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Posted on by stilllearning2b
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I have a doctor’s appointment today. I just finished printing and filling out the forms ahead of time so that I would be prepared (I’m a planner, remember?). Things went smoothly until I got to this question:

Marital Status: ____Single ____Married_____Divorced____Widowed

I could come up with a reason for me to select each one:

Divorced: well, yes, but it does not define me
Single: technically, as I am not under legal obligation to be bound to another
Married: not legally, but in spirit, as I am committed to a long term partner with whom I reside
Widowed: not in the strict sense, but emotionally, as my ex severed all contact as abruptly as if he had died

I think I need a new category:

_____ I’m divorced, but that does not define me.  I’m not really single, either.  Nor married, although that comes closer to the truth.  I’m in a long term, monogamous, and cohabitating relationship.  No, I’m not sure if I’ll make it legal.  Why? Well, I’m not having kids, so there is not that to worry about.  Also, I no longer see any “protection” from the legal stamp.  So, I’ll just keep it the way it is, thank you: we are together each day because we choose to be together each day.  That is all.

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A Beautiful Day of Contrast

Posted on by stilllearning2b

A Road Re-traveled

The particular stretch of interstate 20 between Alabama and Georgia bookended my marriage.  In our early years, we traveled the road when we moved from Texas to Georgia.  We packed our entire lives into a 15 foot Ryder truck.  I sat crammed in the front seat, the cat, drugged into slumber, in her crate under my feet and our pug sitting on my lap, barking at every overpass.  We were young, overjoyed to be reunited after 7 months apart, and filled with excitement over our future.  We made most of the journey in one 22 hour push (slow going thanks to the governor on the truck and the car towed behind).   We finally stopped for a brief respite at the Alabama-Georgia border, stealing a few hours of sleep while we waited for the Atlanta traffic to clear.

The next time I traveled on I-20, my marriage was over and I was undertaking a journey to place one of its innocent victims, our youngest dog, with new owners.  The tone of that drive was very different; I still had a dog on my lap, but this time it was one I was saying goodbye to.  We made the transfer at the same rest station where my husband-to-be and I had stopped 11 years prior.  The same welcome center that greeted my married life signaled the loss of the same.

Today, I traveled that highway for a third time.  Today, the road held no particular meaning.  Today, the rest stop simply was a place to stretch and get a drink.  Today, the road carried me not into a new life, but simply to a new city for a weekend.  A city that is as filled with contrasts as that road was for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twin Tables

My first stop upon entering Birmingham was the botanical gardens.  I was immediately smitten with the naturalistic eye of the designers.  Unlike the Atlanta gardens, this park is not filled with carefully cultivated and perfectly placed plants.  The herbaceous growth was allowed to get a little wild, to grow unrestrained in places.  It was a delight to see the freely spreading phlox and trilliums ignoring the boundaries, coloring outside the lines.

I grinned in delight as I entered the fern grotto.  Ferns have always been one of my favorite plants, they seem to lower the air temperature 10 degrees simply with their presence and they always fill me with a sense of calm and peace.  On the bridge, overlooking the ferns, I met an elderly gentleman who visited the park every day.  He had lived in Birmingham his entire life and told me stories of the area and of the garden while he led me on my own impromptu tour of the park.

We came upon a large stone table.  He mentioned that this was his gratitude table and that every time he passed it, he paused to give thanks.  I was surprised to hear this from him, as he seemed to be a stoic southern man of a certain generation, who does not speak of this such as emotion.  He then proceeded to shock me further by describing an encounter he had one day at that table.  While he was giving thanks, a young nun in a full habit came up.  They entered into conversation and he mentioned his view of the table.  She laughed, and said that she had always viewed the table as a sacrificial altar where she would pause to surrender.  One table, two views.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Civil Rights & Hillbillies

