Singleness of Heart

anatomy of the post-divorce heart, part 2 (with special guests!)

2010-08-25T13:25:00.006-04:00

My friend Jenn is one of a few, special people in my life who are "in the trenches" with me. I'd been sharing some of my favorite "self-help" stuff with her by email, and yesterday she wrote this to me:

Sorry that you are down, it is tough. We work, we take care of our kids and we have so little help and does anyone take care of us? Then we put our hearts out there and they get trampled. I know that there are good relationships out there and good men but I wonder if I will ever find someone special to share my life with. Why shouldn't you and I meet wonderful men? Why don't we? I wish I knew but hang in there, soon the kids will all be in school and so will we and the routine of the year help. You know that we are very lucky, we are pretty healthy, have great kids, secure jobs, family and friends. We are just missing that one special person to love.

As discouraging as this kind of situation is, at least Jenn and I are not alone. Two of my favorite single-parent bloggers have been writing about their frustrations with the process of finding a worthy partner. Mindy just posted an "order to the universe," inspired by David's mentioning on his wildly popular blog, Dad's House, that he had done such a thing in a Craigslist personals ad.

I've done lists like this over and over again; they range from the ridiculously particular to the more flexible and general. I understand the necessity of putting it out there, and I'm a fan of the ideas of Kathryn Alice and Arielle Ford, among others, who guide seekers in the process of drawing soulmate love to them.

Right now, I'm taking a break from dating--a "dating detox," if you will--and trying to rework my priorities, check in with myself. The new school year is starting, and I'm gearing up to teach five classes while still maintaining my physical, mental, and spiritual health.

I'm hoping to post here more frequently; I even have some ideas for a daily series in September. Stay tuned....

anatomy of the post-divorce heart, part 1

2010-08-17T12:00:00.006-04:00

One of the challenges of midlife dating (esp. after the breakdown of a dysfunctional marriage) is maintaining a sense that you are valuable and worthy of a good relationship in which you are treated well. (Another is figuring out what, exactly, a "good relationship" entails since chances are you have not previously experienced it.) There is a terrible fear of making the same mistakes over and over again, of choosing the "wrong people," or even of being "unlovable." When things go wrong there's a temptation to blame yourself for "screwing up again" and daring to trust and care about someone, only to have your heart broken again. You feel like you are broken, and wonder if that brokenness if irreparable.

I'm resisting that sort of interpretation of past experiences, and instead trying to believe that I--and perhaps even the men involved--have done the best we can under the circumstances. Despite all the pain I have experienced, I am trying not to regret the relationships and my choice to let myself trust, care about, and even sometimes fall in love with a man who was emotionally unavailable, and see them instead as a learning experience. I have definitely learned something from each of these situations that I can take to new relationships.

I've already spent way more energy on this sort of thing than I should have. Right now, I'm supposed to be focusing on my writing this week in the precious few days before school starts again, instead of losing sleep over people who clearly don't care about me and my feelings. I wish that, like the men I know, I were able to compartmentalize and focus on my work when I am feeling emotional, but it's just not in my "skill set." The best I can do is set my intentions and steer myself back on course. I'm sure I'll be just fine.

a time for reflection

2010-05-16T17:12:00.006-04:00

Whenever things seems to be going particularly un-well, I think we all find ourselves looking inward to see what might be happening there--either to see if somehow we are causing the problems, or to figure out how to deal with them.

A classic exercise is to make lists of your positives and negatives, and apparently I was instructed to do something like this on November 9, 1976, when I would have been in the first half of eighth grade at Possum Elementary school. In any case, today going through the battered manila envelope that constitutes my personal literary archives, ages roughly eight to twenty, I found a piece written in pencil, in my best-behavior script, entitled "Myself":

One of my faults is that I'm outspoken. I saw what I think, and sometimes I'm put down for it.

Another fault is that I'm lazy. I'm always trying to find the easy way out.

Another is that I'm sensitive. Almost anybody can put me down.

Another is that I'm smart-alecky to my parents sometimes. I talk back to them.

The last fault I will list is that I tease and bother my brothers all the time.

One of my assets is that I'm smart. I get straight "A's" without hardly working at all. I can pick almost anything up in my head.

Another is that I'm well-coordinated. I have a good sense of rhythm & timing. That's how I became a good cheerleader.

Another is that I have musical talent. I play the piano well & also the violin (not quite as good).

