I have been wavering the last 20 minutes over whether this post should be totally laconic or lengthy and rant-like. As with anything in life, I’ll go the best route known as moderation. (I’m the queen of do as I say not as I do, btw).
So…on this day 13 years ago I was married. For the second time. Not a great resume for someone who, for all intents and purposes, is “normal.” Some may even go so far as to say I am, by worldly standards, “accomplished.” Whatever. On this day, I feel anything but.
There is some good news however, just as there always is once you catch the light at the end of that godforsaken tunnel. As I reflect and consider what the $!@! just happened with the last 14 years of my life – I find myself contented. Blissful actually. For what once was a state of walking through motions – a state of not feeling anything other than robotic, dissatisfied, unloved and misunderstood – is now a complete state of relief.
Did I ever truly think I’d find myself saying these things, much less believing them? No. Not a chance. I was utterly miserable as I went through each and every stage of grief, just as those pesky and scholarly counselors promise you will during times of tumult. Those “Top Five Life Stress Events” have books published about them, seminars you can attend about them while sitting next to depressing strangers, and I’m sure coffee mugs and other catchy souvenirs describing how you ultimately survived them.
Now that I am on the other side, drinking coffee out of my favorite un-sloganed trough and am able to reflect, I find that what has been the most cathartic for me is quite simple. The realization that I went down swinging, as I tend to do, and will no longer be impetuous in any future relationships (should there be any…that’s another post entirely) has been a welcoming eye-opener and crucial lesson learned.
Could my alternative answer have been that it was any of the following: we never had anything in common, he didn’t make me laugh, was jealous of aforementioned worldly accomplishments, never planned anything, discussed anything or could follow when I did, was anti-social, mean-spirited, selfish, and literally made me feel as if I had nothing to offer to the sinking business we were pretending to run? Of course. And that short list would all be true.
Instead, I choose to be me. A me that, while forever scarred, will heal and be better for it. I choose to leave the baggage in storage. I choose to laugh. I choose to move and dance and sing. I choose to spend time with a fleet of friends or perhaps just one very special one someday that makes the bumpy road to date all worthwhile. One thing is for certain on the journey yet to come: there’s no looking back.
Happy Anniversary to me.
