The Road

            The road lies before me, many different paths stretching off into the distance. It is not for me to choose my path, but to trust my feet to follow in the direction they must go. I need to prepare myself and be aware of the signs as they appear to direct me, but it is not my choice to make. I am a child of destiny. I am not my own. I am here for a purpose, but it is not for me to know that purpose yet. I must believe in the forces driving me to that purpose and continue to prepare for that eventuality.

            I am not to question the drive that propels me. I must follow where it guides and be open to its possibilities. There are many avenues it can lead me down, and I must have faith that it will lead me down the one that’s meant to be. There is a divinity in trusting beyond yourself. There is enlightenment to be had from taking cues from the bigger picture. I am unable to see the entire canvas myself, my perspective is too narrow. It is time to listen to the broader vision and allow that Fate can take me where I belong.

            This is why I don’t fit. This is why I can’t find comfort. I’m not where I belong, but am trying to make it so. It is not for me to decide. It is not my choice to make. It is up to me to open my ears and understand the whispers that linger just beyond my hearing. They will not steer me wrong, if I just trust and listen to their guidance. Allow my feet to follow on the path they set before me, and wander, not question, down the trail and through the brambles. There is a glen waiting, waiting for my spirit. There is a place of peace and comfort if I only dare to look and find it. It will show itself once I am ready to surrender to the powers that run through its heart. They are the same as the ones that run through mine, and that is how I will recognize them.

Worries

I haven't written anything in a while. It's not for lack of ideas or lack of time, but lack of motivation. I don't know why I don't feel like writing. Everything you hear about writers is that you should just write, no matter what. So, that's what I'm doing. I'm writing.

I have no idea where this is going. I only have about 15 minutes before I have to start my day. I'm excited for Thanksgiving coming up and starting to get overwhelmed by Christmas shopping. There are a few people I just can't come up with gift ideas for. Hopefully, I'll stumble across something that will be appropriate.

I haven't been teaching lately, and I miss it. It can be stressful going into a new school/classroom each time, but when I do it regularly, I get a rhythm and routine down. I still don't know if I'd be able to do it every day. That's what I wrestle with right now. I need to figure out my career goals, because right now I'm just going to a job. I feel like I've been coasting for a year now and I'm tired of it. I'm ready for some ambition and growth, but at the same time, I think I'm a little afraid of it.

It's time to be a grown-up, though, and get on my own. I'm not as broken as I was at this time last year, but, there's that fear again. My current salary is JUST enough to get us out on our own, but any little thing out of the norm would be a huge challenge. I know I should wait just a bit longer to adjust my income situation, but I feel like I've been waiting too long already.

It's freeing to not have to make decisions based on what anyone else wants, but it's scary when you don't have someone to run those ideas through. Sure, friends and family can offer advice, but they're not going through it with you-they will perpetually see the situation from the outside. Although, I don't miss being "mom" to a grown man. Even though there was help in the decisions, ultimately, I made them and dealt with the fallout if they were bad. Successful choices were always met with a joint celebration...oh well.

Time to start my day. Guess this is why I've had a hard time writing-there's a lot on my mind. I've got to get my worries in order and maybe then I'll feel like writing again!!

Stolen Moments

            I watch him as he animatedly tells me a story. His whole body is in motion as he details the day. I barely comprehend his words, though, because I am so busy watching this person that I barely recognize. There is no baby fat, no chubby curves, no soft roundness that I am used to. I see his long neck and thin arms. His face is all angles and points. Even his nose, which used to be a cute little button, is starting to protrude like mine; drawing to a point in the middle of his face.

            This person who used to be my baby is no longer a baby. I can’t see him as a toddler any more, and very quickly he’s losing all his little boy physical traits. He still has that precious innocence, and unending energy, but as I look at his coltish body and long, skinny limbs, I am reminded, once again, that this time I have with him is fleeting. I can love him with every fiber of my being, but no matter what I do, he will grow and eventually leave me.

            This, of course, is the ultimate goal. Make this beautiful child into the type of man that should be turned loose on the world to help make it a better place. Teach him to be the type of man that is a good friend, partner, employee, and human being. I’m just not ready to go there yet. I have a few years before he flies from my nest, but in moments like this, I realize just how short our time together is, in this beautiful journey we call life. Eighteen years feels interminable on some days (I’ll probably have a post like that one tomorrow!), but on others, I realize just how few minutes are actually contained in those short years.

            I am still his favorite person in the world. I even still manage to prod him into sitting on my lap occasionally; but like last night, after the long holiday weekend and too much Halloween candy, I realize that someday soon, he will be too big to fit. Someday in the near future, I won’t be the person he chooses to spend all his time with. He won’t voluntarily tell me his secrets, he may not even want to tell me what he had for lunch. He won’t tell me about the person he finds special and he won’t tell me about how he’s been hurt by a careless word spoken by a friend. Soon, he won’t be all mine any more.

            The story continues. He and his friends were pretending to be dinosaurs at recess. One of the boys was a mean one, and kept trying to scratch the other kids. I am brought back to his innocence and reminded that the days are numbered, but for now, they are still marching on. For today, at least, he is still my little boy and I can have him for just a little longer. Maybe I can even get him to snuggle on my lap.

I Was Afraid

            I was afraid then, afraid that if I didn’t follow the plan and the path before me I would disappoint someone. I was afraid that not taking that well-traveled road would lead to failure. I was afraid that if I marched to my own drummer that the music would disappear and I would be left lost and alone.

            I was afraid not to try. I was afraid of the regrets I would have if I didn’t spread my wings. I was afraid that I would wither and die in a life dictated for me by someone else. I was afraid that I would never get to know who I really am if I didn’t free myself from the chains of expectation.

            I was afraid that I would starve. I was afraid that I wouldn’t have a place to live. I was afraid that I couldn’t make it on what I had to offer. I chose to turn my back on that piece of me that I loved; that did things that made me afraid. I chose to follow, because following meant I didn’t have to worry about the fear.

            I was afraid that no one else would love me. I was afraid to walk away. I was afraid that I would disappoint someone. I was afraid I would ruin my child’s future. I was afraid that if I stayed, it would be ruined anyway. I was afraid I couldn’t make it on my own. I was afraid I wouldn’t be enough.

