My Dad cares

My Dad sensed I was struggling a bit this week after we talked on Saturday and so he asked when he could call me this week.  For context, they are currently on a cruise in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.  In the past when they have traveled, they have kept their phone in the safe and I have had to be satisfied with e-mails.

Is this what it feels like to have someone actually care about me?  What would it have been like to have a husband pay attention to my moods and actually care if I was doing okay?

What a wild day

I'm so tired and what a wild, wild day this was.

I didn't sleep well last night at all except for the short time right before my alarm woke me up in a deeper part of my sleep.  So this morning I was groggy and moving really slowly.  And it's the start of my period so I'm not feeling my best.

Then on my scooter ride in, I witnessed a car collide with a runner.  The car was pulling out of a parking garage when it happened so fortunately, not going very fast.  The runner walked away so I hope that means she was okay.  The driver's apologies through the car window sounded a bit insincere.  Almost everyone that I see pull out of the parking garages on my daily commute is on their cell phone.  Rarely do they even notice pedestrians on the sidewalk, so I'm not at all surprised this happened.  It was very alarming to watch. 

Then mid-morning, I got an e-mail that the Atlanta job would post today.  So my day was filled with refreshing the job posting website over and over, with no sign of a posting all day.  Hurry up and wait.

This afternoon, I then downloaded our semi-annual analysis that helps us develop leads.  After I download it, I always save a copy of it onto a portable hard drive with the prior analyses so that I can easily access any time period depending on the investigation I'm working on.  I also make a copy for my colleague on his portable hard drive. Well, it turns out the change in encryption software has made our drives read-only until we reformat them and re-encrypt them (which would erase everything).  

I don't want to keep track of multiple drives, so I have begun the painstaking process of copying all 1 TB of files from my drive onto a temporary location so that I can then reformat and re-encrypt the drive before moving it all back and finally add the new analysis.  This will be days and days of work that I had not anticipated.

As I left my computer running to continue the copying process, I headed home and managed to get my brand new dress caught in my scooter where it ripped a huge hole.  This was my first day wearing it.  It doesn't appear to be salvageable.  

On a positive note though, tonight was my second African Rhythms dance class.  It was a chance to just forget about the outside world and let the stress of the day flow off me as my feet moved to the beat of the drums.  My feet are really sore (we dance barefoot) and my body is exhausted but my mind is a bit more settled.  I'm now ready to face the rest of the week, whatever may come.  It is only Monday so there are a lot of days left for it to get better.

Cold feet

As I laid down to take a nap yesterday afternoon, I moved my cold feet to the corner of the bed where the sun was shining through the open patio door.  The warmth was inviting and comforting as my feet peaked out from underneath the flannel quilt I was curled up under.

But then my mind reflected back on all the times I cuddled with my ex-husband before we fell asleep and the way he would cringe if my perpetually cold feet even accidentally touched his skin.  I remember feeling guilty as over the years our nightly cuddle time felt more and more like an obligation to me.  

As a wife, I thought I should want to cuddle with him.  But in hindsight, I see that it was just one more example of the one-way nature of our relationship.  He didn't care what I needed.  He didn't care about my cold feet.  He didn't care if I was comfortable. It was just about meeting his needs for comfort.  No wonder it felt like an obligation.

As I lay on the bed yesterday afternoon with the sun warming my feet, I then wondered why nothing ever reminded me of good memories.  Do I have good memories with him?  I have good memories of trips and events over the years where he either wasn't present or I disconnected him from the memory because of how much I disassociated.  

But do I have any good memories with him?  It seems that every time I think I have a good memory with him, I realize it was a fantasy version of the memory I was holding onto, not the reality of it.  And when that fantasy version disintegrates, the memory isn’t so pleasant anymore.  Or it was me making the moment with very little participation from him.

Karma

What exactly is karma?  Does it truly exist?

I watched a Grey's Anatomy episode recently where a man was cheating on his wife and while he was with his affair partner, a wrecking ball came through the home where they were (instead of the neighbor's house that was supposed to be demolished), burying both him and his affair partner in the rubble of the house.  The wife learned about the affair when the wrecking ball incident made the news.  Is this a fictional example of karma?

