With This Ring

I’ve known for a while…. don’t be mad because I couldn’t tell you.

A few weeks ago, ND and I enjoyed a performance of Billy Elliot and a dinner at the most delicious French Creperie.  When I got home, I promptly put on my pjs and was greeted by a very nervous ND, who had opened a bottle of wine in the kitchen.  He knelt down, looked me in the eye and said, “I’ve been thinking for a while about where to do this, and I can’t think of anywhere better than here, in this kitchen, where we started our life together.”  Then, he continued with abunchofnicestuffI’llneverremember.  No seriously, I remember very little because it was super overwhelming.  But I know this:  he really meant it.  And he talked about D.  And that was it.  We were engaged.

We designed this ring together, in a series of intense negotiations.  It started with my low-ball offer of “band only” and ND countered with a ridiculous diamond ring set.  After more back and forth, ND made a very emotional plea for a stone, so I said, “Fine.  But no diamonds.”  And thus we embarked on a venture to find a jeweler who could make this creation that was his and hers, off-beat and traditional.  We found James, who looked like a biker, smoked like a hippie, but made jewelry like royalty.  ‘Nuff said.  He had recently cut the center stone, a Kunzite, himself and was excited to find a happy couple to adopt it.  It took one google search to know it was meant for us:  Kunzites are said to create balance in loving relationships– to allow the wearer to be more open and trusting to unconditional love.  Kunzites are the stone of the betrayed, I think.

But the Kunzite was too pretty for me.  Too delicate.  C’mon, it was freaking pink.  So I wanted to balance it with a stronger color, and a stronger energy.  After all, it’s not all whipped cream and glitter rain, remember?  So in came the side stones, the Garnets.  Which happen to be D’s birthstone.  The Garnet is associated with a list of virtues I’d like to remember:  passion, true friendship, fidelity, success, self-esteem, loyalty, devotion, sensuality, energy, faith, consistency, and truth.

I’m not a mystic or a shaman or anything supercool like that, but I am an English teacher, people.  And I believe in symbolism.  So the decision made itself, really.  Which is great because I’m terrible at decisions and this was something that was going to be nearly impossible to spreadsheet.

James set to work crafting something that would reflect and represent all of us, and now I’m wearing a piece of artwork on my finger.  And to be honest, I’m a little uncomfortable.  I don’t wear flashy, showstopping jewelry.  As part of the original negotiations, ND and I agreed that I have the liberty to wear my plain gold band (from my grandmother, a single mom of 6) whenever I like, no questions asked. In fact, there was a moment where I almost told James thanksbutnothanks and walked out.  But my sister’s words from last December echoed in my  head: “You finally found a guy who treats you like a princess… why are you questioning this??”

So I said yes to the ring, knowing I had said yes to the man long ago.

Family Unit

Having a family unit is an incredible blessing in my life.  Not just for me.  I think D is overwhelmingly happy in our new home and I think she truly enjoys the attention she gets from both of us.  She still prefers to play with one adult at a time, but choosing between us has become a real treat for her.

I’m so excited about this opportunity, that I’ve become hyper-vigilant in protecting it.  I want to do everything as a family.  I want us all to wake up at the same time, eat at the same time, go to sleep at the same time.  I want our calendars to have the same events on them.  I’m one step away from synchronizing our bowel movements.  I don’t want to do anything that might compromise family time, since it is limited already by my parenting agreement with DB.

ND has been on board with this idea:  he has (without prompting) postponed his daily trips to the gym, limited the constant stream of ESPN and resigned from his fantasy football team.  He’s completely willing to make sacrifices to his personal interests in order to build a stronger, more enjoyable family life.  And I appreciate this so much that I find myself counterbalancing that by encouraging him to go to football games with his friends, or planning outings for D and I so he can have some time to himself.  Seems hypocritical, huh?  I guess I’m terrified that he will grow to resent me for his lost personal time, despite the fact that he seems entirely enthusiastic about these sacrifices (yes, I see that I need to re-pattern this).