            I’m afraid that I’ll make a wrong choice. I’m afraid I still can’t be enough. I’m afraid that I’ve let my son down. I’m afraid I’ve let myself down. But, I’m tired of living in fear. I can’t keep living my life by making choices based on my fears. I am going to fail at some things, but I am going to fly, too. You can’t fly if you don’t jump off the cliff first, but jumping into nothing is terrifying. The key is to jump, but to trust in your wings. Don’t jump just because you’re afraid if you don’t, you might fall off; jump because you know that the view from the air is amazing.

            I’m afraid to move on. I’ve made bad choices and I might do it again. I’ve got someone counting on me this time. Failure is not an option, I’ve been there and I’m not going back. I want to see where this new road leads, but it is dark in the woods and I don’t have a flashlight. The trees are creepy in the dark and it’s scary. No one is ahead of me to lead the way, but the most important person is following me. I can’t lead him astray. I want to turn back, take the other path, the one that has lots of light and many feet have made the road easy to travel, but I am afraid of the fear that waits for me there, the fear that I have missed out on the best vistas because I didn’t take the overgrown path. The one less traveled calls to me.

            I stand here, perched on the cliff, terrified to fall. I am going to jump, but this time I want it to be for the right reasons. I can’t let fear rule my life, it is time to leap and leave the fear where it belongs, right on the edge of the cliff where it can fall into the abyss.

Hope

The last few years have been some of the darkest days of my life. At times, I was aware of how miserable I was, but at other times, I just kept going and didn't think about the downward spiral my life was taking. Looking back, I realize that I felt completely powerless to change the way things were going, and in addition, didn't have the desire to stop it, for it would take a strength I didn't feel any longer.

Once I made the decision to make a drastic change, I started to feel something inside myself. Even before I saw results begin to bloom, I felt a bud of hope within. I made a conscious effort to focus on the positive of every situation, and forcing myself to look for good has helped me to change my perspective. I'm a long way from Pollyanna, but I'm working on it. At first it was difficult, as there didn't seem to be a lot of positive things to focus on in my world. As time has passed, though, the positives seem to be more obvious, and when they aren't immediately noticed, I've become better at finding them.

It sounds cliche, but I'm full of hope. I have let go of the overwhelming need to control every aspect of every situation, and embrace the unpredictability of life. This allows me to let hope in to my every day experiences. I don't mean hope like "I hope I win the lottery" (although, I wouldn't mind that-if the lottery number pickers are listening)! I mean simply a general, positive feeling that life will work itself out the way it's supposed to if I just work hard and stay focused on the things that are important. I work hard and love fully, embracing the unknown and trust that most things are not catastrophic, so I can manage whatever Life throws at me.

I still have anxiety, I am a work in progress. I do not float through my daily experiences like the Dalai Lama, serene in my faith. I stumble, but I make sure to re-focus on something good and keep moving forward. I put positivity out and get it back from those around me, and that continues the cycle. I try to enjoy the little things. I try to keep it simple. I try to stop and smell the roses. I make sure that when I feel overwhelmed, I look for hope and find the positive in my situation. I keep working and hope that eventually, I won't have to remind myself to look!

Who Am I?

     

       I’ve lost something and I don’t know if I’ll ever find it again. I’ve lost myself. I hear from other Moms that once they have kids, they change and no longer recognize the person they used to be. I get that, kind of a big lifestyle change there. I’m also pushing *ahem* 40, another big deal milestone. I definitely no longer blend in with the college kids in the crowd.

            Here’s my deal, though, I still FEEL like myself. I still want to be that carefree, fun, happy person I was in my 20s. I want to pack up at the spur of the moment and run away for the weekend. I don’t even mean that I want to leave my son, he could come too! I just don’t do it I guess. There are bills to pay and dishes to do, laundry to be folded and meals to be made. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t do those either, but the NEED to do them keeps me grounded and at home.

            I don’t mind the responsibilities. I like the routine we have, but I don’t feel fun anymore. I don’t feel happy and free. I am content, I am secure, I am stable. Maybe that’s what I need now, in my 40s, but it’s not who I used to be. I was the free-spirit. I was the one who packed everything in my old Chevy and moved from the Midwest to LA on the spur of the moment. I was going to be a big deal.

            Now I wrestle with the person I was and the person I have become. They are very different. I never wanted to be the person I am now. I never wanted the house with a white picket fence and 2.8 kids and a dog. (No, I don’t know how you have 8/10 of a kid, still working on that one!) I like me, though, but younger me keeps rebelling against older me because she didn’t want that life for herself. But now that I have it, and don’t mind, I feel like I might be betraying that young woman with stars in her eyes and dreams constantly evolving. Know what I dream about now? Magical elves who come in while I’m sleeping and clean my bathroom and dust my cobwebs. Yep, my dreams have evolved from superstardom to housekeeping. Even my fantasies are boring.

            But, is it really boring to take care of the ones you love? I’m not bored when I help my son with his homework. I enjoy watching him learn new things and I love the way his eyes light up when he suddenly gets something he was struggling with. I love picking him up after school and the hug I get when he starts telling me about his day. I love going to the zoo and for a bike ride and watching him play with the other kids in the neighborhood. These things are enough for middle-aged me. Younger me doesn’t like it though, and I can’t get her to shut up. She was always very persistent.

            How are you supposed to reconcile the person you once were with the person you’ve become when they are very, very different? Post-divorce, I’m in the middle of re-inventing myself, and I just don’t know who I am anymore. Am I too old to be having this kind of crisis, or is this the dreaded mid-life crisis I’ve always been convinced I’d never get old enough to have? Should I go out and buy a red Corvette? Should I just embrace my yoga pants and glass of wine while I binge watch the newest season of House of Cards?

            There must be a way to balance that carefree youth with the responsibilities of adulthood. There must be a way to keep part of that dreamer alive as the daily routine of raising a family becomes paramount. There must be a way to stay true to our younger selves while we embrace our maturity. While I figure it out, why don’t you come over with a bottle of wine and I’ll link up the Netflix?

Dear College Boys in the School Bookstore

I know you didn’t think I could hear you whisper. I know what the college years are like and I know that you were trying to impress each other. I know that you didn’t know how badly you could hurt a total stranger. When you said those words to each other, I knew they were about me.

            “Look at her looking at workout gear. I bet she doesn’t even know what a gym is!”

