Finding Forty, Day 65; If Only...(repost)

 Sunday, April 12, 2009

Tonight I'm contemplating happy endings. As a child I think we are led to believe that stories always have happily ever afters. The guy gets the girl or the girl gets the guy and they ride off into the sunset. The End. And yet, as an adult, I know this isn't true.

Actually, I've probably known that happy endings aren't always possible since before I was an adult, but never really wanted to believe or accept it. I am, in the end, a fan of all things nice and neat. And still, as much as I long for everything to peacefully play out, I am undeniably drawn to the sad stories.

As a child, I will never forget watching "The Way We Were" with my mom, who was a huge Robert Redford fan. The closing scene is painfully heartbreaking and I can't watch it without desperately hoping that when Hubbell approaches Katie on the street an entirely different exchange will unfold before my eyes. It never does.

Romeo and Juliet is another classic example. When Juliet plunges Romeo's dagger into herself and falls upon his lifeless, poisoned body my heart shatters, splinters, frays. The breath escapes me and my throat clenches as my mind reels at the love lost. "If only..." is what permeates my thoughts. Shakespeare, being the genius he was, brilliantly captured the essence of unadulterated love, but also of love that couldn't be. I hurt at the thought.

It seems that Hollywood and Robert Redford share my penchant for love lost. Two of my favorite movies that feature this theme also highlight him as the leading man. "Out of Africa" is painfully beautiful to me and after watching it, I am left utterly spent. I'm reminded of how fragile life and love actually are. In "The Horse Whisperer" my heart breaks at the love that cannot be. The notion of two people, soul mates if you will, who cannot be together is a theme that leaves me feeling gutted and raw, and somehow still hopeful despite every obstacle. How painful must it be to love and lose? To love but not be able to live in that glory? I can only imagine the anguish and steadfastly hope for all hearts to be fulfilled.

Happy endings are super. They leave me with a warm, fuzzy feeling and the ability to move about my day, business as usual. But it's the sad endings that stoke the fires of my imagination, the chambers and linings of my tender, romantic heart. Happy endings placate me. Everything else stirs me up. And to be stirred is to be alive. I feel certain Robert would agree.

Postscript:  I wrote this more than a year ago, while I was less broken, more whole.   At the time, I couldn't believe my heart would truly be shattered.  I thought love, in the end, would prevail.   With each passing day, I realize the love I believed in has truly been taken away.  I posted this piece because of something wonderful I read in a new friend's blog about heartbreak and life and grown up endings.  I'm Peter Pan no more.

Finding Forty, Day 64; Hippos

This morning I decided to have a productive day.   Immediately, I knew the only real path to success in that arena was to tackle the disaster that is my closet.  Scattered, ditzy, disorganized are all fitting adjectives for me and my way of living.  I'm not sure I could ever maintain a pristine closet, no matter how hard I tried.

As I crawled into the battle zone, my youngest son walked up and asked if he could help.  He's still young enough to think projects like this are actually fun.    We talked as we sat and folded and sorted my clothes.

Him:   "You know, I call you Hippo."

Me:   "Yes, I know, you have for some time now.   But why?"

Him:   "I just love hippos!"

Me:   "Does it have to be hippo?   Why can't you call me dolphin?"

Him:  "Well, you're kinda big.   I could go with rhino instead."

Me:  "No, if I have to choose, I'm going with hippo."

Shortly after, he scurried off while I finished the closet.   Hippos are efficient like that.

This isn't a new thing.   Once, as I was leaning over the tub about to step in to find a moment of respite, alone with my thoughts and my Sweet Pea scented bubbles, he walked in and exclaimed, as he stripped down to nakedness, "Oh!  You look like a Mama Hippo at the watering hole.   If I get in with you, I can be your baby hippo."

As you can imagine, the bath just wasn't quite the same.

I should interject, at this point, a couple of things.   First one is, I'm not THAT big.   I'm active and still wear shorts in the single digit range (never mind if it's just barely).   I suppose because I'm bigger than him, I qualify.   Second point is that my son is obsessed with African animals and loves them in every way, shape, and form.   Honestly, when he calls me hippo, it's a term of endearment, crazy as it seems.

