It’s so cliché. “Life’s a journey, not a destination.” It’s a cliché that I often nodded my head in agreement to and frequently pretended to fully understand. But I didn’t. All the while, I lived my life by an idealistic pattern of rites of passage, in hopes that I would end up at the destination of my dreams: Me, in a rocking chair on a beautiful front porch, withered, old and happy. My husband, equally withered, old and happy, rocking at my side. Grandchildren in the front yard. Sunset. Happily ever after. Until death do us part. Oh, and death, by the way, would be equally ideal. Peacefully in my sleep, I would drift away. My husband would honor me at my funeral. My children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren would lament my legacy and sparkling sense of humor. Destination: Perfection. The journey? Just a minor detail.
But life is not perfect. Love is not really perfect. I am not perfect.
On January 19, 2010, in the blink of an eye, a magistrate declared me divorced from my husband of 7 ½ years, stamped some papers and sent me on a new journey. The destination? Not so clear. The journey? It changes daily. The dream? Survive. Find balance. Raise healthy, happy children the best way I can. Learn. Love myself for the first time ever. Love someone else without fear or doubt. Kick conventional ideas to the curb, and figure out what would truly bring me joy.
The beginning of any new journey feels less like a journey and more like crawling in the dark, trying to grasp a sense of new terrain and getting one’s bearings when off-set by new challenges. My journey into divorced, single motherhood has been no different. I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I’ve lost my mind. I’ve found it again. And lost it again. Today, only a year into my new journey, I take pride in having come exceedingly far, finding my way through the destruction, one day (and often one nervous breakdown) at a time.
A year, while substantial, is but one breath in the grand scheme of one inconsequential little life. I never expected to look, feel or have accomplished what I have, but then again, there is still so much more that I want to do and be. I have learned throughout this journey that I need to forgive myself a little more, even while living in a very impatient unforgiving world. I am entitled to my feelings. I have earned the right to feel exactly how I feel. My dear friend, Beth Walker, said it best: “I just have to feel this way until I don’t feel this way anymore.”
I often am accused of being bitter or negative, a fair assessment for a woman who has experienced heartbreak and watched her very young children experience heartbreak as well. If that’s how I’m viewed by some, I will not argue. I will only ask that my true friends and acquaintances show some compassion by walking a few steps beside me or in my shoes, and to be patient with me as I continually heal. Friends, this simply is not as easy as you think it is. I have met people in the latter years of their lives who still mourn the death of their marriage. I have met many people well into adulthood who are still angry at their divorced parents and deeply affected by the custody issues and bemoan the despair of living within a broken family. Likewise, I have met people who managed to survive it all with a smile on their face and pep in their step. But I say to you all that, even if someone writes a blog detailing every emotion and every adversity that they’ve experienced in their own marriage or divorce, you should not presume to know how they feel or presume that you know how YOU’D feel. Every person is different. Every journey is different. And all of it MATTERS.
I lost a lot in 2009. I learned a lot in 2010. By New Year’s Day of 2011, I began to recognize myself in the mirror again. The journey continues…
Thank you again for lifting me up, slapping me around, making me laugh, holding me tightly and picking up the phone when it rings at ungodly hours. I get by with a little help from my friends.
I love you.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Channeling Dory...And Online Dating
Some of the best things that I’ve learned in the past decade, I’ve learned from a forgetful blue fish. Yes, friends, I refer to Dory, the sweet, silly Tang Fish from the movie, Finding Nemo, with the big heart and the very short-term memory.
I live and die by Dory’s mantra, “Just keep swimming.” I’ve swum through dark waters, amongst the creepiest of predators and through the thickest mucks of adversity. I’ve NEVER stopped swimming.
But as another semi-depressing holiday season came and went, so materialized my glaring recognition of how lonely I’ve become. One day, my children will leave. Will I be the type of person who kicks up her heels and travels the world, or will I begin to collect cats, old newspapers and creepy-eyed baby dolls in their absence? The prospect quite frankly terrifies me. I have become a lone wolf, and to a fault. I just don’t venture outside of my comfort zone anymore.