Then last night I watched a movie called Moving On.  A woman was raped by one of her best friend's husband decades earlier.  In the movie, she showed up at her friend's funeral with the intent to kill him now that no harm could come to her friend.  Spoiler alert, despite several almost successful attempts, in the end she watched him get run over by someone else in an accident in a parking lot.  That's obviously another fictional example that mixes in a bit of the concept of revenge as well with the idea of karma getting the last say.

Fiction though is often based on what we believe about life.  I have a friend that has told me many times, karma will come when I stop caring about the pain my ex-husband caused, when I finally let go.  I don't know what to believe.  So many people go through life treating everyone horribly and little bad seems to happen to them.

In searching for answers (you knew as an Enneagram five, I was going to research this), I came across this idea that karma matures.  Karma is both the intentional action we take and the consequences that come from that action but there is a maturation process between the two.  It's like the seeds of corn may get planted in the spring (the intentional action) but they aren't ready to harvest until the late summer/fall (the consequences of that intentional action).  Many even believe that karma follows you from lifetime to lifetime so you may not see all the consequences until a future lifetime.  Good and bad things can happen to us during this process where our karma is maturing and we can be collateral damage in someone else's karma.  

I still don't know if I believe all of that.  But what I do know is that when I do something good, I immediately feel good and when I do something bad, I immediately feel bad.  For me there is an immediate effect to the intentional actions I take that in some ways follows the idea of karma.  Furthermore, good decisions are more likely to result in good outcomes than bad decisions are.

When I reflect on my relationship with my now ex-husband and my role in it, I feel good about the part I played.  Not that I was always perfect but throughout the years, I purposefully self-reflected and adjusted to grow as a partner and as a person.  I loved as unconditionally as is possible in an adult relationship.  I invested in him and in us.  I supported him in his dreams.  I made space for and encouraged his relationship with his mom despite how poorly she treated me.  

All of those intentional actions I took made me feel good about myself and left room for me to still experience the joy in life.  It meant the difference between a miserable existence and a challenging more neutral existence.  That difference may seem small but it isn't.  My ex-husband demonstrated what a miserable existence looks like and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.  Maybe that is the karma already at work.  Although, really I would like to get to a point of indifference as to what karma he may or may not be experiencing.  

Lolita

I've got music playing.  The window is cracked open to let in some fresh air.  And I'm cleaning out my closet.  I have too much clothes that I don't wear and the small space has gotten to be quite a mess as I switch back and forth between hot and cold weather.  So I went in hoping to find plenty I can donate so there is more space for organization and the pile is growing so it is a success already, even though I'm far from done.

But I just came across a t-shirt, pushed back into a far corner, that made my breath catch in the back of my throat.  It's dark brown with the Volkswagen logo on it.  I bought it to match the car I was driving at the time.  I named that car Lolita.  She was a beautiful chocolate brown five speed Jetta TDI with a tan interior.  She and I spent so many hours on the road together because at that time my daily round-trip commute was about 80 miles which included rush hour at times.  She was fun to drive.  She was smooth and comfortable.  And she would get over 50 mpg which I found fascinating.

I chuckle as I read that paragraph above.  Towards the end, my ex-husband expressed disappointment that I never shared with him his interest in cars.  But that paragraph above reflects quite a bit of interest that existed at some point before his obsession started to highlight his inconsideration and before it put me in an almost parent-like role of having to say no or slow him down when his impulses weren't in our best interests.

I don't remember how much time I had with Lolita before we moved on to the next car but it wasn't long enough.  I don't remember pushing back though at this point in our marriage when he wanted to sell it for something else.  I'm not even sure it crossed my mind that it was an option to push back.  This was just how we did things as a couple.  Trading in cars on what often felt like a whim.  Moving on when he was bored.  I think I just saw it as the price to pay for loving him and I had convinced myself it was such a small price to pay.  What woman wouldn't like the luxury of always having a car still new enough to be under warranty?  In hindsight, I know though that it is a lot more complicated than that overly simplistic question.

I drove some other fun cars over the years but none felt as comfortable and right as Lolita did.  So as I hold this t-shirt today, I feel a loss, a complicated grief.  It's a good, nostalgic memory wrapped in a larger context of inconsideration, self-absorption, and childish impulses.  And maybe it's a loss I never really allowed myself to grieve.  