In my worst moments, I find myself becoming jealous of ND’s family when they request his time or attention.  Let’s face it, they’ve got 32 years on me and his routines were built around them until I came along.  So the fact that he carves out time to visit with his parents multiple times a week, the fact that he is the only sibling who volunteers to mow their lawn, the fact that he checks his facebook account multiple times a day to get updates on his niece, all of these benign behaviors that were once endearing have now begun to feel slightly threatening to our family unit.  Whaaaaat?  Why is my first reaction to see this as a competition for time and attention and not to see that there is clearly enough ND for all of us?   Perhaps I am simply used to competing for DB’s time and attention, and this is yet another behavior that I need to re-pattern.

A friend once told me that the things you find most attractive in a partner when you first meet are inevitably the things that will repel you over time.  ND’s selflessness and his commitment to family are core values that I have always admired in him.  I keep reminding myself that he has made super-human efforts to make our life downright dreamy and I have no room to be ungrateful.

For those of you who have been betrayed, I wonder if sometimes you, too, find yourselves sabotaging good situations.  Maybe even unconsciously.  It is such a risk to let somebody in, to not push them or test them in an effort to prove to yourself, ultimately, that nobody is trustworthy. Essentially we relegate ourselves to loneliness so that nobody else can do it to us.

Blogging out my doubt and fear is actually helping me to hold myself accountable.  It’s like trying to keep a diet when you have a weekly meeting with a trainer.  Knowing that I may have to report my failures publicly (or just admit that I’m slipping into sabotage) is sometimes what makes me put sincere effort into enabling the success of my relationship.  I used to see women make these kinds of eager investments and call them impulsive or naive.  Now I see that they may have had a wisdom I simply did not posses.  The wisdom to enable success by feeding it unconditional love and support, and to choose, very deliberately, NOT to leave room for doubt, fear and insecurity.

Tentageddon 2012

Anybody who has ever set up a tent knows that TENTS RUIN MARRIAGES.  No joke.  My family has camped at least once a summer since I can remember, and we’ve brawled over many a tent.  Thanks to technology, this is less of a risk.  But a risk nonetheless.

I say all of this to help you understand the level of risk I took when I invited ND to go camping this year.   For this first time in his life.  In a tent.  With my entire family.  And a two year old.

ND is a trooper, though, and he packed the car and drove us to the site with a smile on his face.  But I’m not a crazy person and I know that tents ruin marriages, so I sent him off to the beach with little D as my sister and I erected the tent.  Tent-tastrophe averted.  Or so I thought.

Just as we were finishing, the thunder picked up and the sky got dark.  We knew a storm was coming.  ND swooped in and attempted to help me secure the rainfly, as my sister retreated to the car with D.  And then it happened.

Tentageddon.

The Tentpocalypse.

A freaking Tsunami swooped through the campground, ripping up tent stakes and turning tents into hot air balloons.  ND and I, having just invested in this tent, were not about to let it blow away, so we grabbed the ends and stood firm on the corners while getting pelted with rain.  The tent swelled with the whipping wind and our clothes were soaked through.  Like I said.  Tents. Ruin. Marriages.  We wrapped the rainfly around ourselves and stared at each other through the screen windows and… laughed.  Laughed hard.

Take that, Universe.  I laugh in the face of Tentageddon.  Is that the best you can do??

And then there was a huge CRACKing sound and a massive tree came down about a 100 feet from us.  It’s best not to tease the Universe, I see.  We disassembled the tent, threw the coolers on top of it and high tailed it to the car.

