I May Not Be Traditional

Camp
Camp (Photo credit: kellec)

My boyfriend and I went camping on our first two Thanksgivings together. Neither one of us have family in town and we are physically unable to fragment ourselves enough to visit everyone spread across the country. So we don’t try.

We love our camping trips.  It is a wonderful time to disconnect and reconnect. To slow down and savor. To shiver in the crisp (okay, frigid) morning air and cuddle up in the sleeping bag at night. The coffee tastes better and the showers are somehow more cleansing even though the space is shared with daddy longlegs. The computers are left behind and the other devices only get turned on to play music while we make dinner or play cards or perhaps to check the latest Ravens score. It’s invigorating and relaxing.

But it also takes work. Preparation. Reservations and packing. Shopping and cooking. I get a week off for Thanksgiving and this year we are flying to my boyfriend’s hometown for the first half. As I was looking at the calender, I was realizing the short turn-a-round between that trip and the discussed camping trip. I was just about to question the wisdom of the latter when my boyfriend, apparently reading my mind, said, “We have to go. It’s tradition.”

He’s right. We went on our first Thanksgiving together and it was a time to get to know one another apart from the distractions of life. The second year we went despite being sick and in the middle of a move. We learned how to work together as a team even when neither one of us were at our best. And, this year we will go again. I am not sure what lessons this trip will hold.

8 Lessons From the Campground

But I’ve already learned one. Traditions are important. They bind and anchor relationships, whether with family, children, or partners. They are a certainty, a known, a home to go back to. In divorce, you lose many of your traditions along with your spouse. Let that create the space needed to make new ones.

As for me, I may not be traditional by trading turkey for trail mix, but I love my tradition in the mountains and the woods.

How about you? What are some of your favorite traditions?

 

My Motivation

Why can’t my hair look like this every day? 🙂

People keep telling me I’m brave to share my story. I don’t see that. Living through it was the hard part. This is the gravy.

Within days of receiving the text, I got online and searched for answers and support. Most sites offered me nothing. They discussed how to have an amicable divorce (yeah… somehow that didn’t seem too likely in my case), they talked about how to prepare for an upcoming divorce (too late!), and they focused on the legal process, not the life change. I found a few sites that dealt with spousal abandonment, which gave the comfort (and the horrifying realization) that I was not alone. I spent only a short time on these; however, as they mainly focused on people telling their “shock” story over and over. That’s important, but I wanted to get beyond that moment in time. Many of the sites were angry and blaming. Sometimes we need that; I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t raged and cursed and pictured his head on the punching bag. But again, there comes a time to let that go.

I felt so alone, so isolated. People rallied around me yet I had no one that had been through an atypical divorce that could show me the way. I sought guidance from my “love mentors,” but I wondered how my crazy situation would translate. A seed was planted in those early weeks and months. I knew I wanted to thrive and I knew I wanted to somehow create something good from the tsunami. I had no idea how to do it.

Running parallel to my emotional struggles were the legal and physical ones. I spent my days talking to police, lawyers, and doctors. As I shared various portions of the tale, I could see their eyes grow wide with shock and disbelief. “You should write a book,” was an oft heard refrain. So, my personal journal started to become a book. For the first several months, all I did was recount the events and describe my powerful emotions. I envisioned an “ending” where he was in jail and the courts came through in my favor. I didn’t get it yet. I still saw my happiness tied up in his.

The divorce finally happened. He got his slap on the wrist for bigamy. And I found Match.com. I spent the next couple years living. I no longer recounted my story frequently and I stopped writing altogether. Instead, I focused on learning the lessons I talk about here. I knew I still wanted to finish the book. I had the first half written but I had no idea how to finish it since the pictured ending never came. It turned out I had to live it first.

That’s when everything came together. I saw how I could use my story to let others know that they are not alone. I realized that there were lessons I learned that might be able to help others in many situations, not just divorce. I also was acutely aware that I had a great movie-worthy framework (thanks to my ex) from which I could anchor my lessons.

Throughout, my writing has help my own healing. I’ve written about the therapy inherent in the writing process. Sharing has also helped me move forward and release some of the anger as I can start to transform something that was so ugly into a form that can be of benefit.

I’m not brave. I acutely remember those moments when I felt so isolated and lost in the dark during the divorce. I knew there was a path out, yet I could not yet see it and I there were no guides. I hope that by writing and sharing my story, I can at least give you a flashlight to help you find your path. Please leave the light on for those who follow behind you.

Mutually Exclusive

mutually exclusive
English: disjoint sets Deutsch: disjunkte Mengen
English: disjoint sets Deutsch: disjunkte Mengen (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had a statistics professor during my undergrad who used to constantly tap his temple and utter “Columbo logic” followed by a broad gesture with the arms and the phrase “mutually exclusive,” both uttered in a heavy Indian accent. I never learned what he meant by Columbo logic (luckily it wasn’t on the final) but I did master mutually exclusive events.

