A Whole New World

Scott and I talk on the phone – yet again – as I shake, stir, garnish and guzzle my finish line martini. A Dean Martin strength antidote for my nerves and my muscles – both worn to shreds by the tense, white knuckle endless drive across state lines, a la Smokey and the Bandit.

I have new appreciation for how Christopher Columbus must have felt when he finally beached the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria on the banks of The New World. Betcha he was opening a flask too.

Scott is relieved beyond words that I am home and remain in one, albeit trembling, piece. Tells me he’d have been crushed if something were to have happened to me. He’d not expected to love me this much this soon.

What?

Happy Kwanzaa to me!!!!!

Who would have thought?

This is a completely unexpected place for me to be in. Consider this: I have twice now elected to be alone rather than swim around in the drainage ditch of misery that was my then current relationship, and twice have had my mind changed by a lovely person.

When my marriage was crumbling and forming a sucking pool of quicksand around my feet, and I was scared out of my mind about all the unknowns yet to come, I had one simple truth to hold onto with both hands, even as my fingernails dug into my palms as I gripped it.

I knew beyond any shred of doubt that if I were to remain alone for the rest of my natural life – never find another partner, never enjoy another long term meaningful relationship, never walk down the aisle in front of 300 of my closest family and friends, that I would choose solitude - no matter how lonely, or boring, or overburdened with responsibilities, or fraught with financial concerns and bereft of companionship – I would choose that isolation, and it would be a far better choice than to remain in the troubled, unhealthy, abusive, denigrating and all around unpleasant situation I was subject to as a married person.

And then J. came along. And in many ways he spackled and painted over a lot of the cracks and holes and ugliness. I began to envision a life of happiness as a real possibility. I had much of what I craved and a better partner than I’d ever had in marriage.

Or at least I thought so for some time. Too much time. I think that J. could keep up the illusion of near perfection for only so long. And since we’ve all come to understand how divorce and custody impacts your normal routines and dictates much of how you live out your life from the decree signing forward, we needed more time than he had stamina.

And little by little, as he failed to keep up with the maintenance, the poor craftsmanship came to light. Cracks formed. Nails popped. Leaks sprung and weight-bearing beams buckled under pressure. The whole thing was out of plumb. We were crumbling.

And again, after months of waxing and waning and talking and compromising, through eyes bloodshot with tears, I saw what I needed to see. And then said what needed to be said, even as my voice shook. And again I thought solitude would be a far better choice. And it truly would have been.

But this time I had the benefit of having been happy for a time. If J. gave me anything it was the ability to see myself capable of finding real happiness and the ability to understand what real happiness looks like. I was hopeful that I could find it, but even more importantly, now I was confident that I didn’t need it to be in the shape of a relationship with a man. It could simply be a joyous life with my children, a fulfilling career, and the love and company of wonderful, buoyant friends. I had those things already. Anything more would be candles on the cake.

Get out your matches. Here comes Scott.