Part of the Plan

So maybe this is what this summer has been about. Maybe there was nothing accidental about any of what has been happening in my life. Maybe it is all part of some big playbook that makes no sense at all until you get to the end zone and you realize what just happened to you makes a lot of sense in a cosmic, big picture way.

When Scott went over the wall last year, I hinted at my misery on Facebook. And since I have a much more buoyant than miserable persona on Facebook and everywhere else, people took notice. They reached out. You know how this happened. I wrote it all down for us both. So horrible it was almost funny. Almost.

And I met some great people, and strengthened some relationships that were only in their infancy until then. Solidified some acquaintances into full-blown, tried and true friendships. And got a little romance of it to boot! And as you may recall, that gave me the emotional edge when Scott came calling again. The edge and the strength to not give in. To not go back. To love myself more than he could ever love me.

And those friendships were tested yet again...when my career took an unexpected detour. Those same friendships (with the exception of Jane who had shown her true colors earlier in the mayhem and whose friendship I decided I needed to live without) came roaring to life even louder, offering support and advice and networking and pats on the back.

My summer of job searching had its ups and downs. I had a lot of first interviews. I had some fourth interviews. I interviewed for some great career opportunities and for jobs that would have been no more than just jobs. I ran into a lot of dead ends.

And with each peak and valley, my friends and my family (at least those that I am on good terms with...) were there for me. Telling me it would happen for me. That I would find my way. That there is a purpose to all of this. There is a plan.

And in hindsight (I have landed a great job...but we'll get to that!) I see what the plan had been all along.

First, I had to get Scott out of my life. The road we were on was leading to nothingness. I couldn't see it then but now I can. He was smart to have made the move for both of us, the cruelty and cowardice notwithstanding.

I needed to realize who my true friends were. The Toms and the Craigs and the Kates and Joys and Tonis and Dels. And my sister and my cousins. Jane can go live her little pathetic life of gossip and pettiness without me. With the friends I have I have no need for pretenders. The friends I have made it obvious that they would step up to the plate every time. Jane made it clear that she would throw a bean ball when you least expect it.

And I needed to leave my toxic, dead end job with the Mean Girl mentality and simmering ethics problems. Who needs to waste their time and energy and good looks on a company that has places no value on you or what you do and is more concerned with whether or not you are wearing pantyhose than if you can accomplish a on time or on budget or at all.

And I needed time. Time to focus on my kids - especially Hil - as they wandered unwittingly into the milestone year. The year that eclipses the age I was when my mother left. I suppose it is a more important time of reflection for me than for them - they have no idea about the significance of the time. But it is meaningful to me to have had the uninterrupted time to devote to them. As if to say to them that I will never ever make my mother's mistakes. I am better than that. I am better than her. They matter to me more than I did to her. Even if I am really only saying it to myself.

And frankly, I needed time for me. Not only to walk miles upon miles in peaceful isolation for my physical well-being, but to use the time in quiet solitude to reflect on my mother's decisions and decide once and for all that her mistakes are no reflection on me. Her mistakes will not be repeated. They will not make me something I don't choose to be. And I will not let her decisions make me question my worth, my worthiness, my strength or my character.

And even now, when her preposterous lack of motherliness makes me scratch my head, it will not strike at my heart. No need to pick the petals from a flower and repeat "She loves me, she loves me not." She loves me not. And that's just fine. I will not chase her around grasping for her apron strings. She was the one to have run. I'll just let her go.