The Summer of Yes

by Courtney Walsh

He hates small talk. The night we met, he told me he saw no point in conversation if it didn’t say something real. I’m pretty sure I told him every single one of my hopes and dreams that night, and I think he did the same.

“I see you still don’t like feelings.”

As we sit, I begin to see the polite conversation for what it is. Years of hurt pushed to the side. Hayden says he’s not angry, and maybe he’s not—maybe he has forgiven Georgina—but the fractured past is like a fifth person at this table.

It’s like she can’t break out of her habits. How can I take a sledgehammer and crack that exterior?

Safe relationships have been my routine. Work and worry have always trumped wonder and wanting.

Am I willing to take the risks required to go after the things I really want? Am I really strong enough to silence the fear that’s been my ever-present companion for all of my adult life?

I stand quietly, still clinging to the idea that my brand of love never would’ve been enough for them. I didn’t try hard enough to be the wife and mother they needed. I failed.

I was so blinded by my own ambition I failed to see what really mattered until now. Life can’t be lived in reverse. And now it’s too late.

It’s fast. Almost too fast. But for once, maybe it’s okay to let myself get swept up in emotion. Especially after keeping it inside for so many years.

I want to close the distance between us. I want to step right into his arms and let myself be held. To let myself be loved. I want to tell him the truth—that I miss him. And that I don’t want to die. But there is something within me that won’t let it be said. And I know exactly what it is. It’s shame. I’m ashamed of what I did, the decisions I made, the hurt I caused. Opening up and talking about it feels like cutting myself open. I simply can’t force myself to do it.

He used to do this before too—this nonchalant attitude when I’m angry. It feels condescending.

Where you live determines how you live. How do I want to live?

The words enter my mind without my permission, and I’m helpless to remove them. Reality is no match for my imagination.

“What were you afraid of?” I ask. He shrugs. “Change, I guess. Not being all she needs me to be. Not being able to provide. All the things

guys think about before proposing.”

He really is a morning and evening person. An all-day-long person. I didn’t know those existed.

“The world is going to tell you all kinds of things about yourself. You’re not good enough or smart enough or strong enough or thin enough or rich enough or talented enough. They’ll come up with a million reasons you can’t do the thing you want to do. The thing you were born to do.”

Sometimes a yes has to start with a no. No, I’m not okay with this. No, I don’t want to spend my life doing this. No, I don’t agree with this.

No is my new yes. The Summer of No. Or maybe the Summer of No More.

“Hope is never a bad thing.”

Old Kelsey would think of every possible outcome, and they’d all start with “What if?” Old Kelsey would try to plan for the worst-case scenario, then expect it to happen. New Kelsey, though? She hopes now. I choose hope.

Her belief in me has given me wings.

Don’t wait to love the people you love. We aren’t guaranteed a second chance—we’re only lucky enough to seize one when it comes.”

I’ve dared to hope for the things I want, rejecting the worst-case scenario—that dreaded voice of doom that accompanies every exciting thing.

It’s not only that I’ve let myself be loved. I’ve also let myself love. And that’s no small thing.

“The other thing I’ve learned, and I want you all to listen closely,” she continues, “is that life . . . is good. And wonderful. And horrible, and beautiful, and messy, and everything all at once. And that is the beauty of it. It’s overwhelming, but it’s never boring. And it should be lived to the fullest. “And no, that doesn’t mean the biggest car or the best condo. It doesn’t mean a house in the Hamptons or a promotion at work. It means filling your life with the people you love, doing the things that make you feel the most alive.”

I think about how I’ve hidden myself away to avoid the emotional roller coaster of a messy life for so many years thinking it would keep me safe. It didn’t keep me safe . . . it only kept me lonely. Yes, it’s risky to feel things. And it’s risky to hope for good. And it’s hard to say yes to the unknown. And it doesn’t always result in wonderful memories. But that’s what it means to be alive.

this woman, who, I’m learning, is a little like a two-sided sponge. People are accustomed to her abrasive side, but when you flip her over, there’s a soft, squishy side just waiting for you.

Somewhere along the way, I discovered that I’ve been living my life afraid. Every single decision I made was run through the filter of fear. Fear that paralyzed me. Because “what if something bad happens?” But one day, I woke up and realized that bad things can happen whether you’re sitting in your living room or out exploring the world. And I didn’t want to miss the things that life had for me anymore. I didn’t want to keep saying no every time something came up and threatened my well-laid plans.

I am learning along the way. That the good stuff of life is outside the four walls of my house. That being with people, even ones I don’t know, often makes me feel happier. That we’re all on this journey together, most of us feeling awkward at the same time, and it’s okay to admit it out loud.