Here’s Where the Story Ends
Divorce was finalized today.
I saw him today for the first time since our final blowout back in September. He looked like a tired, broken down old man. I guess I should feel some sort of vindication about that. But I don’t. It was just sad.
To his credit, he was very polite and cooperative. I ended up initiating small talk while we waited for my attorney — simply inquiring about how he was and how his family was. It broke the ice. I was no longer nervous or anxious. I wasn’t even angry. I wasn’t upset. I found I didn’t feel anything for him beyond what I’d feel for or about any other fellow human being. I guess that’s closure.
Funny the way that works. Ten years together and that’s how the story ends. With barely a whisper. Two strangers who were each other’s worlds, once upon a time.
Contemplating the thrill of it all
So, yeah, I’ve been a slacker with the whole blogging thing. Part of it is that there isn’t much to report. But part of that is because I haven’t found it in me to contemplate much lately. And contemplation seems to go hand in hand with blogging, at least for me. Why the lack of contemplation? In a nutshell, fear. Who knows what thoughts will rise to the surface if one gives them a chance to do so.
That said, I managed to do some long overdue contemplation today, which I will attempt to put into some kind of cohesive form — no promises though. Overdue contemplation leads to an overload of thoughts and emotions that seem to both flow freely and jumble together all at the same time.
I spent most of my day here. 
This is, in my opinion, one of the best beaches in the world. It’s not so much about the sand and the surf, though they are fantastic, but the whole atmosphere of the place. A resort town where shoes are optional, people walk everywhere, and there is so much to see around every corner from eclectic little shops to musicians in the streets. Strangely enough, halfway around the world, there is something about it that feels very right to me — like in some strange way I am home. Or at least at home in some alternate universe.
So after having a good wander around the town and taking a long walk along the shore, I found myself sitting in the sand. I watched the families playing in the breaking waves. The lovers walking hand in hand along the beach. The birds (which were more attractive than any seagulls I ever see at home) fluttering here and there in search of food. The surfers way back in the ocean, seemingly watching over it all, occasionally gliding toward the shore only to paddle back out to the depths. And there was a little girl in a pink tutu. She was there with her mother and two older sisters, and clearly the free spirit. Chasing after the birds. Splashing into the surf, just a little bit deeper than the others. Plopping down in the sand and letting handfuls of it run through her fingers. I found myself envious of the little girl in the pink tutu. I wished to feel that free, that alive.
I watched the sunburned tourists pack up their gear and head back to their hotels, reminding me that this primarily a holiday town. For some reason I heard my parents’ voice reminding me that this isn’t real life.
But as i watched the sun set over the blue waters, I thought to myself “Why can’t this be real life?” Why must “real life” consist of drudgery and entrapment? Why can’t real life be as free as the little girl in the pink tutu? Why shouldn’t there be joy and wonder in every day life?
Is it so crazy to wish for a real life that entails all of this?
I thought of a quote I saw somewhere: “Life isn’t about finding yourself, but creating yourself.”
I guess this means that if this is the reality I want, I’m the only one who can make that happen. And that’s quite a terrifying thought. I’m the one who needs to figure out how to get from point A to point B. I’m the only one who can do it. And I won’t have any guidelines or roadmaps to help me do so.
The dangers of contemplation. Realizations may be more terrifying than anything.
As day turned to evening, I wandered back to catch the ferry back to Sydney. Thinking about these things. Thinking about the last time I was in this part of the world. More specifically when I came home from this part of the world only to have the bomb dropped and my marriage and life as I knew it shattering into pieces. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet I couldn’t help but remember who I was then, and compare it to who I am now, the good and the bad. And as I sat on the deck of the ferry with my feet propped up on the railing, looking up at the moon, a light rain began to fall. I felt the cool droplets on my face, mixing with the hot tears that had somehow escaped from my eyes without my noticing. Cleansing. Refreshing. Washing away regrets. Preparing me for something new. While listening to the lyrics of the song playing on my mp3 player. And perhaps really understanding them for the first time:
It’s a secret no one tells;
One day it’s heaven, one day it’s hell.
It’s no fairy tale;
Take it from me,
That’s the way it’s supposed to be.
You will fly and you will crawl;
God knows even angels fall.