            This was over 3 years and 50 pounds ago, but my face still heats with shame when I think about it. I turned to look at you after you said it, and you realized that I was 20 years older than you thought I was from behind. I’m sure you thought I was someone’s mom shopping for my daughter then.

            What you didn’t know is that I was shopping for myself. What you didn’t know is that I took the leap off a cliff and returned to college in my late 30s to finish my Bachelor’s Degree. What you didn’t know is that I sat in my car for 20 minutes in the parking lot every day, working up the courage to sit in the classroom with you and your peers. You didn’t know that my marriage was crumbling and I didn’t know how to stop it. You didn’t know that my 3 year old son refused to potty train so that I would have to run to school and change his pants since the Catholic school he went to couldn’t do it for him. What you didn’t know is that I was feeling so lost and alone I was stress eating all the time. And you definitely didn’t know that I was looking at the sweatpants because the jeans I wore to class that day had gotten so tight they were giving me a rash around my waistband and I just needed some relief. You didn’t know that I spent my last $20 until payday to get that relief.

            You chose to judge me and make my already shattered self-esteem shatter even more. You encouraged me to withdraw from my life even more than I already had. You crushed me just as I was trying to build myself up again. You broke what little strength I was still holding on to during the darkest time of my (much longer than your) life..

            Despite the cruel words you tossed away like nothing, I showed up at that school every day for 4 semesters until I graduated. I survived my marriage ending, and even got my son potty trained before Winter Break. I made the Dean’s List at 37 years old and graduated with my BA at 38. And then, I lost 50 pounds and no longer fit into those sweatpants that I bought that day.

            I still wear them around the house when I’m cleaning it, and on cold nights I sleep in them. I have to tie the waistband shut to keep them on now, but I love them because they are well-made and have big pockets. They have our school name written down the side in pink letters. I know you didn’t think I could hear you whisper, but every time I put them on I hear you again, only now, I think about how far I’ve come since that day and realize that woman you shamed no longer exists. How much sooner might that have happened if you’d just bought your books and passed me by?
     Before you say those words you think no one else will hear, think about how you’d feel if they were said to you. When you overhear those words not meant for you, remember they only see part of the picture. Have we gotten so comfortable sitting behind our screens all day that we have forgotten these are real people we encounter in our lives that have thoughts and feelings and problems of their own? Dear college boys in the school bookstore: I hope your lives are easier than my last few years have been, but if you face difficult times I hope that you cross paths with people who build you up and show you that you are more than your current crappy situation. I think we owe each other that humanity.

            

Pavement Ends

            It is early in the morning on a Sunday; the sun warms my skin, but I can tell that it will be very hot soon. Right now, there is still a bit of moisture in the air. I feel the wind tingling over my arms as we ride. I look into the woods as we pass through and can see the sunlight dancing with the morning mist through the trees, tinged with green. I have stepped out of my comfort zone, and it is either crazy or brave.

            I can’t hear the sounds of the woods, the birds chirping or the cicadas calling. There is only the sound of the engine and the wind in my ears. I’ve heard the stories, songs, the legend of the “open road”. I realize that it’s true. Sitting on the back of the motorcycle, tearing the peace and tranquility of the forest to shreds, I feel more connected to nature than on a quiet amble through the heart of it. There is no explanation. I am in awe.

            We drive for miles. Few words are spoken, it is hard to converse while astride the beast, but the silence is comfortable, and yet, strange. It doesn’t feel like conversation is necessary, but it is ingrained in me to make small talk. I wonder and worry that I should be trying harder to be appropriate and witty. Single sentence exchanges don’t seem adequate, yet are relaxed and easy. I allow my mind to wander. I contemplate the morning, the scenery, my companion, the ride, the implications of the circumstances.

            Once I trusted blindly. Words were bond and, once spoken, were galvanized into truth. I look back at that trusting girl and realize how hard I worked to try to consign those words into legitimate meaning. They had to be cast and hardened into reality. I searched so valiantly for the earnestness within them that I neglected to notice that the conviction that should accompany them didn’t exist. They filled all the spaces in between and when those spaces were difficult, throwaway words were tossed in to distract from the challenge. The overabundance took away all their worth.

            We ride for miles. We stop and sightsee, then climb back on and continue on our journey. Some stretches of the route are so beautiful I want to cry. Some of the miles feel endless; the same as the one before and the one to come. The rolling fields stretch on, as far as I can see. Rows of corn swaying in the gentle breeze we bring as we fly past. Just when I think I can’t bear another minute, we round a bend and beauty stretches out again. The sun begins to warm and feels too hot. We have to slow and it becomes uncomfortable under the blanket of high summer dressed in heavy boots and jeans. The sunlight waltzes across my back and shoulders; I am enamored with its heat, but aware of the pain it will leave me with tomorrow.

            It is time to rest. We step into the gloom of the interior and the cool of central air. The smoky scent of barbeque twirls out to greet us. The drinks are cold and crisp as we sit in anticipation, the tantalizing scents teasing and heightening our craving. The food comes, and as we share the best parts of each plate, an ease settles around us. This should be more-something. There should be more tension or more euphoria. This shouldn’t feel so easy. It is too new, too different, too far removed from what I’ve learned to expect.

            Stomachs full of food and heads full of laughter, we head back out. Our destination is near, we have adjusted course, but it is a seamless transition and segued naturally from the original plan. We are at a crossroads. Do we turn back the way we know, or continue in the direction we began? Where do you go when the road ends? Breathtaking views as we travel down the road keep my attention and stimulate daydreams. I allow my mind to wander back to the years past. No regrets, but often sadness fills those memories. Those years were so difficult. It shouldn’t have been such a struggle. Nothing worth having comes easy. If you truly care, you’ll never stop fighting. If you respect yourself, you’ll let it go. You are a team. It’s not a team if both players aren’t giving 100%. And around and around we go. I learned to believe the lies as truth and doubt the truth as designed to undermine the façade we had built.