In mathematics, two events are considered mutually exclusive if they cannot happen at the same time. The main example  I use when I teach this to my students is the two sides of a coin. It is impossible for a coin to land on heads AND tails at the same time. Don’t worry, I’m not going to teach you a math lesson; I’ve been doing that all day. It just turns out, that like Venn diagrams and marriage, there is a connection here to the real world. (Side note: If you have kids, please do not tell them that math ever applies to the real world. We math teachers try to keep that a secret. Just kidding 🙂 )

Math is simple and elegant; disjoint sets are easy to recognize and have clear and defined boundaries. Life, on the other hand, is messy and complicated. Mutually exclusive events are all around us, but they are not as simple as heads and tails.

There is a tension that can exist in life when we do not recognize two situations as mutually exclusive and we strive to have both. For example, in my life a clean kitchen and my boyfriend being in town are disjoint. As long as he is here, the kitchen will be messy. If I expect something otherwise, I will only become frustrated. Now, since I love my boyfriend more than I love an empty sink and clean counters (okay, okay, this is true on most days!), I choose to have him around and live with the mess.

We can also use mutually exclusive events to our advantage. For example, I know that it is impossible for me to feel overwhelmed when I am on a hike through the woods. So, if I am overwhelmed and time allows, I strap on my hiking boots.

These are some of the events that are mutually exclusive in my life:

Panic and yoga

A plate of veggie nachos and restraint

Anxiety and a long run

A late night out and a Friday during the school year

How about you? What events are mutually exclusive in your life? Perhaps you could apply some Columbo logic. 🙂

 

 

Life’s Odometer

I received the text just months shy of our tenth anniversary. The divorce process being what it is, the marriage persisted after the ten year mark. The wedding was never the year we marked, however. We always added six to go back to when we started dating. So, by the time it was over, we had been together for sixteen years. That was half of my life.

Odometer
Odometer (Photo credit: trickhips)

It felt like my life odometer had been abruptly and violently forced back to 000000. It was painful, but it was also frustrating. It felt like those were miles wasted on a pointless journey that was aborted before its intended destination. The consistent rolling of the numbers indicating the length of the relationship felt purposeful. They spoke to where we had been and where we were going to go.

When my boyfriend and I reached the six month mark (an important period that frequently delineates casual dating from more serious partnerships), he commented on how long we had been together. I remember scoffing internally. Six months was nothing. I had been with my ex thirty two times that! I didn’t get it yet.

Then, one year came, again commented upon by my boyfriend. I still didn’t get it. I can be a slow learner at times.

It wasn’t until two years when I finally understood. First, due to the magic of ratios, it was now only 1/8 of the time that I spent with my ex. But, more importantly, I viewed my entire life odometer differently. I had been viewing it as the primary and permanent wheel in the center of my console, quietly ticking away through the journeys of my life. I saw the divorce as an assault on the dial, overriding the system.

Then I realized that life is rarely that linear. Our lives are perhaps better marked with trip odometers that are reset to mark the beginning of a new journey. These parallel journeys should not be quantified; the distance is not what adds to the quality. Rather, each trip should be accepted for what it is with the understanding that the odometer can be reset if needed.

I now don’t worry about sixteen years. I don’t compare times together, creating ever-improving ratios. Now, I just roll down the windows and enjoy the ride 🙂

Done Bun Can’t Be Undone

Hot Buns - please pre-order
(Photo credit: ecstaticist)

I have always been a huge fan of Stephen King. He has a magical way of delving into the wonderment and wisdom inherent in the ten-year-old’s mind which paints a world we all remember yet no longer are privy to as adults. He carries this slightly off perspective through his adult characters as well, showing us a perspective we all know yet seem to forget.

His book Insomnia was published my junior year of high school, during that grey period where you simultaneously straddle the worlds of childhood and adulthood. One line from that book stayed in my mind for the entire year, most likely due to the sing-songy quality with which my internal voice read it.

Done bun can’t be undone.

I never really thought what that line meant until just recently. Literally, once the bread is baked, there is no going back to the dough.

How much effort do we waste in our lives trying to undo done buns? How often do we lament “the way things were” and we try to navigate back to them? How much time do we spend replaying past decisions and mentally taking new paths?

I find it interesting that the book was released the same year I began dating my now ex-husband. Those fateful words were spooling through my head during our courtship. Done bun can’t be undone.

Rather than fight against the past, I have learned to accept it. Would I do it over again the same way? It doesn’t matter. I don’t have that option. Instead, I try to take the past as a starting point.

A done bun can’t be undone, but it can be enjoyed with a pat of butter and a hot mug of tea.