Anxiety, laughter, flow of energy, and a disconnect

I met with a friend for lunch yesterday whose anxiety about the world is palpable.  I don't blame her.  She has a lot going on personally and professionally, she probably takes on more than she should in life, and it feels like our greater world is on fire.  But it created a feeling of disconnect as I sat fairly calmly and peacefully across from her.  

She asked me how I was managing.  Without hesitation, I said, "I'm done giving my energy to narcissists."  It's a phrase that has echoed in my head over and over since I said it yesterday.  I think I was talking about our larger world and politics when I said it but there is truth to it even on a personal level.  Not that I mean to label certain people as narcissists (you know how I hate labels) but it was the narcissistic tendencies in certain individuals in my personal and professional life that I wasted way too much energy on.

I then went on to tell her about the power of joy and how it can be our biggest defense.  We do far more good by spreading joy in our immediate world than we could ever do worrying about the larger world.

Finally, I shared that sometimes you just have laugh as a more positive release and to keep things in perspective.  I shared a story from years ago.  She was the second person I have told this story to in recent days because it is on my mind a lot as I pay attention to my reactions to life.

Years ago, I was working for a very small family-owned office.  I was the only steady support staff so carried a lot of weight and worked a lot of hours.  My large desk and extra table were usually piled really high with papers of the many different things I was working on.  

One winter morning after a large snowfall, I walked in early before any other staff had arrived.  Overnight, the weight of the snow had caused the roof above my desk to buckle and melted snow had flowed down over my entire desk.

I could have chose to curl up in a ball and cry.  I could have walked right back out that door and never come back.  I could have yelled or screamed or looked for someone to blame.  I could have just thrown it all away and not worried about what projects wouldn't get finished.

But what bubbled up in me was laughter, probably hysterical laughter.  It was just such an absurd situation and for it to have targeted the one desk of the person who carried so much of the load seemed crazy.  So I laughed and laughed as I emptied the water out of my keyboard, as I spread out the papers to dry, as I started a to do list, etc.

I found a way to release the pent up emotions, recalibrate my perspective, and take control of the small pieces within my reach to make the situation better.  That seems like such an important reminder for the times I am in and maybe that is why this scene from so many years ago keeps replaying in my head.

It's so easy to get wrapped up in the anxieties of things we can't control.  It's so easy to get overwhelmed when the world feels like it is on fire.  It is so easy to hold onto the anger and bitterness when the actions of others cause us harm.  It's the latter one I struggle the most with right now.  Even as I project calm, peace, and joy, my body still holds the pain, my mind still sometimes keeps me up at night, and I still swear under my breath at the cruelty and unfairness of it all.

Going back to this lunch I had with this friend.  I'm not sure it was a good use of my energy.  The last year and a half has highlighted a one way flow of energy with her that probably always existed in our friendship.  I have enough going on with myself and my own struggles that I need friendships where energy flows both ways.  I don't always want to be the one soothing someone else's anxieties and overwhelming emotions.  I want to surround myself with people who will also sit with me in my emotions - not take them on for me but sit with me in them.

Life feels a bit empty this week

Life feels a bit empty this week.  My joy falls a little bit flat.  My motivation is a bit lacking.  My routines seem a bit too routine and not as comfortable as they had been.  My sleep has been quite fitful with hours that I lay awake (quite a contrast from this past weekend's restful, uninterrupted sleep).  And even as I dig into a good case at work, it's hard to hold onto its meaningfulness.  

It's not a bad week though.  I really enjoyed the African Rhythms class on Monday.  Last night's choir practice was uplifting and energizing.  Soon, I'm going to head out into this beautiful weather for an evening at the art museum with a friend and maybe dinner on the way, if I can decide what I want.  Work is quiet with spring break but I have an interesting case to work on.  Tomorrow I'm supposed to go out to lunch with a friend.  And I've been doing some travel planning for next year - booking tours, setting my budget, etc. - the dreaming part of travel which I love.

So what's leaving me feeling empty, like something is missing?

I'm still waiting for Atlanta.  I suppose that is weighing on me.

The bucket list trip I was suppose be on this week pops into my head from time to time.

I've been a bit frustrated about how most of my married friends have such busy lives they can't commit to much and often cancel even when they do say yes.  I could probably use some more single friends.  I wish I had one or two that were available to talk more, who would proactively check in on me sometimes.

And I wonder what the effect of the empty apartment on the first floor is.  I still don't think I'm very good at interpreting the way my nervous system responds despite the fact that I'm much more aware than ever before.  My gut tells me that it is affecting me more than I want to admit.