            We are off the beaten path, and then, literally, the highway ends. One minute we are driving down a country road between green walls of corn, and suddenly there is only a gravel track running through a marsh. I feel the machine downshift and slow, but it does not stop. There is a mutual understanding that we will continue. We creep forward. Minutes become hours, feet become miles. Internally, I am screaming in terror, but just wrap my arms tighter and clamp down on the fear, focusing on the road in front of us. Slowly, we glide through the grasses. Locusts leap out and clamp onto our clothes, skin, hair. They hurt when they impact, but just as quickly, turn away toward a more receptive landing place. We toil through the beautiful prairie. Panic prevents me from watching the wildlife and taking in the beauty of the Preserve. Every muscle of my body is tense, in an attempt to become as one with the machine and make as few movements as possible. I watch his arms as he grapples with the handlebars and holds us upright. The path tries to derail our efforts, as potholes and small boulders appear periodically in our lane. He maneuvers us safely through and the miles pass. What feels like hours and a great distance prove to be only a short glitch on our expedition. The pavement begins again and I find enough words to ask to stop. He complies immediately and I don’t know how to express my gratitude. A few deep breaths are all it takes to collect myself and we continue on, he remains unruffled and patient throughout.

            After the short break, we continue to our next oasis. Once the rough road is behind us and we have had a minute to catch our breath, we drop our guard. I confess my panic and he shares his struggle. I profess admiration for the strength he showed, holding us like Atlas, while he expresses appreciation for my apparent cool-headedness.

            The ride continues for the afternoon. There is no choice, if we want to make it home to our separate responsibilities and obligations. We don’t discuss in greater detail what has just happened. It’s as if we both acknowledge the magnitude of the incident, but don’t want to dwell on the implications. It is too much, yet it is only five miles in a day of 400. The detour didn’t really take us off course, and we weathered it with aplomb.

            How do you go from here? How do you proceed after the ghosts of memory have quieted? The sun has set, and we have arrived at the other side of the surreal journey. There is pizza and beer waiting. In the simplicity of a quick meal, there is relief, exhaustion, and triumph. There is good food and good company. There is relaxation and care. There is companionship that has been missing and maybe something else. There is uncertainty and fear, but there is also a sense that perhaps the same could be said from a different perspective. Maybe when the pavement ends, something else begins. 

Words

Found this poem I wrote in January of 2000: very oddly prophetic.*

Words

Empty words fall on my ears. 

How can I be the only One who hears

Them? Daily, in my mind, over

And over. They bring joy, pain,

Pleasure and rain.

You tell me what you think I 

Want to hear. Tip the bottle, too

Much to bear. Love is strong, binds

Us close, maybe that's why it hurts

The most.

Tears me in half, the tears

I cry. The phone rings, the honey 

Flows, and the river runs dry.

Lead on, Lead away, I follow blindly

Until the day.

You tell me what you think I 

Want to hear. Tip the bottle, too 

Much to bear. Love is strong, binds

Us close, maybe that's why it hurts

The most.

Out comes the sun, the wounds 

Begin to heal. I rise out of bed, 

The scars will soon fade. Memories

Are only memories and disappear

With age.

You tell me what you think I 

Want to hear. Tip the bottle, too 

Much to bear. Love is strong, binds

Us close, maybe that's why it hurts 

The most.

*almost 2 months after I wrote this, I met my now ex-husband, and just came across this while cleaning out old files this week-it feels like a warning from my younger self

I Choose to Dance

I have been beaten. I have been crushed. I could choose to give in. I could choose to hide in the corner. I choose to dance.

I dance because no one is watching. I dance because everyone is watching. I dance because my son is watching.

I dance because it heals. I dance because it forces me to move. I dance because, through the dance, I find my smile. I dance, because when I move, laughter fights its way back. I dance to keep the darkness away. I dance to make the sun break through the clouds.

I want my son to remember my laughter. I want him to remember me dancing. I want him to grow up with a song in his heart and I can't teach him that if there's no song in mine. So I dance.

I dance because it feeds into the rhythm of the earth. I dance because it makes the world turn. I dance because the alternative is to give up. I am not made of that stuff.

I dance because to stop is to rot. I dance to keep my heart beating. I dance to feel my life. To feel the pulse of my body. I dance through the tears and the pain, and through the dance, I remember how to smile. I call my happiness back to me through the movement of my limbs. I pull the person I used to be; the one I loved, back from the shadows where she retreated when I forgot her. I let the darkness win-for a fleeting moment, it was the power and not the music that flows through me. For a moment, the dance was over. No longer.

I dance. Because that is what I am. I am the dance and the dance is me. It makes the world turn, and I can be a part of it if I feel the movement. I am the dance and the dance is me and the dance is life. Keep dancing, keep living, and find your happiness again.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

It rained a LOT this weekend. At times, it was torrential and caused flash floods and other damage. This morning I woke up and the sun is shining, birds are singing, and everything is green and fresh underneath the debris that is left. All it will take is a quick sweep of the lawn, and the lush green carpet will be ready and waiting for bare feet to run across it.

I feel the same. I have cut the last strings, and now all I need to do is brush them away, then there is nothing left to hold me to this dark time. The time to bloom is now. I can see where I want to be and the path stretches out before me; inviting, beckoning, welcoming. My feet move towards it of their own will, trusting to their instincts that have for so long been trampled on. My heartbeat sounds loud in my own ears, but it is not from fear, but from confidence. This is the time.

It is late spring, not quite summer just yet. Not all the flowers bloom in the early days, some wait until the heat of the day becomes consistent and steady. Now is the time. Bloom, show your beauty and your potential. Summer is not yet here, and it's not too late to embrace that grace that is inside of you.

They Say

Writing is easy, just write a little each day.

They say.

It doesn't matter what you write about, just put something on the paper.

They say.

Once you start the habit, it will come naturally.

Or, so they say.

But, do they have this jumble of thoughts and ideas and plots and characters all floating around in a nebula? How do you sort one story from another? And how do you remove yourself from the process? Because I can't seem to get out of my own way.

Write from experience.

They say.

Write what you know.

They say.

My experience is not unique. My perspective may be, but it is overshadowed with pain and doubt. I can't accurately describe what I've been through because I am living it. I don't have the luxury of time to smooth the rough edges. It is raw and uneven and not coherent at times.

It will get better.

They say.

You'll move on.

They say.

Someday you'll be OK again.

They say.

I don't like to listen to what they say. I don't know if I can believe them. How do I know who to trust any more?

