I thought I'd be friends with that guy for the rest of my life. And I was happy about it.
We would take his dog Boomer to the beach and end up talking and talking while Boomer chased the ball.
We would carve on our Trikkes together and he would wait for me. His fitness level increased so that it was too slow for him to hang back with me. He was like that, sort of ahead of me in everything.
When we started the Trikke magazine it was his vision that glued the details together, although the mag was my idea. It was his writing skills that made it a success, his designs, his content, his photos, his experience as a high school newspaper editor.
There isn't much room for teamwork with a perfectionist as they are the only ones who can do it right. And so things fell apart.
I wasn't the writer he thought, from reading this blog. Articles I turned in were always a "good first draft." My photos were never clear enough, my designs were not hip. I was negative, dark, too self deprecating. I didn't work hard enough, long enough.
When I excelled in marketing he pulled me from the project, saying my focus should be with the mag. I stalled.
After about a year of scrutiny under a very watchful eye and sharp tongue, I broke. I left the magazine, I left a future and I left my best friend. I did it for me.
Of course it doesn't feel good. I know it should. Maybe on my deathbed I'll feel victorious. Right now I feel like a huge loser. Where is the victory in that?
How long before I can forget and move on? How long before I can say good-bye for good?
How long does good-bye take?