A totally bizarre dream

I have absolutely no idea what this might mean or what exactly was processing in my brain but I want to record this really bizarre dream I had last night.

In my dream I became the mother of 10 newborns.  I don't have a clue where they came from.  There was nothing about being pregnant or giving birth in this dream and ten seems an unlikely number.  All my newborns were lined up in a grid of what I can only describe as cubbyholes if they were turned on their side.  At all times throughout the dream, I had one of them in my arms although I would go back to the grid of babies and exchange it for another from time to time.  They all had name tags on them.  I guess I don't know how else I would have been able to tell them apart. 

During this dream, I was at a party to celebrate their births so there were people mingling all around me although none of them were holding any of my babies.  There was a sense that my ex-husband was there and I noted a gift from him on the table but he wasn't in a co-parent role and I don't know that I ever actually saw him.  I just sensed his presence and remember seeing the car related toy on the gift table that I believed was a toy from his own possessions.  

There was only one moment where I saw one of the babies cry and it was the one I was holding in my arms at that moment, so I saw myself soothing the baby as I chatting with a guest at the party.  At no point during my dream did I see myself feeding or changing a baby.  You would have thought that at some point one (or more likely many) of them would have needed something during the party.

And then I woke up.

Kind of a weird day

I had kind of a weird day with a few unrelated awkward moments that briefly pulled me back into the past.

I got a voicemail at work from a man at a state entity who was following up on an e-mail I had sent in November of 2024.  Yes, he was working on a request I had made a year and a half ago.  I couldn't even find the e-mail in my outlook folders to know what case the request might have been relevant to.  I didn't even know what last name I would have used on that e-mail as that was the month everything transitioned over.  Did the contact info he had of me have my married name or my current name?

When I called him at the number he left in the voicemail, a woman answered the phone.  She indicated I had called his wife's phone and wanted to know what this was regarding.  I have to admit I was really puzzled and stumbled when I explained I was returning his call in his role at [state entity].  I told her I would try the number on the caller ID.  After I hung up, I couldn't recall if I had actually identified myself or if I had left her wondering why some strange woman was calling for her husband.

Then this evening as I was leaving my apartment complex to go to my first African Rhythms dance class, I  passed by my maintenance man sitting on a bench talking to another maintenance man.  The other man greeted me first and asked if I had previously lived at a certain apartment complex.  I admitted I had.  He then went on to confirm that I was on the fifth floor in a corner unit.  

As he was asking me these questions, I was trying to recall who the maintenance staff had been.  I couldn't.  I probably blocked them out of my mind because maintenance issues (although with a neglectful management and a rotating door of property managers) had been the reason we had left.  I commented that was quite a few years ago.  He recalled it was as recent as 2023.  I agreed that was when we left.  

He then asked about my husband.  I think this is the first time I've faced this question.  The circle of people who knew us together is quite small and they mostly all saw the divorce happen.  So I haven't really, until this point, run into anyone who both knew I had been married and didn't already know we had divorced.

I paused only a moment before I said, "my ex-husband."  I then turned to my regular maintenance man and said "and I hope he has finally moved out."  My regular maintenance man said, "I think he has."

I kind of laughed as I walked through the park to my class.  It was such an unexpected encounter with someone who remembered me so well but who I could not recall.

And then after I checked in for my class and sat down on a bench to wait for it to start, a woman sat next to me and told me that I looked really familiar.  She couldn't place where she might know me from and I didn't recognize her.  I don't know if she is someone I should remember or if my face just reminds her of someone else.

A Bucket List Trip

Yesterday, we would have boarded the Oosterdam in the port near Santiago, Chile.  The itinerary followed the western coast of South America with stops in Chile, Peru, and Ecuador.  We had planned to book the Machu Picchu multi-day excursion, disembarking the ship in I believe Pisco and then re-embarking in the port near Lima.  The ship would have then continued north and passed through the Panama Canal.  The Oosterdam is a small enough ship to go through the old locks with the mules.  I haven't been through the old locks yet.  After the 17 day cruise, we would have then disembarked in Fort Lauderdale.

This was a bucket list cruise for me in two ways - Machu Picchu and the old locks.