So I presented myself (and many of my friends) with a quandary: Do I or do I NOT sign up for matchmaking/dating Web site? Do I put myself out there for the world to see, judge and possibly fall in love (or hate) with? I mean, the dating game was/is so foreign to me. I’d never really “dated” anyone that wasn’t a friend, close acquaintance or friend of a friend first. I’d never been on a blind date, or had to front, or had to try to “sell” myself to the world. I was fortunate in that way. The whole thing was just seedy and awkward, but I just didn’t know what my options were. I go to work 5 days a week, come home, tend to my children, and then go to bed. Sometimes I go to my dance studio. Sometimes I go shopping. Sometimes, when the kids are with their dad, I go to the same old bar and drink the same old beer and say hello to the same old people. Sometimes, I am in bed at 9 on a Saturday night, green mud mask slathered on my face, and rocking my owl pajamas. I am Bridget Jones.
In a Nora Ephron movie, I would meet my soulmate in the diaper aisle at Target: a single dad and widower with a great sense of humor and a heart of gold (probably played by Tom Hanks). In real life, the pickins are rare and slim. So I mulled it over, and asked around (dating Web site horror stories are HILARIOUS, by the way), and one night, while sitting in front of my computer, I remembered something that little blue fish says to Marlin the Clownfish when he laments how he’d promised Nemo that he’d never let anything happen to him.
“Well, you can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him. “
Touche, Dory. But true.
If I never put myself out there, then nothing will ever happen to me, good or bad. And banking on meeting a Tom Hanks in the diaper aisle at Target? Dumb. A longshot. A pipe dream.
So I did it.
Right before New Year’s Eve, I threw together a bio and I put myself out there on the World Wide Web with the sharks, convicted sex offenders, weirdos and seemingly nice guys. I put just enough information (omitting details of my kids, etc), and made extra sure not to misrepresent myself in any way. I even posted some full-body pictures (clothed, of course!) so that there would be no speculation about my build. It’s a shallow world, kids, but no one has ever accused me of not being forthcoming.
With a shrug and a deep breath, I logged off and left the computer for a couple of hours to tend to the kids, and after I logged back in to take a better look at the men I was dealing with, I was stunned to see how many messages were in my inbox. What? Me? Geek girl with the glasses and the big butt? The pit of my stomach was gripped with equal parts discomfort and flattery. I began reading my messages with cautious enthusiasm.
There were messages from married men in “open” marriages, looking to “supplement” their sex lives. Ummm, GROSS. There were multiple messages from one creeper with a foot fetish. BLOCK USER. There were messages from women, even though my profile CLEARLY identified me as a straight female seeking a straight male. IGNORE. A few seemingly normal (albeit a little desperate) guys. RESPOND (CAUTIOUSLY) . A few tactless douchebags asking me if I really looked like my photos or was I fat. RESPOND AS SMARTASSEDLY AS POSSIBLE, THEN BLOCK. A few professing the ole’ “I’m not like other guys on here” shtick. *snort!* A few messaging, asking if I had children. BLOCK USER! <--Fellas, that question just rings “Sexual Predator,” especially when it’s the very first thing you ask!
And then “Pop!” “Pop!” “Pop!” Enter the flurry of Instant Messages. “Hi, gorgeous!” “How are you doing tonight?” “What’s a girl like YOU doing on this site?” Oh, yuck. It was the virtual version of the world’s seediest, smarmiest meat market bar. 15 years ago, I would have enjoyed the limitless attention. These days, that kind of attention makes me leery. I guess it’s a self-esteem issue. I mean, when your husband has an affair and leaves you for another woman, it sends a huge message of inadequacy that tends to infiltrate and linger in the dark corners of your mind. I mean, what’s so great about me? Why are all of these people messaging me? Why do they want to get to know me? I answered myself, “Well, duh, you’re on a dating Web site, honey. That’s how it works, D. That’s how you meet people on here. “
So I relaxed and decided to just keep swimming. I swam and I swam. I. Am. Exhausted. By. The. Swimming.
