The Other Side of Now

by Paige Harbison

An Angelino without a therapist is like a Taylor Swift song without a story. It simply does not exist.

it’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me.

Because it was too hard to see my world for its good when its bad was so much louder and more distracting.

The answer to how is unsatisfying. The truth is … we live. We can’t spend every moment treasuring the things we love. We still get mad at the dog for tracking mud through the house even though one day, we would give anything to have her muddy paws back on our white carpet. We still roll our eyes at our parents’ needy voicemails even though one day, those recorded moments will be all we have left.

I know that no matter how much someone loves you and you love them, there’s no guarantee that they will always be there. And I guess the version of me who didn’t lose her best friend in a horrible car wreck hasn’t learned that lesson. Takes relationships like these for granted. Whereas in real life, I just don’t build them at all.

What if all our souls know things? What if that’s what instinct is? What if that really is the explanation for gut feelings, intuition, déjà vu, kismet, and everything else? What if it’s our souls, remembering or knowing the truths of all our other lives?

But that’s what grief is, isn’t it? Expectation and resolution slashed, leaving unfinished conversations behind.

And then, eventually, like the ocean eventually does after even the worst tsunami, my waves begin to calm. From tidal swells to soft ripples against the shore.

What I need is to be around people I care about. To let people love me. To have small moments, knowing that they’re the biggest ones, and not ignore them because I’m too busy looking way off in the distance, either future or past, for some imagined thing.

I don’t try to protect the memory of tonight from tragedy by pretending it isn’t lovely, and I don’t cherish it so hard that I smother out its spark. I don’t question the magic or panic that what I love is slipping through my fingers, or that every good thing will one day be cast pale against the darkness of future catastrophe. Instead, I have a good night. I get kissed in the snow. I eat chocolate in bed. I make plans for tomorrow.