He knew this was a bucket list cruise for me.  And based on how close to the end we booked this and the fact that he told me all the love notes he left me in the last months were just lies, he had to have known he wasn't going to stay with me.  Yet, he booked it anyway.

There just seems so many layers to his cruelty.

There were so many things he did all the way until the very end to convince me that things were good between us and that he was still planning for a future with me, all at the same time he was silently planning his exit.

Perspective

This magnet is attached to my fridge.  My Dad printed it for me I think in late 2021 or early 2022.  It encompasses one of my photos with a phrase I have always believed in.  It's what I use to identify my cruise cabin (when I remember to pack it and if the cabin door is metal).  It was my Dad's idea to print magnets for us all to help us find ours and each others' cabins on family cruises.  We all picked different images that we had taken.  He even printed one for my former mother-in-law as she was traveling with us on that early 2022 cruise through the Panama Canal.

I remember the day I took the photo.  We had checked out of our beach front hotel and were stopping at a couple of bird hotspots on the drive home from the Gulf coast.  This was on a stretch of beach after my ex-husband had turned around to go back to the car.  He often turned around before me.  Maybe that was a blessing because that has left me with many untainted memories where he wasn't even present.  In the moment I snapped the photo, I didn't realize exactly what I was looking at.  Often my camera captures more than my mind can process in the moment.  Maybe that's why I like bird photography vs just bird watching with a pair of binoculars.

Sitting in the passenger seat, as he drove us north towards home, I had my laptop out so that I could download and start editing photos.  When this one popped up on my screen, I remember the delight I felt.  This is a juvenile Black Skimmer, which was a new species to me at that time and the yoga like pose he was in created such an intriguing image.  Although I rarely get to see it because I have too many darn windows open, this photo is also the backdrop of my MacBook screen.  

Like the paintings I wrote about earlier in this post that seemed to have darker messages than I remember consciously feeling, I wonder what I had buried that made me feel so strongly about always readjusting my perspective.  It's a great skill to take stock of our perspective and what other perspectives exist when reacting to anything so on its surface this seems like a great life mantra.  But looking for a new perspective shouldn't be at the expense of the reality that exists.

I twisted myself into yoga positions like this young shorebird so many times to find the perspective that excused bad behavior, diminished cruelty, and tolerated what I never should have tolerated.

Maybe the better question to ask is how to do I stay better in tune with my feelings so that I can make decisions with more information in the future?  How can I keep myself open to all perspectives without dismissing my own reality?

Sleep, a sign of finding some peace, at least for the moment

Two nights in a row, I slept through the night, not even with my typical 3am wake up to use the toilet.  Each morning I woke up for the first (and last) time around 5:00 a.m. which is the rhythm my body had gotten into since the separation.

What a contrast that was from the weeks leading up to this weekend where I seemed to wake every couple of hours.  I even had one night last week where I was repeating the same dream every time I fell asleep that predicted the trajectory of the entire night and every wake up to the correct time.  It was like a ground hogs day scenario in my dreams that became reality.

But back to this weekend, I feel rested.  I'm not even sore from my long walk yesterday.  It isn't even 8am yet and I've enjoyed my coffee and breakfast and the bathroom has been cleaned.  There is a sense of peace in this morning.

Friday night, I spent several hours people watching as I sipped wine in a wine garden downtown.  I recognized and appreciated the unrushed way of authentic life and wrote a few lines in my journal reflecting that.

leaves wave in the breeze

bright yellow chairs fill the space

laughter rises over music

life trickles in

Yesterday, I stopped in at my favorite restaurant for a drink and chocolate cake.  In that space, I realized how full my life is with some of the greatest pleasures like chocolate cake, positivity, and people who know my name.  I pour into me (and the things I love like chocolate cake and a glass of wine in a wine garden).  I no longer have a shadow pointing out everything wrong with the world around me so can focus on the joys and positive things in life.  And the energy I have because of all I'm doing to pour into me leaves space for reciprocal connections with so many different people.

Then my parents called me last night.  The sun had set here but it was mid-afternoon where they cruised out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, several species of Albatross following their ship.  Although, they had talked about trying out wifi calling, I wasn't sure I would hear from them during their 32 day journey, which I knew would feel like a long time.  There aren't words to express the gratitude I feel for the ways our relationships have grown and the ways they have supported me over the last 18 months.