You can imagine how this situation could have led to a relationship apocalypse as well.  We were cold, scared, and aggravated.  Fingers could have been pointed.  Voices could have been raised.  Rhetorical questions could have been hurled.  But we just stared at each other in the rear view mirror, marveling over the act of nature and the appreciation we have for each other.  (Barf, I know)

The rest of the weekend was a minefield of potential arguments.  D wouldn’t sleep.  The air mattress was uncomfortable.  We only brought one blanket and the temp dropped low.  My Uncle got drunk and irritated us all.  Political conversations needed averting.  This list could go on…but it all culminated in the riskiest move of all.  My father wanted to have a talk with ND.  GAH.

ND came back from the talk glowing, though.  Not like he had seen a ghost, but like he had just won a freaking trophy.  And the ND+Dad talk led to other family talks.  And soon everybody was smiling and laughing and hugging and taking pictures.  It was mind-blowing.  An event that was so likely dissemble our family with bickering and bitching was actually the catalyst for knitting us more closely together.

If the end of days is, in fact, on it’s way… I’m really glad I got a chance to see this level of happiness.  I encourage you all to “live dangerously happy“, too.

Sponsored

I just blogged about finding a Divorce Sponsor, but more than anything I think we all seek out a Life Sponsor.  Maybe it’s your mom.  Maybe it’s your Rabbi.  Maybe it’s your wife.

Mine is my best friend from graduate school.  She single-handedly shifted my perspective on everything:  life, love, culture, education, you name it.  She gives the best book recommendations, best recipes, and can shake a tailfeather better than anyone I know.  She is beautiful inside and out and I always call her when I need clarity.  And she graciously carves out time to provide it, every time, even when she is across the country, nine months pregnant, nursing a sick toddler.  There.  I said it.  My best friend is the best friend of all time.  Ever.

You all know I’m pretty over the moon about Turning the Blue Room Pink.  But it wasn’t until a few days ago that I could tell my landlord.  You see, one year ago, I was in desperate need of a new living situation.  I had fled my marital home and lived in the Cheap Apartment Below an Elephant for one year.  The place was nice…ish… but crawling with spiders and reeking of impermanence.  Meaning, living in that place meant knowing that my life was totally unpredictable and nothing, NOTHING, like what I thought it would/should be.

So when serendipity took over and this place literally fell into my lap, I was overjoyed.  My landlord/co-worker gave my home a ton of TLC, complete with a kid-sized watering can for little D to water flowers.  And with the reasonable rent and the outside maintenance taken care of, I knew I could stay here for a long time.  In fact, this house in in the district I teach in, so I could stay here and have my kid attend a great school that shared my work calendar.  It was perfect.

So you can understand why I hesitated to lay out the actual timeline for The Pink Room and formally give my notice to my landlord.  It meant giving up the only sense of permanence I’ve had since the divorce.  Should I ever have to look for housing again, surely I won’t be this lucky again.

So I called my very wisest friend and asked her to observe and question my hesitation in only the way a compassionate and honest friend could.  Was this a sign of doubt in my relationship?  Old vulnerabilities wreaking havoc?  Or simply me mourning the generosity and kindness I’ve received from my landlord?

She responded with this:  “I’ve probably said this a thousand times, but I’m going to say it again.  When you are confronting a choice or a transition, ask yourself if you are motivated by fear and doubt or motivated by love and compassion.”

And this is why she is a genius.  Because immediately I knew that it was fear and doubt keeping me from making the call to my landlord.  This living situation has been mutually beneficial and my gratitude is clear.  It’s not guilt that’s really in the way, it’s fear and doubt.  And I’m not letting those things rule my life.

I’m going to give myself the space to make decisions out of love.  And if that means I’ve got to hope for another housing miracle in the future, so be it.  I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t want a back up plan on this one.  I want to plan two feet in, eyes ahead and heart open.  No doubts.  No space.  Forever.

——————

And just to further demonstrate the bff principle, she followed up her phone conversation with an email.  Complete with quotes from an excellent book, The Seat of the Soul.

