The truth about Petra

Petra has been a character in an on-going romantic drama in this blog, and many people have inquired if she’s real.

Some lines of dialogue I’ve written for myself and Petra actually occurred. In several posts, including the very first one, I describe being swept off my feet by her. This also happened to me. However, Petra is not real. She is based on someone else.

A bit more than a decade ago, a woman held a position lasting a few months at my jobsite. It didn’t take long for me to become especially attracted to her.

Though she seemed interested in me, I thought it could be just friendliness and politeness. One day I walked past her as she chatted with a work colleague. As we walked in opposite directions, I looked back at her. At the same moment, she did too. When our eyes met, I saw the same excitement and interest that I had for her. I knew the attraction was mutual.

We talked often and sat next to each other at lunch. But we did not talk about “us”. Away from work, I thought of her all the time, and I developed the greatest desire I’ve ever had in my life – to simply be at her side.

As the end of her stay neared, I broke our silence and told her how I felt. I made an arrangement to keep in contact despite it not quite being appropriate. This arrangement was discovered and reported to a supervisor. It caused turmoil and plenty of emotional pain for us both. A workplace barrier was put in place between us which threw a very wet blanket on my attempts to be with her.

After she finished her duties at my worksite, I spent several months trying to overcome the obstacles that kept us apart. Contacting her was not possible, and I was devastated not being in her company.

Though I not once touched her, I thought of her constantly. My mood alternated from pleasantness of imagining doing simple, everyday things with her, followed by a big sadness.

This may not be manly to admit, but my grief was so intense, I could not avoid breaking down in tears several times a day. Sometimes there were people around, and it was a chore to stifle it or find some privacy.

The months went by and I went on long walks lasting hours to alleviate my despondency. One afternoon as a bus came toward me, I got the idea to throw myself in its path.

I exalted this woman to such a degree that the term His Airness, which was used to describe Michael Jordan, I modified and thought of her as Her Wonderfulness.

One afternoon I was working in my backyard, and as I day-dreamed pleasantly about Her Wonderfulness, a gust of wind knocked down a storm window, shattering it on rocks. The analogy of a dream being shattered did not escape me. I was upset, but I refused to accept it.

A year and a half after our separation, a reception for a retiring co-worker was planned, and my discarnate mentor highlighted the possibility of Her Wonderfulness attending. I hoped that my long wait to reconnect might happen.

Her Wonderfulness did come, however, she was in the company of her new boyfriend. She and I did not talk.

A few months later, several co-workers and I attended a seminar, and my discarnate mentor hinted over and over that the boyfriend was a rebound relationship, and since Her Wonderfulness and I worked in the same field, she’d be there and we could talk.

She didn’t attend, and I was disappointed. At the lunch break, my work colleagues went to a nearby restaurant. I wasn’t feeling so social, so I spent my lunch sitting alone on a park bench.

As the seminar was about to resume, a co-worker, the only person I’d confided in about Her Wonderfulness, told me she’d been at the restaurant they went to. She came to their table to show off her engagement ring.

These disappointments are just a few of many involving this woman. I wasn’t often bitter or angry. Instead, after the sadness and grief of each disappointment passed, I regained hope that eventually we’d reconnect.

Around two years after the incident that initiated our separation, my daily crying began to ease, but it took more time to get completely over her.

My discarnate mentor informs me that my pursuit of her, and being thwarted over and over again, has been the most important part of the preparation for my future role, which I detailed in the post My Daily Stress.

The last I’ve heard, she is married and has children. So many years after it happened, the shattering storm window incident has held true.

Though I’m no longer despondent, grief-stricken or need to go on long, daily walks, on rare occasions, something will trigger the emotion that is attached to my experiences with her, and I will break down just as I used to do every day.

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