A couple of weeks later (though it feels like an eternity), I am at an impasse. I have been on a few live dates, I’ve met a handful of nice guys, and I think that, at the very least, I can count them as good friends (with possibilities) for now. But then I have also met people who have thoroughly crept me out, smothered me with text messages, instant messages and phone calls, or essentially just struck me as too desperate to take seriously. That was the difference, right there. You can be lonely and not desperate. Add it to my list of life lessons.
I realized through all of this that, while I have lonely moments, I am NOT desperate. I do have a life. I love my job, my co-workers and the camaraderie of my workplace. I love my time with my kids and my family. Most importantly, I really do enjoy my time alone. I like that I can drive home and rock out to my music without having to chat with someone on the phone and discuss the mundane details of my day. I like that I can veg out at the end of the day, surfing Facebook, watching HGTV and lounging in my pj’s without having to “check in” with anyone. I like that I don’t wonder anymore why there’s such a long pause between texts or other communications. I just don’t really care like I used to.
After several long-term relationships, some stormy short-term ones, a failed marriage, some sketchy (and some great!) dates, and a lot of quality alone time, I have finally realized that I don’t really like to be smothered.
I did it. I found a life outside of love. I found an identity outside of the conventional relationship.
The loneliness and longing for a love match is what it is: just loneliness and longing. It hasn’t defined me. I can and will stand on my own until life happens naturally. Just keep swimming.
So here’s where I re-commence the discussion with myself over finding a balance between being TOO wide open to possibilities and long shots (a la online dating), and being a shut-in. As of right now, my internet dating profile still stands, as does an inbox full of unanswered messages from men (and women) of all shapes, sizes, ages and levels of sanity. As of tonight…who knows? To delete or not to delete, that is the question.
Thoughts?
I live and die by Dory’s mantra, “Just keep swimming.” I’ve swum through dark waters, amongst the creepiest of predators and through the thickest mucks of adversity. I’ve NEVER stopped swimming.
But as another semi-depressing holiday season came and went, so materialized my glaring recognition of how lonely I’ve become. One day, my children will leave. Will I be the type of person who kicks up her heels and travels the world, or will I begin to collect cats, old newspapers and creepy-eyed baby dolls in their absence? The prospect quite frankly terrifies me. I have become a lone wolf, and to a fault. I just don’t venture outside of my comfort zone anymore.
So I presented myself (and many of my friends) with a quandary: Do I or do I NOT sign up for matchmaking/dating Web site? Do I put myself out there for the world to see, judge and possibly fall in love (or hate) with? I mean, the dating game was/is so foreign to me. I’d never really “dated” anyone that wasn’t a friend, close acquaintance or friend of a friend first. I’d never been on a blind date, or had to front, or had to try to “sell” myself to the world. I was fortunate in that way. The whole thing was just seedy and awkward, but I just didn’t know what my options were. I go to work 5 days a week, come home, tend to my children, and then go to bed. Sometimes I go to my dance studio. Sometimes I go shopping. Sometimes, when the kids are with their dad, I go to the same old bar and drink the same old beer and say hello to the same old people. Sometimes, I am in bed at 9 on a Saturday night, green mud mask slathered on my face, and rocking my owl pajamas. I am Bridget Jones.
In a Nora Ephron movie, I would meet my soulmate in the diaper aisle at Target: a single dad and widower with a great sense of humor and a heart of gold (probably played by Tom Hanks). In real life, the pickins are rare and slim. So I mulled it over, and asked around (dating Web site horror stories are HILARIOUS, by the way), and one night, while sitting in front of my computer, I remembered something that little blue fish says to Marlin the Clownfish when he laments how he’d promised Nemo that he’d never let anything happen to him.
“Well, you can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him. “
Touche, Dory. But true.
If I never put myself out there, then nothing will ever happen to me, good or bad. And banking on meeting a Tom Hanks in the diaper aisle at Target? Dumb. A longshot. A pipe dream.
So I did it.