We are leaving in two days to head to the beach for a short, end-of-summer fling.   Even though vacations can be exhausting, especially when traveling with three kids, a playful dog, an on again/off again spouse, as well as another family of four and their excitable canine, I'm still excited about it!   Crazy, I know.

This morning, with my African animal loving son in tow, we headed to the local sporting goods store to pick up a few last minute non essentials.  I love buying little things for a trip, splurges that are completely unnecessary but also a bit of fun.  While meandering through the store, I thought I should look at swimsuits for me.   The two I own still fit, but with the extra 10 pounds I'm carrying this summer, I could truthfully stand to buy a suit that is a size bigger.   I wanted a tankini with a skirted bottom.   I had very specific ideas.

As we browsed through the swimsuit section, me bemoaning the lack of selection, my son pointed something out to me, "You know," he said thoughtfully, "hippos wear bikinis."

I had to laugh. 

"Yes, yes, I suppose they do, but this Mama Hippo just isn't ready for that yet."

Ahh, gotta let those good times, and a bit of extra belly fat, roll!

Finding Forty, Day 63; Courage

Usually, when I blog, I come up with my title after I've written the text.   Today I know what I want it to be.

This morning, upon awakening, I checked my blog to see if I had any comments and lo and behold, I did!   It is always with slight trepidation that I click on them to see what they say.   In the great wide world of the interwebs, you just never know.

Today was no different.   A reader had left three very serious, important comments.  They are important because the reader took the time to actually post her thoughts.   That means more to me than I ever thought possible.   And yet, I wasn't thrilled with the things she wrote.    As I read the comments over again, I genuinely considered deleting them.  I'd seen what she had to say, I didn't need to post them on my blog for anyone else to read.   But I knew that was the coward's way out and if I've learned anything this past year, it's that courage will serve me better than fear.   With a bit of a pit in my stomach, I hit "publish" and moved on.

You see, a while back, I blogged about my alcohol consumption and how it scared me.  I decided I needed to attend AA meetings.   I went to one, truly tried to take it all in and analyze the situation, and then use that knowledge to make an informed decision about where I am in life as it relates to that.

I've come to the conclusion that I am not an alcoholic.   I think I have tendencies that could be alarming at times, but I also know my mental state on a day to day basis and I honestly don't scare or worry myself, despite what some of my journaling might indicate.

I liken it to this.

Once, long ago, I met a woman who I wanted  to be my mentor and friend.  I knew of her through another friend and couldn't wait to spend time with her to pick her brain on all of her life experiences and how she managed to rise above everything she'd gone through.   We spent a nice day together talking and delving deep, and then even deeper,  into the meaning of life.

As the day ended, with several friends sharing a hotel room, three of us crawled into a king sized bed to sleep.   We talked a bit more, until sleep overtook us and I thought that was the end of the night.   A bit later, I awoke to find my new friend touching me in my sleep!   I was shocked, scared, surprised, and even a bit excited.   In the darkness, my eyes bugged out and I grinned a sheepish grin.   Could this really be happening to me and why was I not throwing her out of the bed?   The thing is, on some level, a bit of me liked it.   It felt nice to be gently caressed, wanted by someone you'd least expect.   But, just because I liked it, by no means did I act out on it, nor do I consider myself to be a lesbian.    I don't see it that way. 

Nothing happened between the two of us.  I rolled over and made it clear I wasn't interested in partaking and that was the end of it all.

And that's a bit how I feel about my attending an AA meeting and my social drinking.   Because I drink from time to time and sometimes more than I should, I don't  think I'm an alcoholic.  The two don't have to go hand in hand.    I'm not trying to stick my head in the sand.    I opened up and blogged about my experiences during this very brief, sad, sad time in my life, but looking at the entire, collective history and picture of who I am, where I've been, and where I know I am headed, I honestly and sincerely know I am fine.

I fully anticipate further comments on this and what could very well  be perceived as my denial.   As scary as it is for me to receive well meaning advice from others, I think it would be even scarier for me to pretend like I was never challenged or called on my behavior.  

