Lost and Found: Anniversary of a Journey in Progress

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.