Oh, and there was a Penske truck parked near my ex-husband's side of the building yesterday and I noticed the rest of the stuff on his balcony disappeared at some point during the day.  I didn't run into him so I don't know for sure it was his but I felt a bit of hope that maybe he would finally be gone.

So with all of those amazing positive, I slept peacefully and restfully.

Fear

I went for a walk today.  It was a beautiful day.  About 2.5 miles from my home, up about 300 feet of elevation, is a park that overlooks the entire city.  The view even from the park is breathtaking.  Standing in the middle of this park is a tower with a sculpture of Vulcan on the top that you can climb 160 steps to get an even higher view.  When you reach the top, there is an open grate walkway that circles the tower for 360 views.

It was a quiet morning up at the top of the tower.  I imagine the fact that the elevator wasn't working deterred many.  Or maybe I was just there before it got very busy.  When I got to the top of the stairs, there was a family of four stopped in the entry way just before stepping out onto the grated walkway.  Their oldest (maybe 12ish) had stepped out onto the walkway and was almost dancing as he tried to tell them how great it was out there.  The other three were petrified of stepping out.  I eventually did see them come out but only for a very short time to get a photo.

Then I had the top to myself for a bit before a family of 3 arrived.  Their young son was almost taunting the woman who I assume was his mother (who was clearly terrified) while a man who I assume was the dad filmed it all on his phone.  Gone are the days when your vulnerable moments were just memories in the minds of the people you were with, memories that would fade over time, not be captured on video for eternity.

A bit later, a lone man peaked his head around the corner.  I was standing in the shady section where there was a nice breeze, opposite the exit from the stairs.  He admitted he was terrified of heights and hadn't realized it would be so open.

That's eight different people I encountered with five of them facing a pretty strong fear.  The irony as I leaned against the railing and even looked down and felt nothing but awe of the view, is that I was once them.

It really made me contemplate what fear is and how we overcome it.  If you were to ask me what I did to overcome my fear of heights, I would tell you that I just got tired of being afraid.  But does that even logically make sense.  Can one's exhaustion with fear really be enough for it to just disappear.  Fear plays an important role in keeping us safe, although it can also get in the way of living and so I'm not sure it's a rational thought process we can just make go away.

So why is it that I could so easily enjoy these heights today when a few years ago, they would have created such anxiety I struggled to enjoy the benefit of the view?

Sometimes I wonder if the trauma from the divorce didn't completely re-write my brain.  What seemed impossible before now feels comfortable.

I'm fine, really, or so I'm good at telling myself.

I have gotten so good at making the best of any situation, of convincing myself I'm fine maybe as a coping mechanism to get through, that I often don't notice the negative effect on me in the moment.  The most obvious example of that is the chronic pain that developed in my first year or two of marriage that I carried with me until we separated.  My body was physically trying to get me to notice the negative effect of my marriage on me, yet I ignored it as I focused on making the best of a marriage that wasn't quite what I had hoped it to be.

I think I did it again when we separated.  Everyone around me was surprised that my ex-husband (the one who asked for the divorce) was choosing to stay so close by staying in the same apartment building.  Along the way, people even pointed out how it was affecting me.  But I was quick to reassure everyone that I was fine, that I wasn't willing to let his decisions affect me anymore.  I had convinced myself that I got this even if I wasn't very successful at convincing those in my circle supporting me.

Eighteen months later, I am realizing what a real disservice he did to my healing.  I'm sure it didn't help that he chose a first floor unit that looked out into common space that I couldn't easily avoid.  And he knew my schedule, making it seem a little less than coincidence the multiple times encountered him with his new girlfriend.  

His choices all seem really ugly to me right now.  I'm really disgusted at the man I once actually believed was my soulmate.  I can't wait until he finally fully moves out.  And I look forward to the day I can start a new chapter in a new city where I won't even encounter his ghost, let alone him in person.

Distractions and Straddling the past and future

In therapy today, my therapist gave the metaphor of straddling the past and the future after I talked about how much good there currently is that is distracting me from the ruminations.  But as I think about it more, I think it's the opposite.  He is the distraction from all the good in my present life and plans for my future life.

I found a comedian on YouTube and watched one of his recent shows.  His first 25 minutes were about an actor I do not know but his message about the arts aligned so much with me that I smiled and laughed along with his entire dialogue and then he turned to very relatable politics.  As I sit here ready to press play on another one of his videos, I can't help but reflect on the shift I've made to better align my life with me, my values, my priorities, my interests, etc.