Zukav sets up this idea of love and fear on page 120. Thought I would quote it as its quite powerful…  “The human emotional spectrum can be broken down into two basic elements: love and fear. Anger, resentment and vengeance are expressions of fear, as are guilt, regret, embarrassment, shame, and sorrow. There are lower-frequency currents of energy. They produce feelings of depletion, weakness, inability to cope and exhaustion. The highest frequency current, the highest energy current, is love. It produces buoyancy, radiance, lightness, and joy. 

 

He goes on to say, “The karma of the soul determines the characteristics of the personality.” [he goes on to explain this further] then says, “It [karma] determines the intentions with which the personality will shape its reality. These intentions create the reality that provides the soul, at each moment, with the experiences that are necessary for the balancing of its energy, and the personality with the clearest choice between learning through wisdom or learning through doubt and fear.”

 

On page 127, Zukav writes, ” When you choose to respond to life’s difficulties with compassion and love instead of fear and doubt, you create a ‘heaven on Earth’ – you bring the aspects of more balanced and harmonious level of reality into physical being.

So BAM!  Here is some wisdom that should be shared.  From Zukav, to my friend, to me and now to you.

Dark Spaces

“You cannot push darkness out, you can only let light in.”

I wrote this on a post-it-note and stuck in next to my closet when I moved out of my marital home.  Every day, I would read it.  Every day, I would try to practice it. I don’t remember where it came from, though it’s strikingly similar to Martin Luther King’s “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.”  Maybe I was living with a warped version of a good quote…

Meh.  Shrug.  It worked for me, regardless.

Many times during my separation and divorce I felt like I was sitting alone in a very, very dark hallway.  I would lament the darkness, scream at it, try to fight it.  At some point I realized that my efforts were futile:  The only way the hallway would illuminate is if I choose a door and let some light in.  I didn’t know what was behind each door…I couldn’t confirm in advance that there was any light to be had.  But when I had sufficiently wallowed and was desperate for light, I knew I had to try.

This week I got to visit with three different single mom friends and I was filled with gratitude afterward.  I was grateful that we understood each other.  I was grateful that I have found new, like-minded friends.  I was grateful to have lots of new blog-post ideas.  And most of all, I was grateful that we could revisit the darkness together without getting sucked back in. When I say darkness, I mean the depression, the sadness, the guilt, the insecurity and the fear that comes with infidelity and divorce.  I’m sure a similar darkness comes with other experiences, but this particular version of it feels unique to our circumstances.

I guess it’s like having a Divorce Sponsor.  When you are tempted to let the darkness consume you, to give into it, you need to have someone to call.  And even your dearest friends might not be able to get you out of the water when it is churning, pulling at your legs and licking at your cheeks.  Those dear friends are still wonderfully meaningful people in your life, but they don’t speak this language.  You need someone who can validate your feelings, share your sadness and still give you reason to fight your way back to the surface.  Back to the light.

The internet has brought me several divorce sponsors, only some of whom I’ve met in person.  People who I can reach out to even when I don’t want to reach for my closest friends.  Thanks for the light, folks.

 

The Blue Room

ND’s house is a work in progress, which is part of what I love about him.  There are signs of his handiwork everywhere, and it’s gorgeous to see his attention to detail and commitment to quality workmanship.  The spare bedroom, stacked high with boxes and miscellania, has been dubbed “the blue room” since he moved in, because he chose not to heat or cool it and therefore sealed the windows and vents with blue tarp and blue painter’s tape.  A few months ago, ND and I were having our morning gchat when something pretty gigantic happened….

ND: hey love! how was the drive in?

me: good. i miss being able to zone out and just listen to the radio. one more reason I love staying at your place.

ND: that’s awesome!  so you wouldn’t be totally against maybe moving out with me sometime?

::GULP::

me: I could be swayed, with some contingencies. 🙂

ND: humm….nice. do you want to tell me the contingencies yet? or is that a secret?

 me: well, first and foremost, I’d be bringing D with me.

ND: of course!! that wasn’t a question.

me: so the blue room might need to turn pink. or purple.

