was consumed with the thrum of anxiety, (the usual) financial worry, and physical pain (don't get an IUD inserted right before you travel someplace where walking will be your primary mode of transport up and down hills). I felt confused about who I was and why I was there.

- Why the fuck did I go to Edinburgh during fringe if I hate crowds? The first week I had no traveling companion, and that was scary. Pre-murder podcasts being popular but I feel like if you know - you know. 28 year old basically white American woman traveling solo will...most likely be fine. But also, I got a lot of looks on the street sometimes, and other times a lot of "Why are you talking?" vibes. 

- There was sleeping - which was glorious. 

- Art museums (majestic, of course), the green, walking cobblestone alleys, burlesque shows and dance shows, cricket from afar, tapas, (probably not) meeting Banksy, and rides through the countryside looking for hair coos. 

- Scottish Mexican food is all right, in case you were wondering.

- And the first substantial red flag of my future marriage popped up. 

- So, what's my point? 

- I might not have one. I feel like I'm just pulling on threads of memory. Oh, right!

- That experience didn't wash me clean in the way I wanted it to. I wasn't a new person. My shortcomings and needs were...the same. Just thrown into relief on a highland backdrop. My loves and losses the same. My mom the same. My incompetencies.

- Maybe also: life is short. And I still miss you.