No such thing as you lost it all.
God knows even angels fall.
You laugh, you cry, no one knows why
Behold the thrill of it all…
You’re on the ride
You might as well
Open your eyes…
Broken
Time.
Thought I’d make friends with time.
Thought we’d be flying.
Maybe not this time.
- Tori Amos, “Baker Baker”
Have you ever dropped a plate? Or a porcelain figurine? Or a piece of pottery? It breaks into pieces. If you can manage to find all of the pieces you can attempt to glue it back together. You may choose to use rubber cement, or Gorilla glue, or good old Elmer’s school glue. And you can do a pretty good job. If you’re careful and take your time, you can fit every piece back into place. It looks as good as it did before if you don’t look too closely to see the cracks.
But maybe a week later while dusting you jostle it a bit. Knock into it by accident. And where as before it wouldn’t have been enough to damage it, because the structural integrity has already been compromised, it breaks. All over again. You can find all of the pieces. Perhaps not all of the pieces have even broken off. But you wonder if it is really worth repairing again.
That’s how it is when your heart is broken — really broken. You can pick up the pieces. You look pretty good from the outside, especially since most people don’t look closely enough to see the cracks. You think you’re pretty good on the inside too. You’re proud of yourself for fixing and for being fixed. Then your heart is jostled. In a harsh way or a subtle way. And it falls apart all over again. And you’re faced with repairing it yet again and wondering if it’s worth it.
Ding Dong, the Ex is Gone
He moved. Out of state. Last weekend. Didn’t tell me. Found out from a mutual friend about an hour ago. Didn’t inform the court either, to my knowledge. Taking with him a car to which I still hold the title and a spare set of keys. Apparently he’s gotten a job and a place to live.
Is it strange that the only part of this news that really pisses me off is that he chooses now to finally start acting like a grown up? Maybe that should be my #8 in my previous post below.
I’m also somewhat annoyed that he gets to start completely over fresh with no baggage while I’m left to clean up the mess left behind. But that is nothing new, so I’m sort of accustomed to that. It still stings.
But at least it means he’s just that much further removed from my life, which enables me to move on that much more. So in a somewhat twisted way, I’m grateful. I’m free.
Naked Finger Solution
Ever since I removed my wedding rings, I have felt like there was a giant strobe light focused on the ring finger on my left hand, alerting the media to my naked finger status. Even though I never wore my wedding rings 24/7, seeing that finger naked every day was bothering me. I even was paranoid enough to think that possibly other people were noticing my naked finger and looking at me with pity or contempt. Yes, I know this is crazy. On a completely materialistic note, I missed the sparkle of diamonds and the shimmer of light that occurred whenever I used my left hand to emphasize a point (especially if it happened to be in direct lighting).
While these are not good enough reasons to resume wearing my wedding rings (to put it mildly) I did discover a solution for my naked finger syndrome over the weekend. I was going through my jewelry box looking for earrings and came across my college ring. Not for nothing, but I went to a pretty well respected college, and my ring is quite classy: large, oval black stone with my school crest in gold, on a solid gold base. Sadly, I never wore my college ring very often. (I’ll admit that I mainly wore it for job interviews when I was just about to graduate college. I even tried to flash it around a bit, as if to say to prospective employers, “See! Good school! I must be a really smart chick, so you should definitely hire me.”)
When my ex and I became serious he gave me a pretty ring that I wore on my left ring finger until I did eventually receive my engagement ring. (I’m actually not sure what happened to that original ring as it seems to be missing from my jewelry box – very strange.)
Anyway, as you may have guessed, my college ring has now been appointed its proper place on my left ring finger. It’s classy (like me!) It’s smart (like me!) And most importantly, it symbolizes my accomplishments that I achieved on my own – for me alone. To others it may appear to be a simple ring, but to me it’s my “You’re a kickass chick with a brilliant future” ring.
Stupid Bachelor B*tch
By the way, to the ignorant c*nt on the Bachelor who indicated that divorced women were like used cars who need their tires kicked to make sure they still work – F*ck you.
Because Daughtry put it better than I could
Now that it’s all said and done,
I can’t believe you were the one
To build me up and tear me down,
Like an old abandoned house.