In the city center and the art museum, there were signs everywhere of the city’s complicated past with human rights and desegregation.  Based upon this, I expected to find a city still stuck in the Old South.  Although I have seen elements of that, I have also been surprised at the liberal side of the city bleeding through the fabric of tradition.  I stumbled upon a lovely St. Patrick’s Day parade in the Five Points neighborhood.  It had a small town charm, with the requisite cars full of the city’s young beauties and not-so-young makers and shakers and waving at the crowd.  I roared with laughter when an Old Alabama truck came by, complete with a character straight out of the Beverly Hillbillies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My laughter was soon swallowed in shock as I realized that an exuberant drag queen was prancing behind the pickup truck, followed by Birmingham’s very own gay pride group.  The crowd’s cheers grew even loader.  My jaw dropped even lower.  This is certainly not the old South.  The civil rights movement here continues on…

Celtic Southern Vegans

I plan to end my lovely day with some further contrasts.  I am going to hear Celtic music at a vegan/vegetarian venue in this Southern town.  I can’t wait to see what I find next…

Days like this remind me that life cannot be neatly categorized.  People and places are neither black nor white, but exist in the spaces between.  It is another reminder to let go of expectations and see the world with wide-eyed wonder.

Clean Up, Aisle 5

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I received a notice in the mail yesterday that I have to report to court to settle one of the financial messes that my ex left behind. I have known that this was coming, but that does not make its arrival any easier.

I’m angry. Angry that he continues to dodge his responsibilities while I, as a tax-paying citizen who holds a job and a valid driver’s license, gets to deal with the mess he so casually left behind.

I’m anxious. Even now, almost three years out from the initial blow, I’m still half-waiting for another explosion.

But, most of all, I feel ashamed. I don’t know why, but this is my response when I feel like people are judging me, even when their assumptions are untrue. These people don’t know anything of my story, nor do they care. I want to walk in there, head held high, with the “innocent spouse” letter from the IRS fastened to my collar, an anti-scarlet letter. I want them to know that I am the one cleaning up the mess, not the one who left it there in the first place.

But, I guess it doesn’t matter. Part of marriage is cleaning up after your spouse. My clean-up duties just happen to extend beyond the matrimony. I’ll walk in there, keep my story to myself, and take care of business, leaving me with one less of his messes to clean up.

I Was Lucky

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was lucky. I never spent time in a decaying marriage. The lies that destroyed the relationship protected me for its duration, keeping me cloaked in relative comfort.

I was lucky. I never had to wrestle with the question of should I stay or should I leave? That decision was made for me.

I was lucky. I never had the pain of hoping for or trying for reconciliation. You cannot reconcile with someone who has become a ghost in his own life.

I was lucky. We did not have children. I did not have to see the pain on their faces, nor engage in a battle for them through the courts.

I was lucky. I had a clean, sudden amputation of my life, my marriage. The trauma was near-fatal, but I was left with a clean cut.

I know not all of you are so lucky. You may be deciding if your marriage can be saved. You may be hoping that it can still work out, alternating between hope and despair. You may be subject to painful contact with your ex. You may have to tuck your kids in, wishing you could take their pain away.

Even if your marriage did not end in a sterile amputation, you still have some control over how it heals. Take care to keep the wound clean and expose it to fresh air. Tight bandages may hide the damage for a time, but the wound will only fester when it is kept in the dark. Do not worry at the healing skin. Leave the scabs until they fall off of their own accord; they provide needed protection. Be gentle with the new skin, the new growth, for it is still fragile with its pink-tinged hope. Sooth the wound with the balm of your friends and family, your pets, your passions. And know that the scars only serve to make you even more beautiful.

Alone

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It is not unusual to experience loneliness during and after a divorce.  After all, you have not only lost your life partner, but often extended family and friends, as well.  Adding to that, divorce can be isolating.  It is all-consuming and others often tire of its dominance in your life.  It seems a cruel joke; when we need others the most, we can easily find ourselves alone.

I realized how alone I was when I could go places without needing to leave a message of when I would be back.  I would pick up the phone to share something I saw and realize that I had nobody to share it with.  When I was sick, there was nobody to send to the store for Gatorade and Sudafed.  The bed felt empty.  My heart felt emptier.

I very intentionally surrounded myself with people.  At first, this made me feel even more alone, as I felt like an interloper, a pariah with my pain.  I played the part, acting as though I felt included, until I actually did.  I realized that the feeling of isolation was my perspective, not reality, and I can change my perspective.

The Three Factors of Loneliness | The Emotionally Sensitive Person.