I have to not only face others, I have to face myself.   I think I'm doing it.  I think my big mouth gets me into trouble sometimes on this blog, but when I reflect on it, I sincerely don't think I could be any other way.  

And rather than berate myself for having no filter and posting anything and everything I think, I plan to learn to accept and even try to love that part of me.

Today A and I spent our morning talking and it's an amazing thing.   It requires courage, but we know, in our hearts, that we will be alright.

I am beginning to see the rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds and they are hauntingly beautiful.

With courage as my ally, I am on my right path.

Finding Forty, Day 62; Love Letters

I can't write today.  I don't have focus.  While not distraught or despondent, I am all over the place with my thoughts.

Today A and I talked.  He didn't leave for work until almost 11.  We didn't cry, didn't argue, more and more our discussions become unencumbered of tremendous emotional swings.

Yesterday, I found a folder in my email called "Love Letters".   It was where I kept any email from A over the years that I thought was sweet.   There were about 10 in there and in reading over them, they did show his love for me.   I make little comments in my replies back that show cracks in my armor, hinting ever so slightly at the brewing of my discontent.

Either way, they made me cry.

One of the emails I found was from last summer.  He wrote and asked me to write a description of why we broke up, as if I was telling a friend or a therapist.   I never wrote it.    Until last night, that is.   

I didn't do our relationship the justice it deserves, but this is what I sent him last night, finally.

You're snoring next to me.   I've heard you breathe in and out for over twenty years.   It's comforting to me, but is it everything?    I don't know anymore.

Why did we break up?   Why did I stray?

I'll do my best.   Please promise you won't get mad.   Please.

You are everything you always were to and for me.   Organized, calculated, hard working, determined.  Really solid.

Those are admirable qualities, but I think I need more.

You don't open up very much.  When you get home from work, you are silent.  When you do talk, it's about stories you've heard online or on the radio.   A regurgitation of facts bores me.   I can read those in any book, on any website.   What I can't find anywhere else is how YOUR mind ticks.

I'm not interested in the quest for knowledge like you are.  I don't want to be stupid, but I'd rather know ME better first.   That is the knowledge that will see me through.

You are an amazing father and a rock solid support for me.   I can't turn my back on those things easily at all.   Those are very hard to come by, I know.

And yet, I go through my days resentful and angry.   Of what?  I have no clue.

I fell in love with someone else.  We were able to talk on the phone for hours on end, never running out of things to say.   Maybe it was because it was new.   But, maybe not.

We sparred, teased, laughed.   A LOT. I could call him on all his bullshit and he'd admit defeat.   Then we'd laugh some more.

You are sexy and attractive, but sometimes I feel like I've lost my spark for you.   I hate that though, I really do.

On paper, you are more than amazing.

I think, I would tell my friend or therapist that I've matured since I was 18 and newly interacting with a boyfriend.

I've learned what I need in a relationship to make it work for me...insane amounts of talking and lots of laughter.

I would say we broke up because we grew up and apart.  Our relationship ran its course and the aftermath was too much to deal with.

Our friendship is our foundation, a gift we share.

I could be totally wrong though.  That is what paralyzes me.   What if this tender understanding and support you show me turns out to be the most pure love I ever know?   I'd hate myself forever for giving it up.

I'm stuck.   I want to be free, but I fear I'm making the greatest mistake of my life in an impetuous, selfish move.

So, I stay, hoping eventually, it'll all work out.

Please don't  be mad.  I'm confused.

I do love you,

K

This afternoon, he replied.

Not mad. I think I agree.

I know that you will never find a love like mine. My love, like me, is unique. One day, I think you will know, even more than now, that a love like mine is not easily replaced.

But, I think you are ready to find your own kind of love. A new love, a different love. I don't think that there is anything I can do or be that will change that. I think you should rethink your answer to the therapist's question, "If he could magically do what you want, how would you feel?". I believe that my biggest disadvantage is that I am me.

I hope that I find someone who likes my stories. I like them. I like to learn new things and talk about it. My life is so dull, ordinary, these other lives seem so interesting. Surely I will spark someone again, right? It's been a looooong time.

