I don’t know if it’s possible to make mistakes in the course of a breakup - or, if I’m being honest, in life in general. In fact, the worst mistakes I’ve ever made with men occurred while I was still with them - acts of selfishness and cruelty, a cutting remark at the edge of the bed, a blatant lie. My breakup is a story riddled with mistakes, most of them I made while I was still a boyfriend. Therefore, I think the only way to write about breakups and to offer advice is to tell one’s own story, completely personal and applicable only to oneself, and see if anyone else gets something out of it. No two breakups happen the same way, and mistakes you make in one might not be mistakes in another. These always seem reductive to me because I do not believe such a personal thing can be reduced to a set of rules that inevitably reflect someone else’s bias, some other writer’s experience. Many list “what to do” or “what not to do” with cute illustrations and infographics. There are dozens of articles on the Internet that tell you how to handle a breakup. It was one quality about him that I loved - one of many. He probably would not admit this to anyone, least of all himself, but he fostered a kind of joy for the world that I admired, and am now trying to learn for myself. He commented on hot guys and loved video games and got excited about people he thought were interesting and genuine. It’s a form of self-aggrandizement that makes me the main character in my inner narrative - and makes dating a storyteller a terrible idea. I’m a writer, so everything becomes a reflection of myself. He allowed the world to be what it was without any absurd and heavy projection. Where I see cynicism and dark portents, he would see kids in matching bathing suits playing in the surf and hot daddies walking down the beach. My ex was always more perceptive than me, more street smart.

I miss having a second set of eyes on the world and a different set of thoughts to compare mine to. I feel it in my body, a lead weight I’m carrying around, and it’s him. I do not say “morose” or “shattered,” but here on the edge of the Atlantic, these words seem closer to real life. Spring Break tweenagers and straight couples pass by. I keep wandering away from them to walk on the beach alone. I am pierced up - septum and nostril piercings adorn my nose - and I have been fake-tanning a bit more than usual.Īs I write this, I am on vacation in Florida with my family. I refuse to say “heartbroken” because the word sounds mawkish. I added an extra gym day to the week and added another set to every workout. Since the breakup, I have been going to the gym almost every day. I want to focus on my body and protect my heart - with muscle. I want to lumber through my house, brush my teeth, and forget about parking tickets and people.

Gratitude by Oliver Sacks