ND: hahaha…i would be happy to give it a paint job.  maybe D could even help.

Since then, we’ve affectionately used “turning the blue room pink” as code for all things co-habitation.  It began as a playful fantasy and every week or so we’d have a conversation that was one level deeper than the next.  At one point, I realized that this wasn’t really playful anymore.  We were both getting invested in the idea.  So I asked ND what his ideal timeline would be… and he said he’d like to start next school year as a family.  As in, living together by August.

I was simultaneously thrilled and terrified.

So I went to see my therapist.  And began to seriously consider the trajectory of my relationship with ND.  This was an incredibly vulnerable place for me, because ND was saying all the right things and I was really beginning to take stock in our imagined future.  But something was still holding me back, so I didn’t tell many people about our scheming and I refused to give my landlord notice.  When I really asked myself why, I came up with two answers:

 1) I am terrified of being judged by people.   This relationship is moving at a steady but quick pace and I don’t want anybody thinking that my affection for ND is compromising my parenting.

2)  Years with DB have trained me to know that words are just words.  DB promised everything from doing household chores to spending a lifetime together as a family.  In fact, when we were separated he would send devoted emails claiming he loved me so deeply that he was going to move mountains to win me back.  But when it came time to ACT…no dice.  So I can revel in the promises just like any other girl, but I don’t get invested unless I see some action.

It was hard to tell ND about both of these reasons, especially #2.  But he could tell that I wasn’t 100% in and was beginning to suspect that my commitment was unequal to his.  So I fessed up and we laid out a timeline for the renovations that would need to take place before D and I could move in.  Seeing it there in calendar form made it real, so real that we were both a little disappointed to observe that it would be nearly impossible to make it work by August.

24 hours later, I went to visit ND and he walked me to the Blue Room.  It was completely cleared of everything, except for an old couch.  I shrieked with excitement, knowing that this was a sign of his commitment to making it all happen.  We sat on that couch holding hands and I peppered him with kisses as we conspired.  We agreed that with a lot of backbreaking labor (his) and a lot of planning (mine), we could make it work.

One week later, ND has leveled and laid a new sub-floor, installed new windows, patched up drywall and chosen a shade of pink paint.  Oh, and completely gutted his kitchen and dining room to make way for new cabinets and furniture.

This, my friends, is a man of his word.  The Blue Room is turning pink.  And so are my cheeks.

Awkwedding

I attended my first wedding since my divorce…and it felt like a pretty big milestone.  As I observed the happy couple, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit jaded.  Their youthful smiles seemed so naive.  They, like many newlyweds, have no idea what they are in for.  I do hope, however, that they can use the joy to fuel through the obstacles that are inevitable.  Jaded as I may be, I still believe in marriage.

I’m not the kind of person you want to invite to your wedding, by the way, because I absolutely relish awkward wedding moments.  I’m not kidding… there is no joy like mine when I can chuckle at your veiled or bejeweled expense.  Like when the officiant says the wrong bride’s name….snicker.  Or when the wedding party is forced to dance together…chortle.  Or when the bride and groom have no rhythm and just wiggle like it’s a 7th grade dance…belly laugh.  Or when the maid of honor gives a “speech” that is 10 seconds long…incredulous cackle.  The moments get more awkward, the drinks get further consumed and my mockery gets louder.  It’s really all quite light-hearted, you see, as I am not mocking the couple or their union; I’m mocking wedding traditions that are nonsensical. Some of these traditions are fairly harmless and clichéd (cake smashing) and others are sometimes painful or embarrassing (bouquet tossing).  Let’s not even get started on shameful or unethical (diamond engagement rings).

You will not be surprised to learn, then, that I became victim to an awkward wedding moment while I was in attendance.  As this wedding was hosted by my Uncle, many of DB’s teammates were in attendance.  I figured I could avoid them, but awkward wedding tradition number 57 is that when there are empty seats at a 10 person table, they are filled with the “leftover” couple.  And because the world works in mysterious ways, our table of family members was infiltrated by a softball player and his wife.