I want to be released, to be set free. I want to be free of the guilt that I let you and our family down. I want some comfort and some peace.

I want to learn and experience. I want to experiment.

What's it like out there?

Fair question, I think.

 

Finding Forty, Day 61; Last Dates

Today I sent an email to the new therapist canceling my appointment for Thursday evening.   I was forthright in the message, indicating that 1) I don't have anywhere near the kind of money it will require to attend weekly sessions and 2) I also had to confess that I didn't think we were a good fit.

I admitted to her that during the course of our first interaction, I'd already started editing myself.   This is how it happened.

During my revelation to her about my past year, plus anything else pertinent I could think to add to the list (parents saying hurtful things, mom dying, never having any self esteem to speak of), I posed that age old question, "Why?"

"Why would S do this to me?  Why would he tell me all the things he said, do the things he did, look at me and hold me with the love I know I felt and then just drop me and walk away?"

"Sex" she replied, without blinking a bespectacled eye.   "99% of the time it is."

Maybe my face registered something, the disgust giving me away.   I think I actually replied, "Ouch.   That pretty much sucks."

And it does.  

Now don't get me wrong.  I don't mind people keeping it real with me.  My best friends do and yes, it makes me bristle and pisses me off, but in 25 minutes of listening to me talk, I didn't want or appreciate her making blanket assumptions about someone I happen to still love, despite it all.  

Yes, S was in an essentially sexless marriage, but we had many more opportunities to sleep with one another than we actually did and he was always the one to put on the brakes.

In my heart of hearts, I know it wasn't just about the sex.

That's not the only reason I don't think we were a good fit.   It was this other thing she did too.   After I sat and spilled my ever-loving guts to her in her country cottage meets new age kitschy office, she looked at me rather stoically and said in a vaguely sincere voice, "I'm sorry.  I bet that hurts."

I couldn't feel any emotion coming from her.   I wasn't looking for pity.  I'd probably had rather her half chuckle and retort, "Now that's some fucked up shit!   What are you going to do about it?"   Instead I got the pat, textbook answer that did nothing to win me over.

Either way, I sent the email and this afternoon I got her response.   I was relieved at her words and for half a second toyed with the idea that she might just work after all.  

She wrote, "Thank you for letting me know.  I appreciate your candor.  I noticed the same thing during the session, and wondered if you thought I had a vested interest in you choosing one of the two paths before you.  I am sorry if I mistakenly gave that impression in trying to discover your feelings about it. It is your decision, and only you can make it.  I don't think one way is better than the other, but I do think with further reflection you will become clear which one is right for you."


So first dates can also be last dates and it really doesn't hurt that much at all.   I'm happy I was honest with her and didn't waste either of our time.


I should incorporate this into my life more often.


I just wish every last date was as easy.

Finding Forty, Day 60; The Good Life

Wow, a mini break from writing, from feeling the urge to put my thoughts out there.   Interesting.   Despite the break, I don't feel refreshed or invigorated.  I still feel like I'm coasting.   We went away for the weekend, to visit my sister, her husband, and their kids.  They were hosting a reunion of relatives from my mom's side of our family, so I was busy reconnecting (somewhat) with people I haven't seen in years.   Saturday was a good day.

To review though, my therapy appointment on Thursday was okay.  Yeah, just okay.   When I describe something with that word, it means it was just "meh" to me.  By the way, is meh an actual word?  I'm thinking no, but it either way, it fits.

It occurred to me that it's not MY job to worry about whether or not the therapist likes ME.  I'm paying her, she should be doing her level best to win me over.   The session went well enough at the time, but within 15 minutes of leaving, I had to pull over and sit in a parking lot and sob.   Maybe that's a good thing?    Maybe it means she stirred up shit that was piling in the recesses of my warped and wacky mind?   I don't really know.

Ultimately, in the end I  just feel like we aren't a good fit.  I already feel like I edited my answers, tailoring my responses to things I thought I was supposed to say.   I don't plan to over think this and I am not being one of those people who move from therapist to therapist in perpetual search of the one who tells me exactly what I want to hear.

I think it's important to remember that I thoroughly enjoyed my original therapist, but she's moving and therefore, I had to move on.