I Am Alone

But I passed the test. You came to me in your darkest moment, and although it broke my heart into a million pieces I did what I have never done with you before. I said "No". I did not allow you to pull me into your madness one last time. I am terrified of what will happen to you without your lifeline-me-but I am feeling lighter, more free, and more full of potential than I have in years.

I know I'm not really alone. There are many who care and will help if I ask. But, truly, in the daily chores and activities, it will just be me. I don't have a day a week to expect a break. I will do it on my own. I'm OK with that. I'd rather be on my own than drowning in the chaos that constantly surrounds you. I have every reason to make this work and an untapped potential of strength to do it with.

I have only to take one look into the face of my baby-who is no longer a baby-to find all the reason I need for moving on. I see a light at the end of the tunnel I've been crawling through. It is getting brighter every day I move further away from you. Soon, I will be back in the daylight, my little guy by my side, and, hopefully, you can find your own way through your own dark tunnel. I pray you do, but I am finally alone and not responsible for giving you my hand.

Riding on the Waves

It shouldn't feel like a betrayal. Moving on has been my goal all along, but the actual act of recognizing that our future is so terribly different than it was supposed to be and moving forward on my own is difficult. I'm excited for this new chapter, and it looks promising, but I still mourn for what we had decided to build together.

Someday someone else will fill your shoes. Someday, you won't be the first person I think of when I have thoughts to share. Someday you won't be the last thing I think about at night while I'm trying to sleep. What if that someday is closer than I thought? What if that someday is now? How do you live life without your best friend beside you? This last link is all that held me to you, and as I prepare to sever it, I feel that same sadness and brokenness that almost crushed me in the beginning. Its weight is not as heavy, and it will not drown me as it did before, but I feel the water lapping around my calves. I feel the undertow gently pulling, and I slowly back out of the tide. I will leave you there to swim on your own. I can't swim beside you any more to give you the strength to keep swimming. It's time now to swim alone and fight off the sharks as they come for me. One of the sharks may even be a dolphin in disguise, but it's time for me to find out.

I'll miss you. I'll always love you. Goodbye.

Perfection

My son fell asleep on my lap tonight. He was curled up, head against my chest with his long, skinny legs hanging over the side of the recliner. He's six now, and usually too "cool" to sit on my lap for more than a minute unless he wants something. It's been years since I've held his sleepy body on my lap and was able to drink in his perfection.

I kissed him on the tip of his nose. I looked at his sweet face-the same face I've looked at every day for six years. It hasn't changed a bit. He looks so different. He's not my baby any more, but I know that no matter what, he will always be my baby boy. He sighed and snuggled into me some more. I know he feels safe and the thunderstorm raging outside is far from his mind now. But I can't let him go just yet. He has school in the morning, but I need him on my lap for a few more minutes. I need to remember. I need one last snuggle.

As I hold him close to me and brush his hair back from his sweaty face, I know that these moments are soon going to be gone. He won't want me to kiss him on the nose and brush his hair out of his eyes. It's not far off now when telling me where he's going and who he'll be with will be too much effort. He's not going to come to me when he's hurt to put a band-aid on his cut. I pray he'll come to me when he's scared and confused and life doesn't make any sense.

As the years go by, he will become independent. He will need me less and the time I don't have now will stretch before me. He will have friends and relationships and I won't be there to hold his hand. He will forge a path in this wide world and he will have adventures that neither of us can dream of today. He will fall, and he will get up and continue. I will be watching, but I will not always be able to give him my hand. He will always have my heart.

My son fell asleep on my lap tonight. And I held him there for just a few extra minutes.

The Fear is Real

I'm scared. I'm afraid all the time. I never planned on doing this alone and I'm so terrified I will screw it up. Some days, I just want to give in and stop fighting, but if I do, it's not me who will suffer. How can one person be expected to do the job of two and still be good at it? Some days I think the terror will overwhelm me.

I get out of bed. I pour cereal. I comb hair and brush teeth, do dishes, make dinner, and try to remember to laugh. I try to remember that he doesn't understand all of this and still needs to be able to be a silly child. He still has to dawdle while getting ready for school and find one hundred other things to focus on instead of washing his hair in the bathtub. He shouldn't know about this huge weight I carry that often feels as if it's crushing me. That's not his problem.

I try not to dwell on the anger; the other person who was supposed to be here but isn't. I try to be grateful that he left me this precious life and the insanity is gone. I remind myself that as hard as this is, it was worse before. Before I got the strength to say' "Enough". That was a different kind of weight I carried, and it WAS crushing me. The weight I carry now strengthens me.

I can do this. I am not truly alone. There are people who love and support me through this and are willing to help if I can ask. From under this massive burden I carry daily, I need not be afraid to make my voice heard and speak up for myself and my son.

I have every reason to succeed and no room for failure. He's counting on me to do this right and I can't let him down. This fear I carry with me drives me forward and, hopefully, someday, I can find a way to leave it behind.

Buried Treasure

It makes me sad to look into those eyes and know that you don’t look into them every chance you get. I made a choice that they should belong to me, but that I’d share. You agreed. I still felt guilty and cruel. And, now, every time you don’t show up to see those eyes light up at the sight of you, I remember why I made that choice. Those eyes aren’t valuable to you.

They’re valuable because they cost you money. Money you don’t have, I know. They’re valuable because they mean that you’re someone special to at least one person on this earth. They’re valuable because you think they’re a guarantee that you will never be alone. They’re valuable because they make you feel important. But, if you don’t protect your valuables, they tarnish and fade. Every time you don’t come to check on your most prized treasure, his awe and wonder of you chip away just a little bit more. Eventually, there will be nothing left. Obligation will be the last to go, but that will wear away as well.

You know what this is like. You’ve been there before. You swore you didn’t want to repeat the mistakes that were made in your life-that your joy deserves better than you had. I know it’s hard to change the way you think. I know it’s hard to change the way you feel. For the sake of your treasure, you had better. Because lost treasure is always found, and something that valuable will be recognized for what it is, priceless. And, once something has been recognized as priceless, an occasional glance or polish will not be enough to make it shine. Those jewel eyes won’t light up at the mere sight of you anymore. Those eyes will sparkle for me forever, because I know how beautiful they are already. And, you won’t realize it until it’s too late.

