I’m a runner. For sport … and when things get emotionally messy. Fleeing the scene of arguments, wounded feelings, uncomfortable situations, and broken friendships is my default response. And, if intoxicated to the appropriate degree, during my late 20’s and early 30’s, I had a tendency to literally leave the bar (unannounced) and run. Home was about a mile and a half away and through some rather unsavory areas. Mini dress, platform sandals, and long hair flowing behind me, off I’d go, through the ghetto and to my front door, where I’d pass out soon thereafter. It was stupid and I’m lucky none of the catcalling it elicited ever resulted in more, but I probably looked maniacal enough not to mess with, sprinting around at 2 am in heels.

Why run home? I don’t know. But it sure made people uncomfortable…. so maybe that’s why.

We’ll leave that tidbit of background nonsense for later. I’m weaving a tale here, and it’s going to be kinda messy but hopefully worth it.

So, the bar I often ran from had this bouncer, Lou. He was everything you’d expect a bouncer to be. My best guess is that he clocked in at about 350 lbs. He wore a dated black leather coat that was too long to be cool but long enough to be adequately menacing. If he wasn’t smiling, he managed to look intimidating in all the ways the bar needed him to. He checked ID’s and broke up brawls, bouncer stuff. Of course, everyone knew him. He was Lou.

I don’t know exactly how or when my friendship with Lou was born, but I’m sure my lil drunk face had been around enough to become familiar. This place was akin to my Cheers and I’d been frequenting it for a decade, and pretty consistently post-marriage dissolution, because that’s often how one handles something like that. Anyway, sometime between sprinting and buzzed, towards night’s end, I’d make my way over to Lou. His face would light up with a smile and he’d wrap his arms around me and there I’d stay until last call. I’m tempted to say he liked me and that I wasn’t just another drunk nuisance of a girl, but maybe that was part of the job description and Lou was, if nothing else, a professional.

I’d bury my face in his chest, blocking out that supernatural ability to hear every conversation in the bar with clarity that shows up only when you’re sufficiently wasted. Never once did Lou hit on me, say something inappropriate, or touch me where he shouldn’t. He just held me and listened to my drunken ramblings. Lou’s sanctuary temporarily absolved me of my humanness, my trespasses. I was weightless in his security. Those were rare occasions of vulnerability for me. I felt safe on every level, and maybe in that time of emotional unrest, I needed to get lost in those offerings.

Everybody wears drunk differently. My drunk is the closest I’ll ever come to being enlightened. I can drop my immense fears and insecurities and finally see the beauty in everyone. I feel interconnected and unconditionally in love with humanity. It’s very raw and vulnerable. For Lou to grant me safety during those moments was a gift. These kinds of relationships, with no expectations, don’t come along often. Losing yourself in the safety of a man you can trust, who has no end game, that’s a unicorn folks.

Somewhere in the midst of my rebound drinking, I met my second husband. He quickly became acutely aware of my flight risk. Containing me was a challenge, on every level. But sometimes you just know and no amount of suffering or naysaying from headstrong girls will stand in your way.

While, unlike Lou the bouncer, romance was on Sean’s docket, over the years I’ve come to see him for what he is- my real life, all day, e’ry day unicorn. And I recognize that saying the word unicorn twice is borderline gross, but that’s how rare our connection feels to me. No one's love for me has ever been so unconditional. Of course, I piss him off left and right, because I’m opinionated, fervently impulsive, and terribly mouthy, but there has never been a time that I’ve felt so consistently safe. Not just safe like I know he isn’t leaving, because the world is full of miserable married people but safe as in I know that I can be me, I can grow, I can stagnate, I can cry or yell or act a fool, and his love won’t flinch. My entire life can be buried in his leather jacket. I can lose fears that I’ve clung to for years just because I know that he is my rock, an immovable boulder.

As made clear in the beginning, I’m no Sean. I’m a runner. My level of trust in others, my faith that I won’t be hurt, is fragile at best. There’s nothing unconditional about me and I’m certainly not claiming any innate, boulder-esque qualities. I’m ready to jet at all times, just in case. I seek out change simply to create discomfort, which seems to be (healthy or not) how I’m most comfortable. My poor, immovable husband is on the ride of his life. And still, he loves me. Because he just knows. He knows enough for both of us. He knows I am not capable of ever knowing anything like that, and I love him so much for it. Those fleeting moments of drunken security wrapped up in the arms of Lou comprise the entirety of my life with Sean. Slowly but surely, my flight risk has dissipated. I’m learning firsthand the grace of staying put in this one thing, the freedom that solidity grants, contradictory as it may sound. It’s the only thing I don’t want to change and so many walls had to crumble for me to accept that. Only in the presence of his steadfast love could I allow them to.

As for Lou, one night at the bar, I took off. My mom and sister were out with me, which was atypical, but it meant that running home wasn’t going to go unnoticed. Still, I tried. Too many Jack and waters. They yelled, “Get her!” Caught off guard because he was unaware of my predilection for sprinting, a very large Lou went chasing after me. I imagine it comes as no surprise that I was lighter underfoot than him, and as he crossed the busy street in hot pursuit, Lou fell. I looked back from a distance and stopped. I’d hurt a person who only ever gave me comfort. My mom and sister pulled up in the car and firmly said, “Get your ass in right now.” Defeated, I obliged. With childlike shame, I watched Lou rise from the road as we pulled away, and something changed in me. I never saw him again and I never ran home again. Little did I know this was the beginning of a shift for me, that it would be the first of many times I’d fight the urge to flee.

Soon thereafter, Sean and I would find out that we were unexpectedly expecting Sage and my slow, emotional unraveling would begin in the presence of his unconditional acceptance. The winding path of my fears and contradictions would lead in and around him, but always with him at center, as my True North, a safe haven to land upon, where love really does conquer all.

Thank you, Sean, for never flinching and always believing. I could never have found me without first finding you.

-Angi

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