So, anyway, therapy was just okay.   I scheduled an appointment for this coming week, but will cancel it.   In the back of my mind is also the cost of seeing her and all the things I would rather do and need to do with that money, i.e. school shoes for my three kids.

The weekend with my sister and her family was nice.  We enjoy being at their house in the country.   She and her husband had a gorgeous pool put in their backyard a few years ago and this summer completed the construction of an outdoor kitchen, including a fully functional pizza oven.   My brother in law treated us to gourmet, homemade pizzas fresh from the oven on Saturday.   They still have a few finishing touches to add to the kitchen and one of them is the hanging of a custom made neon sign they had commissioned.   It will read "The Good Life" and when I visit them, I truly believe they have it.  You can just feel it in the air.

I don't want to be jealous of them and I wouldn't necessarily want her life, but I would love to feel confident enough to commit such words to paper, or neon as the case may be, and hang it proudly for all to see.

I love my sister, but she doesn't get me.  She can't understand why I might not be happy and she doesn't want to hear anything about how I am feeling or what I might be thinking.   For months she told me she just wanted to put her head in the sand and pretend like nothing bad was happening with me and my marriage.   Now, at least, she will give me her standard "I just want you to be happy" speech, but she always manages to end it with, "but I still don't get it."

What am I supposed to tell her?   How can someone who has "The Good Life" even begin to understand, when I can barely manage to articulate my restlessness, my discontent, my anger at myself for not just being happy?

I know I have the good life too.  We are healthy, we are safe, and we do share love, in whatever form it happens to manifest itself into on any given day.   Those are blessings.

It's good to be back.

Just wish I had one more piece of that fire oven pizza to get me started on my week back here at home!

Finding Forty, Day 56; First Dates

Today is my first date with a new therapist.   My previous and one and only is moving next month to Kenya.   It's not really the patient's role to ask the doctor why she is embarking on such adventurous and radical life changes, but damn, I'd sure like to know.

Either way, it leaves me high and dry in the self help, having a neutral person to pay to listen to me arena.

Kenya gave me the names of three women to begin my initial search for a replacement, so I immediately got busy.

The first person sounded good enough because she has experience working with couples and individuals, but she also seemed fairly "run of the mill".

Second choice was a bit more interesting, as she highlighted the fact that she particularly enjoyed working with people who seemed to be at a creative impasse in their life.    My juice began to flow a bit when I read that part, but I soon came to my senses.   Creativity issues aren't my problem.   I'm having relationship, love, life issues.   This blog is meeting my creative needs just fine and if it doesn't, I'll pull out my scrapbooks that I am only five years behind on and get to scrappin'.

The last therapist I researched sparked me immediately.   Her photo showed a fresh faced, plain jane sort of gal with a close cropped haircut.   The fact that she was cute, but not TOO pretty seemed safe to me.  Don't even ask me why.   Maybe I don't want to pay someone $100 an hour if I'm going to sit across from her and feel physically inferior.  Ridiculous, I know.

But, more than her looks, I liked what she had to say.   When I read the following, I felt as if she was speaking directly to me.


Do you feel stuck?

Sometimes it can be hard to know where you want to go in life. You feel stuck in old patterns that hold you back from living the life you want.

My passion is creating a space where you can feel safe and understood while you explore those areas of your life that aren't working.

You deserve to live the life you want. I can help you build that.

Her self description piqued my interest as well.

I am quirky, funky, and unconventional. I am not your typical therapist. I work with a mixture of practice techniques, fitting the style of therapy to the need of the individual. I regularly use feminist theory, Buddhist theory, cognitive behavioral theory, existential theory, and more. 

This must be what it feels like to plod through the millions of available singles on internet dating sites.   And I must confess, I have butterflies in my stomach thinking about meeting her for the first time.

"What should I wear?"   "Will she like me?"   "I hope I don't look stupid or turn her off!"  are the thoughts that are racing through my mind.

Superficial, yes.   I know.  But I truly want this to be a good match so I can just get on with the work at hand.

Surely she'll like me, right?

After all, for this date, I'm paying.