Sadness

It’s confusing when I can’t decide if I hate you or I pity you. I’m sure there’s a bit of love left there, too, but that might just be habit. I can’t stand the person you have become. I find it hard to believe that you hid this part of yourself for 15 years. Maybe you did. Maybe I didn’t notice. Maybe it really is something new. Bitterness is not attractive. I think that’s where this person comes from, but you made the choices you now have to live with. I know you have regret, it’s written all over your face even if you hadn’t spoken it to me.

 

I look into eyes I know as well as my own and see a person that I don’t recognize. Where there used to be pain, and joy, and happiness, and hope, and sadness, all I see now is emptiness and longing. I used to be the one to help. I used to be the person who could fix it. No more. I can’t help if you won’t help yourself. It kills me.

 

You are losing so much. It breaks my heart because I don’t think you realize most of what’s slipping away. You focus on the minute aspects and have lost the big picture. I always knew you were broken, but I thought I could teach you how to mend. Do you enjoy your brokenness? Does it define you? Or was it just too hard to stitch those pieces together to make a complete person? There was no pattern for you to follow, you had to create your own. Someday, I hope with all my heart you have the strength to do it. Someday, before it’s too late. He’s getting so big and you’re missing it all.

He didn't Love me Enough

He loved me. He told me often. He thought I was beautiful. He told me every day. I didn't believe him.

Because he didn't take care of me. Because he didn't sacrifice the way I did for him. Because he refused to give up his desires to help me achieve mine. Because he wouldn't put as much in as he took out.

I sound spoiled. I sound ungrateful. I sound unappreciative.

For years he didn't work. After he promised I could go back to school full-time. So, I had to get a job and juggle it all while he did what he wanted for himself.

He had heart surgery and I took a leave of absence from work to care for him. But I wasn't making enough to pay the bills, so I had to go back and abandoned him.

I had to be home to make dinner at night, so I couldn't afford to take a job that had more hours since I couldn't afford a babysitter. He was home, working on building his business, but I was not supportive. He couldn't raise a child and focus on his dreams.

I went back to school. He lost his job. I worked part-time while I got my degree. He drank in the garage and stayed up all night with his friends. He promised I'd have 2 years to finish my studies. He lied. I finished anyway.

He said he was my partner. As soon as I tried to rely on him, he shut down.

We went to counseling. He walked out. He told me he didn't love me enough to try anymore.

So I left.

Writer's Block

I don't know what to write. For weeks now, I put something on the screen and then slowly back out each letter until I stare at a blank page again. They say the best cure is to just keep writing, so that's what I'll try today. I don't have a set topic. I'm tired of hurt and pain and bitterness. I want something new and fun and exciting. There will be time for that. There is no rush. Focus on healing and new will come when the time is right.

My cat sits next to me. He is purring. Funny how loud it is in the quiet room. He likes to be close, he'd sleep on my head if I'd let him, but he gets repeatedly pushed back down to my legs. I think we're both happier with that position for the endless nights.

I want something. I'm not sure what. There's a gaping in my psyche and I need to fill it. I keep reading. Maybe I'll come across that novel that fills the void, or maybe if I keep writing it will fill up. I don't know. This helps. I just want to feel full again.

For years I spent every day doubting my life. I wouldn't experience it because I knew it was fleeting. Everything was balanced on a wire and at any moment the wire could break and it would all come crashing down. I lived in four different homes and never felt like any of them were permanent. I didn't want to hang pictures or paint walls because I didn't feel like we'd be there for very long. Do you know what it's like to not feel at home in your own home? Maybe that's why I feel lost-the balancing act is over. Life is what is in front of me and the only saboteur is me. The worry is gone...

I don't feel well. I think I'm getting sick. I hope not, but there's definitely something happening in my sinuses and ears. My throat hurts. A good night's sleep should help, and some Alka-Seltzer cold.

It's too cold outside. I wish I was back in LA where it's 75 and sunny. I hate winter. Sometimes I wonder why I felt so strongly about coming back. I knew that I'd have to deal with snow and sub-zero temperatures. Why would I voluntarily subject myself to this?

I'm going to bed now. This has been an interesting experiment-I may have to try it again.

I told you so.

How dare you? After months of begging, crying, screaming, sobbing, talking, kicking, screaming, trying, and more tears to try to get you to see what was in front of your face-NOW you have the audacity to tell me you realize it? I spent two months unable to eat because I was so upset everything that went into my mouth came back up immediately. I cried myself to sleep for two weeks straight. Other nights I couldn’t sleep at all with all the horrible thoughts going through my mind. I told you the grass isn’t greener over there, you just forgot to water the lawn right here in front of you. How dare you turn around now and expect that lawn is just waiting for your bare feet to shuffle through it again? 

You think this is just about infidelity. You think this is just about that other person. I’m here to tell you that’s the least of your worries, BUT, I refuse to continue this conversation any further while you still lie next to that one every night. There is no conversation. There is no “sorry”. There are no second thoughts while someone else holds your hand. Sorry, I’m not sorry.  

You miss your family? I told you that you would. This was not a decision to take lightly, but you walked out of the counseling session that last time because it was just too hard. I wanted a few things and you thought those requests were unreasonable. Sobriety and a job were beyond your scope. That’s fine, but don’t tell me now that sobriety is creeping into your life that you’ve suddenly realized the things that you so strongly denied. Do you remember how you called me names? Do you remember telling me what an awful, ungrateful spouse I was? Do you remember telling me that if I gave you an ultimatum that you would leave and I would be sorry? I dared to do it and it was the right decision for me and our child.  

I will not go back there. You can figure out how to live without us. I have been trying to figure it out for months now. It’s your turn. Good luck!

An Ambush of Snow

This morning my son was singing with his class at church. He was a little nervous to be singing in front of the whole congregation, but decided it wouldn't be too bad since all his friends were going to sing with him, too. We woke up to a dreary day and as we walked out to the car to leave, realized that it was sleeting. (Is that really a word? It is now.) There was not a lot of conversation in the car on the way due to nerves for the big event, until he observed the "colka-dots" on the windshield from the weather. When we turned the corner, the snow/sleet/nightmare falling from the sky began to hit us head-on and I received a warning from the back seat, "Be careful, now it's coming at us. It's like an ambush of snow out there!"

