Travel Clarifies

I am sitting in the airport, waiting on a delayed flight, reading, writing and contemplating. All this led to me sending this email to the Ex:

I am reading a book and I came across this sentence: "True liberation comes when you quit the shackles you put on yourself."  This made me think of you and realize, finally realize, that this is what you did. My first reaction to the whole divorce was to wonder why I couldn't convince you that you could relax into your shackles. You were right. And now, with time and distance and change, I realize I owe you gratitude for not believing me, for forcing this big, uncomfortable, frightening and painful change. I have relearned so much that I forgot. Thank you. And I'm sorry that you had to be in that position. 

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Now I am shaking a little, as so much pent-up anxiety releases. It was a realization with all the force of a vision. I owe him thanks for hurting me. I owe him gratitude for giving me this gift of my life and caring enough to throw me into the fire so I could find it. Before I sent that message, I had to struggle to overcome the idea that contacting him was some kind of self-defeat. I felt like the full excision of him from my life was a freedom and a comfort. But maybe it was just another way to stay stuck in that relationship. 

I am starting to get anxious about what he will think and all the negative ways he could interpret the message. Will he see it as a random, attention-seeking bomb? That was not my intention, and I can't control his reaction. It is good for me to start saying what I feel to the people I feel it about. This needed to happen before I could really be ready to start a new, serious relationship. 

The shaking seems to be over. I'm left feeling relaxed, open, and a little exhausted. Travel clarifies for me. This is why I need to do it more often. 

Mapless on the Road

I started this whole blog as part therapy, part rough draft space for a larger writing project.  Dear ones, the latter part of that plan is coming together.  In just a few weeks, I'll be reading from this and other works at TheNewStudio in Evanston.  Come and hear my voice, and let me see your face. 

Don't. You. Dare.

I sat in my car, weeping like I hadn't done in months, and I wrote this text message:

"I fucking hate it when I can tell someone feels sorry for me."

Then I took some laddery breaths, let the tears sit on my face, and I deleted the message without sending it.  Because, really, what was I trying to do but get someone different to feel sorry for me?  Someone whose attention maybe I felt like I couldn't get any other way.  So I put down the phone and cried it out on the way home.

This is what started it:  recently I have come to the conclusion that I don't want conventional.  I don't want the job managed and directed by someone else, I want the life created by me.  I want this, even with the insecurity, anxiety, and in-car crying jags.  I want all of this, even though I know this makes it more challenging for me to find the partner I want.  (You know, the person who will make an effort to be with me even when I'm on my cycle and sex is not going to happen, even when my schedule doesn't match the standard adult corporate work schedule.)

In order to create this life, I need to let go of lots of things.  I've pretty well let go of the hard ones (caring what other people think, lifelong assumptions about what success means,) and now comes the more labor intensive ones.  I have started giving away most of the tchotchkes and fancy things that were surrounding me in my home, and I finally made the decision to move to a cheaper place.  

I went in to visit with my real estate agent to talk over the current condo market and how I should go about getting my place ready to sell.  You may recall her -- she's the one whose first reaction to the divorce news was: "But you're so pretty!"

We sat down and went over all the comps she pulled for me, talked about my building in particular, and occasionally butted heads over unrealistic things.  (No, I will not pay thousands of dollars that I don't have for someone to stage my condo.). It was immediately clear to me that she didn't quite know how to handle this situation.  House poor seller, trying to build a business, with little to no time or money to put into the prep of the condo, and no partner to pick up the phone when she was busy with a client.  Her conversation started getting peppered with "I know"s and "It's difficult"s.  She said these things because she didn't know what else to say.  She felt sorry for me, she felt pity.  And although this came from a good place in her heart, she didn't understand that pity is the last thing I need.  That I am quite contented with my single life (most of the time) and that the absolute loss of the conventional dream with the condo in downtown (über suburb) was not a tragedy for me.  It was/is a step into the future.

But I felt a little sick and off that day anyway, so I didn't have the mental strength to do anything but keep it together until I could get to my car and cry from sheer frustration, then from feeling sorry for myself because I couldn't think of anyone to call and get coffee with at that time of day.  Fortunately, my literary training kicked in and I recognized the irony before I got home and had to discuss my real estate plans with my new potential landlord.  Water, food, and a midday nap completed the reset, and now I can think of five or more people who I could have called.  

Don't feel sorry for me, real estate lady, because my life has not followed the conventional path that yours has. Don't feel sorry for the bumps and bruises I've had this past year.  And don't you fucking dare feel sorry for me that I have chosen to sell my place.  This is my choice.  And I will also choose not to feel sorry for adventures I have had that you have missed.