Within 10 minutes of sitting down, he looking around and commented, “I’m surprised that DB isn’t here.  I thought he would be.  Do you know DB?”

Fuck. My. Life. I am flanked by the love of my life and my entire family, all of which equate DB to Voldemort.  He should not be named.

Me (matter of factly):  “Yes, I used to be married to him.”

Softball Dude (to his wife):  “Erm…You know DB, remember?  He broke his jaw.”

Me:  “Yeah, well, we call that Karma where I come from. “

Silence.

Awkward, indeed.

Later in the evening…

Wife:  “You know he’s really sorry about that.  He has no idea.”

Me:  “I know.  I heard you mention that he hadn’t played on a year or so.  He was probably unaware.  But here’s the thing… your husband is clearly a family man.  You said he stopped playing softball because of his family commitments.  DB could not prioritize his family and that is why he is not welcome at this family event.  He started having an affair while I was pregnant and he still chooses to play softball during his parenting time.”

Wife: “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.  What a jerk.”

Me:  “Don’t worry about it.  I’m so much happier now than I could have ever been before.”

Wife:  “I can see that.  Things happen for a reason.”

So we exchanged smiles and it was over, as far I was concerned.

But my parents were not ready to leave it at that.  My mother confronted my Uncle about the seating arrangements and my father pulled ND aside to apologize.  My father told me later that he was “heartbroken” for ND that he’d had to hear DB’s name mentioned when we are clearly so happy together.  The thing is, ND was not bothered by it.  In fact, he was delighted and honored that my father jumped to his defense– it gave them something to bond over.

So it turns out that even the most uncomfortable moments can present unexpected rewards.  ND met my entire maternal family that night and they were all commenting on how happy we look, how nice he is or how much they’d like to see him in the future.

Here’s to the happy couple!

I’ll be happy when…

We’ve all done it.  Fallen into the “I’ll be happy when” thinking.  Right now, I’ll be happy when school is out for summer. When I get uninterrupted sleep.  When I lose 5 pounds.

This is obviously dangerous territory.  It sets you up to think that your happiness is reliant upon circumstance, or that it is just around the corner.  And when you buy into those notions, you’ll never be happy.  You’ll always be waiting for the right circumstance or turning the next corner.

As a single parent, it might look like this:  “I’ll be happy when I’m not in this alone anymore.”  And for me, I feel conflicted about this statement.  I think a lot about how I’ll be “happier” when I’ve got somebody reliable to share everything with.  “Happier” when ND and I are living together at a team (you know, happily ever after).  But I also think it’s important to be happy without those things, so as not to become reliant upon them in a negative way… to begin blaming what should not be blamed.  Dreaming my eventual happiness keeps me from finding happiness in my current moment; in fact, it encourages me to look for things to gripe and complain about because they will supposedly “get better” when I live in a two-parent household.  So I’m trying to embrace all the amazing things I have to be happy about, because they are bountiful.

I’ve decided to read “The Art of Happiness” this summer.  I’ve wanted to read it for a long time.  This is precisely the kind of book that I’d have avoided in my marriage.  DB was not amused with my New Age thinking and would certainly have been annoyed if I predictably pummeled him with questions that this book will surely stimulate.  I was happy to share my reading intention with ND, however, knowing that he’d support it even if he had never heard of the book or disagreed with its premise. I am really happy to say that he has not only heard of it, he’s read it (twice). And I’m supremely happy to say that he suggested we read it and talk about it together. Whoop!

Regrettably, I did a lot of “I’ll be happy when” thinking during my marriage.  Despite the fact that I had never even fathomed this kind of happiness.  I had no idea that I could be this happy– I’m in The Matrix of happiness.  I took the red pill and it’s the best fucking drug ever.  So while I gripe about the stress I endure and post about the ghosts of infidelity’s past, please bear in mind that “when” is now.  I AM happy.