I couldn't help laughing, which made him laugh. I could see the tension ease in his shoulders as he stopped thinking about his big event and focused on the snow falling on the windows. For a minute I forgot to worry about whether his dad would show up like he promised or sleep in like he's done on so many Sundays in our life. It was only moments, but we were both thinking of being ambushed by snow-I can only imagine what he was thinking. For me, I imagined walking down a street and turning a corner. As I continued down the street, I noticed a large (very large, like human-sized) rock and began to walk in the direction of it to go around. Suddenly, out jumped a guy dressed in military clothes, only all white, and aimed a bazooka at me and fired, covering me in snow!! It was enough of a visual to put a smile on my face-at least until we got to church.

The choir went well, he seemed to enjoy being up there. I'm not sure if he enjoyed sitting with his friends and playing around more than singing, but at least he wasn't afraid to get up and do it. His dad showed up, late, but better than not at all. I saw our son's face when he got there and it made all the anxiety leading up to it worthwhile, because he was thrilled. They went out for breakfast after and got to spend some time together, which is as it should be. I wish that I had more confidence that it would occur regularly, or without major trauma to someone, but someday maybe that won't be the case. For now, my boy gets to spend some time with his dad. He was excited and I think his dad was too. I'll keep hoping for the best, and waiting to see if I get ambushed by snow.

Routine

It's hard to start anew. I love the idea of New Year's and starting fresh, but I never do. I wait a few weeks for the craziness of the holidays to die down before I try to make any big changes. I've found, that if I do this, the changes don't get packed up with the holiday decorations, but actually start to become integrated into my daily life.

So, beginning this week, I'm getting up early to try to write-just a little bit-every day. I'm sure some days I will have more to say than on others, but at least I'm getting something out every day! Maybe this will become my norm, and then I might be able to justify calling myself a "writer". Maybe I'll get lazy and start sleeping in again, and then I can call myself "sleepy". I've realized it's futile to try to plan an outcome, because you never know what might change that outcome. It's quite acceptable, and even necessary, though, to start out doing what you think might give you a specific outcome, and see if it gets you anywhere close!

That being said, today I did what I said I wanted to do. Tomorrow is another day, and then the next. I'll wait and see where they lead and keep doing what I need to do to get where I want to be...

Five Minutes

It took all of 5 minutes to obliterate the validity of 15 years of my life. It took 5 minutes for him to sign the final papers and allow me to submit them and file for divorce. He didn't hesitate over ending our marriage, or the loss of his best friend (that we've addressed each other as for many years). His only hesitation was that by signing without his lawyer present, that I could "screw him over" later if I want to. If there was anything left of my heart, it broke right then and there.

Our relationship stayed the same over the many years we were together, it was me that changed. When we met, we were young, and what I wanted out of life was much different than what I want now. I always put more into the relationship than I got out of it, but it didn't matter until I became a mother. I know from his perspective that's not true, but I also know that my perspective is more closely aligned with what would be considered the "norm". The night I went into labor with our son, my water broke and the doctor arrived about 10pm. Just before midnight, we realized that the umbilical cord was compressed and I had to lie still on the hospital bed to keep the baby's heart rate steady. I couldn't get up and walk around or do any of the usual things they suggest to speed the delivery along. I was terrified. I cried for hours. I prayed that I would get to meet my baby. My husband slept-for almost 10 hours. The nurses kept asking me if I wanted them to wake him up, but I knew he'd just be cranky and make my anxiety worse, so I told them no. I watched them shake their heads and look at me sadly when they thought I wasn't looking.

I spent 4 years trying to convince myself that it wasn't true. I wanted to believe that my husband loved his growing family as much as he said he did. Time and again I saw that it wasn't true, but I ignored it. When I went back to school to give myself a better edge when I returned to the job market, I couldn't ignore it any more. He resented me. My attention was now divided in even smaller bits and he couldn't be my whole world any more. Those last 2 years were the hardest, because I knew it was happening, but the choice was distilled into the simplest terms for me: him or me. I chose my son and our future and watched the unraveling of our marriage and the loss of my best friend. It was excruciating. I thought it couldn't get any worse. Until these last 5 minutes. Because now it's done, the choice is made, and my heart is so broken I don't know if it will ever mend. Up until the last second, I was hoping he'd see what I've hoped for so long-that you have to change and grow or you will decay and wither.

Je suis Charlie

I never heard of Charlie Hebdo before this week. When I first heard the news, I panicked, "Oh my God, they shot the Prime Minister of France!! No wait, that's Sarkozy...isn't there a new guy now? Who the hell is Charlie Hebdo and why do terrorists want to kill him?"

My confusion sorted out, I started to think about this tragedy. This is about evil people not wanting their flaws brought to light. This is about someone who dared to speak up being silenced. This is about an unpopular opinion in certain groups being quieted. This is about open communication and free dialogue being eliminated. This is about someone's choice to consider a different opinion being taken away by force. This is tyranny through fear and malice. This is pure hatred.

This is not about Muslim versus Christian. This is not about Palestinian versus Jew. This is not about White versus Black. This is not about Big Business versus the Working Man. This is about silencing the voice that disagrees. This is about making your opinion the only one that matters. This is about capitulation through fear. That's why this is so awful. That's why this can't be allowed to be forgotten. That's why the people who perpetuated this awful act need to be brought to justice.

If there is no dissenting opinion, there is no dialogue. If there is no dialogue, there is no discussion. If there is no discussion, there is no understanding. And if there is no understanding, there is only oppression. I don't want to live in a world where I can't speak my mind-whether through satire or over coffee with my girlfriends. I don't want to be somewhere that open communication and free discussion are limited. I don't want to raise my son in a world where dissenting ideas are discouraged and feared. I want to learn from others who might have a varied perspective from mine or who have traveled a different path and have had different experiences. Just because you saw different flowers than I did on the path you chose, does not mean that the flowers I saw don't exist. And who can say which ones are prettier?

I never heard of Charlie Hebdo before this week, but now, I am Charlie. I stand with the brave men and women who weren't afraid to say what they believed and have now paid with their lives. I don't stand with them out of fear or out of pity, or out of outrage, I stand with them because I must. I stand with them because they weren't afraid to point out the flaws they found with other ideas and, right or wrong, opened the avenue of discourse to something they didn't understand. I stand with them because they took a stand. We should all be so brave to speak up when something doesn't seem right-and if we can do it with humor and a satiric wink, even better. Je suis Charlie, because I feel sorry for anyone who isn't.