So as I get back to this next video and the puzzle I'm working on, I'm going to focus on what aligns and drown out the distractions of what no longer does.  I'm going to stand more solidly in the present and not let myself get pulled back into the past.  I'd rather straddle the present and the future in this time of transition.  There's much to love about the here and now.

Missing something I never had

Is it possible to miss something you never actually had?  I always imagined marriage to be having someone to talk life with, a daily companion to share our thoughts on the world - both our immediate world and the larger context of current events.

I thought I initially had that in my ex-husband but then I started to see how irritated he got when my thoughts didn't perfectly align with his.  He would get defensive when I just wanted dialogue.  He would hear my curiosity on differences of opinion as criticism.  (And no, it didn't matter the tone I used or the words I chose - I spent too many years trying to communicate better with him with absolutely no success because the problem still existed as to what he was willing to hear and how he was willing to interpret it.)  

By the end, he didn't even want to hear anything I had to say on politics, current events, or anything really.  As we separated, he made comments that made me think he wanted me to just let him do all the thinking and blindly accept his thoughts and decisions on everything, something about feeling emasculated when I didn't.  I suppose I wasn't as easy to manipulate when I had a mind of my own.

So years ago, when I realized he wasn't going to be that type of companion, I first turned to the comments section of the Washington Post.  Then I lost that subscription and eventually turned to Threads but now I'm four weeks into a social media break, not that any of those online platforms truly can replace the human conversation I crave.  I can only imagine what it would be like to be with someone who valued my mind.

So as I sip my coffee and peruse headlines, I kind of wish there was someone sitting at this kitchen table with me to talk about them.  I guess that is kind of ironic since in the later years of my marriage, I reclaimed my morning coffee time as quiet time away from my ex-husband and here I am wishing there was someone to share it with.

Left Behind

When we would cross a busy street, he would dart across in a window of cars smaller than I was comfortable with without looking back to see if I was still with him.  And it didn’t matter how many times I asked him to wait for me and that I wasn’t comfortable darting into traffic like that.  He didn’t care and he wouldn’t even notice I hadn’t crossed with him until I wasn’t there to figure out which way to go next or meet some other need of his.

Each time, I felt left behind, unconsidered, and maybe even a bit unloved.  It reminded me of how unimportant and low of a priority I was to him.  Each time, his actions hurt me and even knowing how he hurt me, he repeated his actions over and over throughout our entire two decades together.

When he abruptly asked for a divorce, it felt like he was darting out into traffic one more time, without empathy or consideration for me and without any communication.  I felt left behind in the life we had built.  I felt unconsidered, unimportant to him, and unloved, not all that unlike all those times we were actually crossing streets together.

Now today, as I get word he is cancelling his internet at his apartment and the local car wash subscription because of his move (things I still don’t understand why he needed to tell me), I feel like I’m still standing on this side of the street while he has successfully crossed.  Except this time, he isn’t looking back wondering why I didn’t follow him because he has found a replacement and no longer depends on the validation, admiration, management of his emotions, etc. I provided for him that was probably the only reason he would look back while we were together.

Now, my mind knows that what is on this side of the street is everything I love and care most about and that when I’m ready to cross the other street to my next chapter, it will be so much better than a life with him over on his side of the street would have been.  But that doesn’t erase the feelings of being left behind and so unconsidered by the one person I trusted and loved most.

Grateful

The sky is a cotton candy colored pink with some deeper reds mixed in now that the sun has disappeared over the horizon.  Over the last 24 hours I have worn a sundress and let the breeze in with temperatures in the 70s.  I have heard the violence of a severe storm throw the rain at my windows.  I have watched the blizzard like snow flurry out the office window.  I have received an unnecessary text from my ex-husband that just reminded me of his insecurities and cruelty.  I have felt the warmth of the community of friends and my sister and my parents.

And I think I am stronger because of it all.  In this moment I feel so incredibly grateful.  

I had started a very different post but this right here is what is important.

A quieter weekend this weekend

I slept through the night last night.  I woke up about 6:15 a.m., later than usual, and even laid in bed for a bit longer before getting up.  It was nice.  And it was a bit surprising as I have been restless lately.  I distracted myself yesterday evening by logging into Hulu to see how many Grey's Anatomy episodes I was behind on.  I think I watched three episodes last night and still have another three or so left to go.