What you said when you left
Just left me cold and out of breath.
I fell too far, was in way too deep.
Guess I let you get the best of me
Well, I never saw it coming.
And I should’ve started running
A long, long time ago.
And I never thought I’d doubt you,
I’m better off without you
More than you, more than you know.
I’m slowly getting closure.
I guess it’s really over.
I’m finally getting better.
And now I’m picking up the pieces.
From spending all of these years
Putting my heart back together.
‘Cause the day I thought I’d never get through,
I got over you
You took a hammer to these walls,
Dragged the memories down the hall,
Packed your bags and walked away.
There was nothing I could say.
And when you slammed the front door shut,
A lot of others opened up,
So did my eyes so I could see
That you never were the best for me.
Well, I never saw it coming.
And I should’ve started running
A long, long time ago.
And I never thought I’d doubt you,
I’m better off without you
More than you, more than you know.
I’m slowly getting closure.
I guess it’s really over.
I’m finally getting better.
And now I’m picking up the pieces.
From spending all of these years
Putting my heart back together.
‘Cause the day I thought I’d never get through,
I got over you.
“Over You” by Chris Daughtry and Brian Howes
Pity Party for One
I received news late last night that a childhood friend delivered a baby girl. Mother and child are healthy. This was especially wonderful news because she’d had an extremely difficult pregnancy and ended up having her labor induced out of concern for the life of the baby. This is a girl with whom I grew up, whose mother has been best friends with my mother since they were 12 years old. I am truly happy for their entire family.
But forgive me for feeling a little bitter.
I’m beginning to feel like everywhere I look family and friends my age (and younger!) are having children. Expanding their families. Living the dream. The dream I desperately wanted.
And I blew it.
Logically I know it’s not all my fault. And that the only thing worse than going through this divorce would be going through this divorce after having had a child by this man, which would mean being tied to him forever (or at least 18 years).
But I see my parents excitedly congratulate their family members and friends as they become grandparents. It’s happening more and more often. And now it will never be their turn to receive these congratulations in return.
So I not only blew it for me, I blew it for them.
If I ever had a son, I wanted to name him after my father. It was a secret I kept to myself (along with my former husband) because I wanted to be able to surprise my dad if the day were to ever come. If I ever had a daughter I wanted to name her after my great-grandmother – a feisty redhead who immigrated to America in the early 1900s, never really learned to speak English very well, yet managed to successfully take very good care of herself and her family, even fighting off a mugger when she was in her 70s.
Those imagined children are now fading into the mist. Just like the rest of my dreams.
I know, I know, it’s time to focus on new dreams. Unfortunately biology is a bit unfair in that women don’t have forever to have children. Yes, adoption is an option, even for single parents (an option I will seriously consider when I’m nearing 40 with no partner in sight.) Still, call me selfish, call me self-centered, call me petty and mean and anything else under the sun (I deserve it). As heartfelt as my congratulations are to parents everywhere (and they really are) I can’t help feeling the sting of losing what I never had.
Baby Steps
I accomplished more so far this weekend than I ever did when I was married. More than the two of us had ever accomplished in two weeks, nevermind two days. And I feel good about it.
I can do this. I can manage a home, a career, and still manage to take care of myself, too. I’m going to be ok.
Bad Day
You know it’s going to be a really bad day when:
- You need to force yourself to get out of bed.
- You cry so hard in the shower that you don’t know which water is from the tap or your tears.
- The mere idea of wearing contacts or eye makeup is a joke.
- You accidentally reach for your wedding rings as force of old habit.
- Even your dog looks sorry for you.
- Every fiber in the carpet of your home seems to contain a memory.
- It takes every ounce of strength to put one foot in front of the other.
- Climbing a staircase is like climbing a mountain.
- You close your eyes and pretend to sleep on the train so the other passengers don’t see your tears.
- Your reflection depresses you.
- You feel nauseous when you log onto your computer and see your married last name.
- You get a kind email asking if you want to be added to a prayer line, and debate for ages whether or not to respond, or even how to respond if you would. In the end you don’t respond at all.
- Your throat hurts from trying not to cry.
- You need a hug but have no one to ask, even if you could ask.
- Your heart literally hurts.