Ennui

Today is the second snow day in a row and my son and I have been home alone. We've been living with my parents since the separation, and this is the first time in months that we haven't had anyone else around for a significant amount of time. I'd like to say that we made the most of it and had lots of quality bonding time, but, yeah, not quite.

We did make cookies; those pre-formed, slap on a cookie sheet and throw in the oven kind. And we did a craft-we cut out the cat mask on the back of the cookie box. Otherwise, I downloaded a few new games to my phone that he played while he watched TV for about a hundred hours. So much for mother of the year.

I set the bar high, so today is going to be a challenge. I don't know how I'm going to top the amazingness that was yesterday's adventures, but I have to try. I like my boy, he's funny and smart and notices EVERYTHING, but he's still only 6 and what is entertaining to a six-year old is never the same thing that is entertaining to a 30-something. No matter what we decide to do, one of us is bored all the time. I've gotten so used to having someone else available to help run interference when I've hit my limit and now I'm wondering what's going to happen to us when we move out on our own and it's just the two of us ALL THE TIME. Is my son doomed to be bored forever, or am I? Are we going to drive ourselves crazy?

I'll be glad when this cold front passes and he's back to school and I can get back into the routine we've created-at least until the school year ends and then I have a whole list of things to panic about again, the least of which will be moving and childcare. Fortunately, there's about 5 months for me to plan for that rude awakening!!

Letting Go

That Dolly Parton song that Whitney Houston made famous is stuck in my head today. You know the one..."I Will Always Love You". It's always struck me as a sad song, a woman who's in love with a guy who just won't settle down. Lately, I've been re-examining a lot of things I thought I knew and as I ponder this particular tune, I find myself thinking of it differently.

I listen to these words as they wiggle around my head like a worm and I think of a woman who has loved someone deeply and passionately, but now realizes that she's been selling herself short. I don't think the man has refused to settle down with her, I think she realizes after some time that she's settled. As much as she may love him, they aren't getting what they need out of the relationship and that's why she leaves.

She would "be in his way" because they have ceased to grow. They are like two saplings, growing out of the ground together, but as they entwine around each other and grow taller and stouter they start to suffocate each other. The relationship stops being a symbiotic force for good and starts to become parasitic as they take the very things from each other that they need to thrive. I don't think leaving is an easy choice for her, but she knows that it's time and has accepted that it's the best thing for both of them.

She leaves with sadness for what she's losing, but with the knowledge that she will be better and stronger for it in the long run. She takes those first terrifying, critical first steps, and as she steps off the porch into her future, she realizes for the first time in a long time that she is free. She hasn't even realized that she's been caged, and suddenly she can spread her wings! It's not the liberating feeling she expected because the weight of sadness for what she's losing is still with her, but the ability to look forward with no limits is so unfamiliar and so appealing that the sadness feels like just another layer of this delicious new possibility. She knows she will carry the scars and the sweetness of this time along with her forever, but it's finally OK. She's finally able to stand on her own in a way she couldn't when wrapped up and entwined around the other sapling. To quote another song, "to every thing...there is a season", and her new season is about to start.

It's a sad song because any time something ends there is a sadness to it, but at the same time, there is a measure of hopefulness too. She wants what's best for him, but what's best for her, too, and knows that on their own, each of them will find it. It's a song about letting go of the past and looking towards the future. There is no road map and no specific destination, but the opportunity to take the journey is all that matters.

Resolution

I'm not making New Year's resolutions this year. I'm coming to realize that they don't help me, they only give me an excuse to feel less than. I make a list of things to accomplish, then about February, when I haven't marked off the list according to some unspoken expectation, I get frustrated. The frustration leads to disappointment, and eventually to anger. I spend the remainder of the year angry at myself for not living up to these lofty goals I created for myself, never once considering how the circumstances of my life may or may not have affected these ideals that I created.

This year I'm not exempting myself from the need to improve or address areas I need to work on. I am a far from perfect human and am most definitely a work in progress! This year, though, I'm giving myself the opportunity to grow and change in a more natural environment. I have some ideas of where I would like to end up as 2015 draws to a close, and I'm going to allow myself to get there at my own pace and by whatever path seems most appealing. I know that it won't be pretty and many people will feel that I'm just blundering along, but this is my journey and I'm ready to enjoy the ride for a change and not spend so much time worrying about the destination.

Looking Forward

Since it's the beginning of a new year, it's an appropriate time to think of new beginnings. After the drama of separation and the final steps of finalizing the divorce, I'm ready for a future that doesn't rely on anything except what I have to offer. Even the flu I battled on this New Year's Eve couldn't dampen the feeling of hope that fills me when I think of where I will be in a year, in five, in another fifteen.

I try to stay hopeful through all things. Even until the bitter end of our marriage, I had hope that my husband would finally grasp the things I'd been telling him. Watching his continued slide to the bottom after my departure, I've realized that when you are dealing with someone who is determined to destroy themselves, there is no hope left. So now, I am focusing on hope. Hope that I can build the life for two of us that I had always assumed would include three. Hope that I can heal the broken-ness I feel inside. Hope that someday I won't still feel incomplete after spending almost 15 years with another person to include in decisions and bounce ideas off of. Hope that sleeping alone will become the norm and not feel so unutterably lonely and isolated. Hope that as a single parent I can be all my son needs and more, without the partner I so desperately wanted on this journey. Hope that I can leave the anger and bitterness in the year now behind me so that I can move forward with openness, appreciation and joy.

I feel empowered now. For years I have been cowering in the hold of the Demeter, waiting to see if Dracula will find me, and then once found, how he would choose to use me. When I finally decided to disembark and get off the ship, I finally took control of my life, that is terrifying, but gives me strength at my core. I am in control of what happens to me, no longer am I waiting for the next shoe to drop and unravel all that has been worked for. I don't have to smooth the path for someone unable or unwilling to smooth it for himself. I don't have to deal with the fallout of poor decisions, unless I am the one who makes those decisions.

It is the hardest thing I have ever done, to look forward and not notice where I have been. Forward could mean anything, there's no way to know what it holds. But, then, Forward could mean anything, there's no way to know what it holds! It is up to me and me alone to make it into something positive-an adventure with no end in sight that I get to take and discover what I'm truly made of!