(Rest easy, le Clown.)

The Lotus List

After D day there are always triggers lurking around the corner.  One of my biggest triggers was music, since DB and I had spent 12 years together and I couldn’t find a station on the radio that didn’t play memories out my speakers.

So I invested in my first iPod.  It was a really great choice.  I could control what I heard and I could make it trigger free.  I could also make an entire playlist that echoed the range of emotions in my betrayed head.

Don’t judge my musical taste based on this list.  These are just the songs that helped me deal with the affair-specific tough times.  Through this list, I could comfort myself in times of sadness, anger, or self-righteous pride.

 

1. “Rumor Has It”  Adele
2. “Not Ready to Make Nice”  Dixie Chicks
3. “You Don’t Know Me”  Ben Folds
4. “Gunpowder and Lead”  Miranda Lambert
5. “Cheater Cheater” Joey and Rory
6. “Single Ladies”  Beyonce
7. “Blame it on Your Heart”  Patty Loveless
8. “Best Days of Your Life”  Kellie Pickler
9. “Bulletproff”  La Roux
10. “I’m a Bitch” Meredith Brooks
11. “Irreplacable”  Beyonce
12. “Kerosene”  Miranda Lambert
13. “Rolling in the Deep”  Adele
14. “Take Another Little Piece of My Heart”  Janis Joplin
15. “Facedown”  Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
16. “Tainted Love”  Soft Cell
17. “It’s not Right, but it’s Okay”  Whitney Houston

So, to those of you who are coping with any kind of obstacle, I highly recommend a personalized playlist.  Like Ally McBeal, we all need a theme song.

A Perfect Death

When I was a teenager, “Perfect” by Alanis Morissette was really popular.  I remember being moved by the song, but not really identifying with it.

As I showered this morning, I heard “Live like You were Dying” by Tim McGraw.  Again, I’ve always been moved by the song, but not deeply connected with it.

I was able to make a realization today by juxtaposing these two songs.  Run with me on this one, and let’s see if it can rock your world like it did mine.

The McGraw song, as it is aptly titled, speaks of living life like you were dying.  How this might evoke a change in behavior (riding a bull, spending more time with family, etc) or a change in attitude (“I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter/ And I gave forgiveness I’d been denying”)  This song has always gotten me a little lump-in-the-throat-ish since I saw Stacy Westfall’s freestyle ride in dedication to her father.  But that’s not the point.  The point is, when I found out about DB’s affair and dealt with our bitter divorce, I felt like I was dying.  Everything I knew to be true was false and everything I knew to be good was dust.  I completely lost faith and I completely lost myself.  So I felt like I was dying, but I didn’t live like I was dying.

But then I phoenixed myself (nouns can be verbs, people) and rose from the ash.  And now I live with so much more joy, compassion and spontaneity.  I feel more myself than I ever have.  So as I was showering at ND’s place this morning, I smiled about how great life is right now, how lucky I am to have a life so far from perfect.

Alanis Morisette’s song comes to a climax with these lines:

I’ll live through you
I’ll make you what I never was
If you’re the best, then maybe so am I
Compared to him compared to her
I’m doing this for your own damn good
You’ll make up for what I blew
What’s the problem, why are you crying

Though the lyrics are meant from parent to child, they reminded me of DB and I.  They remind me that what looks perfect isn’t always enjoyable, and that “perfect” is a very subjective term.  It wasn’t that long ago that I thought I could live, that I was living, a pretty perfect life.  I did it all the “right” way with DB– long courtship, cohabitation, marriage before kids, blah blah blah.  And then “doing it right” turned out to be a royal shitshow.  I felt the pressure of the Morisette song…self inflicted or not.  And despite my greatest efforts at perfection, I didn’t get to live the life I had envisioned.

Which is so fucking great because now I am officially imperfect.

My marriage died and my perfection died, and now I get to live.  I get to be happy… which is way better than being perfect.