Right before New Year’s Eve, I threw together a bio and I put myself out there on the World Wide Web with the sharks, convicted sex offenders, weirdos and seemingly nice guys. I put just enough information (omitting details of my kids, etc), and made extra sure not to misrepresent myself in any way. I even posted some full-body pictures (clothed, of course!) so that there would be no speculation about my build. It’s a shallow world, kids, but no one has ever accused me of not being forthcoming.
With a shrug and a deep breath, I logged off and left the computer for a couple of hours to tend to the kids, and after I logged back in to take a better look at the men I was dealing with, I was stunned to see how many messages were in my inbox. What? Me? Geek girl with the glasses and the big butt? The pit of my stomach was gripped with equal parts discomfort and flattery. I began reading my messages with cautious enthusiasm.
There were messages from married men in “open” marriages, looking to “supplement” their sex lives. Ummm, GROSS. There were multiple messages from one creeper with a foot fetish. BLOCK USER. There were messages from women, even though my profile CLEARLY identified me as a straight female seeking a straight male. IGNORE. A few seemingly normal (albeit a little desperate) guys. RESPOND (CAUTIOUSLY) . A few tactless douchebags asking me if I really looked like my photos or was I fat. RESPOND AS SMARTASSEDLY AS POSSIBLE, THEN BLOCK. A few professing the ole’ “I’m not like other guys on here” shtick. *snort!* A few messaging, asking if I had children. BLOCK USER! <--Fellas, that question just rings “Sexual Predator,” especially when it’s the very first thing you ask!
And then “Pop!” “Pop!” “Pop!” Enter the flurry of Instant Messages. “Hi, gorgeous!” “How are you doing tonight?” “What’s a girl like YOU doing on this site?” Oh, yuck. It was the virtual version of the world’s seediest, smarmiest meat market bar. 15 years ago, I would have enjoyed the limitless attention. These days, that kind of attention makes me leery. I guess it’s a self-esteem issue. I mean, when your husband has an affair and leaves you for another woman, it sends a huge message of inadequacy that tends to infiltrate and linger in the dark corners of your mind. I mean, what’s so great about me? Why are all of these people messaging me? Why do they want to get to know me? I answered myself, “Well, duh, you’re on a dating Web site, honey. That’s how it works, D. That’s how you meet people on here. “
So I relaxed and decided to just keep swimming. I swam and I swam. I. Am. Exhausted. By. The. Swimming.
A couple of weeks later (though it feels like an eternity), I am at an impasse. I have been on a few live dates, I’ve met a handful of nice guys, and I think that, at the very least, I can count them as good friends (with possibilities) for now. But then I have also met people who have thoroughly crept me out, smothered me with text messages, instant messages and phone calls, or essentially just struck me as too desperate to take seriously. That was the difference, right there. You can be lonely and not desperate. Add it to my list of life lessons.
I realized through all of this that, while I have lonely moments, I am NOT desperate. I do have a life. I love my job, my co-workers and the camaraderie of my workplace. I love my time with my kids and my family. Most importantly, I really do enjoy my time alone. I like that I can drive home and rock out to my music without having to chat with someone on the phone and discuss the mundane details of my day. I like that I can veg out at the end of the day, surfing Facebook, watching HGTV and lounging in my pj’s without having to “check in” with anyone. I like that I don’t wonder anymore why there’s such a long pause between texts or other communications. I just don’t really care like I used to.
After several long-term relationships, some stormy short-term ones, a failed marriage, some sketchy (and some great!) dates, and a lot of quality alone time, I have finally realized that I don’t really like to be smothered.
I did it. I found a life outside of love. I found an identity outside of the conventional relationship.
The loneliness and longing for a love match is what it is: just loneliness and longing. It hasn’t defined me. I can and will stand on my own until life happens naturally. Just keep swimming.
So here’s where I re-commence the discussion with myself over finding a balance between being TOO wide open to possibilities and long shots (a la online dating), and being a shut-in. As of right now, my internet dating profile still stands, as does an inbox full of unanswered messages from men (and women) of all shapes, sizes, ages and levels of sanity. As of tonight…who knows? To delete or not to delete, that is the question.
Thoughts?
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