Then this morning after breakfast and a bit of writing, I pulled up my tax forms and documents.  It was close to 10:30 when I finally took a break to shower and throw a load of laundry in.  It was then after noon when I felt the satisfaction of hitting submit on them both.  I don't remember the last time I had that easy of focus for that many hours at a time.

I don't remember the last time I've felt such a sense of accomplishment with something intellectual.  

Then I put my sandals on and walked to the grocery store where I proceeded to buy far too little because I hate cooking and I hate seeing food that I never get the motivation to cook go to waste so I just don't buy it in the first place.  

By the time I got back home, it was close to 2:00 p.m. so I opened the sushi I had picked up at the grocery store and had a late lunch.  Switching out the laundry, I then curled up on my bed with the patio doors wide open and enjoyed a short nap.  Since then I've been sipping a tart cherry martini and reading a lighthearted romance novel.  They have been setting up the stage at the brewery across the street so I imagine I'll get to listen to some music this evening.  The sun and breeze are still flowing into my apartment.  

Life is really quite good, amazing actually, when I lean into these simple moments.  And I feel nothing but positive when I look forward with my social calendar filling up again, at least partially thanks to my initiative, with that manager in Atlanta expressing continued interest in me, and with new adventures on the horizon.  I've got lunch plans with a retired colleague tomorrow, plans for an after hours art museum event with another group of friends the week after, and I really should sign up for that African Rhythms class I keep thinking about that starts in just over a week. 

Memories - navigating reality vs distortions

I made myself abagel sandwich for breakfast this morning.  There was a moment of nostalgia as I sat down to eat it.

It is the most bizarre feeling to think that a day will come when I never see my ex-husband ever again.  He will have fully moved out of this complex and I hopefully will have moved on to a brand new city.  Two people whose lives were fully intertwined down to the smallest daily routines for over two decades may never even cross paths again as they move on to new chapters.

There is a grief in that which is incredibly complicated with distortions, gaslighting, ego, insecurities, a loss of self, and an abrupt, cruel ending.  It's not that I want to go back to any of that again.  I don't think I could even if I wanted to.  Maybe that is what makes all this feel even more bizarre.

So as I ate my bagel sandwich this morning, I reflected on one of our simplest routines, one that used to be so beloved to me - the mornings we took the time to make bagel sandwiches together.  

One of the hardest parts of my healing has been making sense of my memories in the context of reality vs distortion.  Although the events actually did happen (and journal entries helped me feel confident in the way they happened), my perceptions and feelings about the events are being questioned, destroyed, reconstructed, etc. and that process has been painful.

Some memories are easier than others like the trip to the Galapagos.  I disassociated so much that the enjoyment of that travel and nature experience is wholly separate from any part he played in it.  I found a way to separate my grounded reality from his distortions about that event.   This simpler routine of making bagel sandwiches is a lot more complicated.

As I sat down to eat my sandwich this morning, I reflected on how flawlessly we seemed to work together and how loved I felt when he made my eggs.  But then I replayed the scene in my head.  

I saw myself getting out and toasting the bagels and pulling out two plates.  Often I would even pull out the pan and set it on the stove.  Next I would get out the bacon and put the right number of slices on a plate between paper towels and put them in the microwave.  Then I would rinse and cut open the avocado before slicing it and beautifully arranging the slices on the toasted bagel (there was an art to how I did this).  I would salt and pepper my avocado because I knew he wouldn't salt and pepper my egg in the pan like I liked.

While I was doing all that, he would cook the eggs and finish the sandwiches by added them on top of all the work I had done.  Sometimes he would grumble if I reminded him I liked my yolk a bit runnier than he did.

And then after I bit into my sandwich, I would admire how well he had cooked the eggs and often comment about how I can never seem to get them right when I cook them myself.   (Note to self - my eggs this morning were perfectly cooked.)

What felt like a loving routine where we worked together so well, in hindsight looks like a routine that went so flawlessly because of all the moving parts I handled behind the scenes while I tiptoed around his ego.  The love from him I imagined in that scene seems to be missing now that I have more clarity.

Did we used to routinely make egg sandwiches together?  Absolutely, the event was real.  But as my perspectives and feelings shift with a more grounded reality, the nostalgic element to it feels really tainted.