Another is that I'm fairly good-looking. I have clear skin & nice features & I'm not overweight. [in fact, I was pretty skinny]

The last asset I will mention is that I can write fairly well. I have written many poems & I do OK with prose.

Looking at myself, I guess I'm not all bad. Most of my faults I can work on. Maybe I'll become a better person someday.

Diagonally across the bottom of the page, my English teacher, Mrs. Carlson, wrote in a thin red script:

You have so many things going for you. Hang in there.

I think I did. I think I am--even when I'm cringeing with guilt for being too "outspoken," or my heart is breaking for the umpteenth time because I'm too "sensitive," or I'm overwhelmed with the un-done work that has backed up because I'm "lazy." And I think I'm still working on being that better person, but maybe I'm getting closer and closer.

potholes in memory lane

2010-05-08T10:42:00.009-04:00

As I've mentioned on Saint Nobody, I'm spending a little time in Cincinnati, where I went to graduate school in the '90s. It's also where I met Bob (while he was playing a gig at Kaldi's in Over the Rhine), where we fell in love and moved in together and got married.

Our first apartment together was in the Clifton neighborhood, near the university campus. During my visit I'm staying in the same general area--and I realized last night coming back from a nice evening of revelry with my fellow poets that this is first time I've been back to Clifton since Bob and I separated. The car climbed the hill towards the Gaslight district, on streets I'd walked so many times. Then a bus drove by, with "Mount Airy" lit up in capital letters--its destination. Our wedding was in Mount Airy Forest, a lovely park on one of Cincinnati's famous "seven hills."

At that point it really hit me, bringing on some pretty intense emotions--fortunately, one of my poet friends (whom I'd just gotten to know) took me to Graeter's for some ice cream, and was very sweet to me when i broke down crying in the middle of the sidewalk on Ludlow Street.

Black raspberry chocolate chip slid deliciously over my tongue, as it always had, but I couldn't finish even one small scoop. It wasn't until later, when I talked to Bob on the phone, that I started to feel a little better. As we talked--catching up on what the kids are doing, etc.--I told him about the memories flooding back and of course started crying again. He listened. He said he understood. He said he was sorry.

"Is everything going to be OK?" I asked, as I had so many times before. I recall early on in our marriage teaching him to just say, "Everything's going to be OK" whenever I was freaking out over something, whether or not he believed it to be true. He complied, and it evolved into "Everything IS OK."

"Yes," he said last night. "It's going to be OK."

It's so strange to be in this place--to have someone who cares about me, who even tells me he loves me unconditionally, but who is not a partner in the same sense as he was for over a decade. I'm grateful that we communicate so well most of the time--for the kids' sake if nothing else. But it will definitely take a little (or a lot) longer before the pain of losing the marriage heals more completely.

More and more I see how grief is not a linear process--it does loop-de-loops and sometimes you feel as if you're right back where you were before, but truly there is a forward motion. There is no way to hurry the healing. But it will happen. It is happening. Everything is OK.

hi, how are you

2010-04-25T15:13:00.013-04:00

it's about time
it came back again
if it was going to.
yes something's nesting
in the tentative creeper scribbling
Kellygreen felt tip
across our bedroom window.
hello.
it's a lovely morning.
(from "Sundaysong" by Liz Lochhead)

Hi, how are you? Welcome back, friend. Yep, we're friends. Right? And a little more. More than a little? How much more remains to be seen. I'm in no hurry. I can wait. Wait and see, no worries. It's good just to see you, to see you smile and hear you laugh again. You have a great laugh. You're hip and smart and funny. Yes, handsome, too. Creative. Sweet. Passionate. Hard-working. An amazing dad. Caring. A good heart. And curious--let's not forget that.

You know what? You're a nice person to spend time with.

I'm glad we got to see Elvis together after all. How weird was it that the seats you bought last-minute were right behind the ones I'd had for a month? I told you I thought it was fate and you gave me a look. It sounded like a joke but I was serious--not that we're star-crossed or anything. Not that it's a big deal, just that maybe someone or something thinks that we should be in each other's lives in some capacity. Stranger things have happened. And it was really cool.

Welcome back, friend. How are you? I'm fine.

Peace, hugs.

and now for a brief musical interlude....

2010-04-12T16:28:00.004-04:00

Sometimes when I get in over my head and need a break, I crank it up and let the music do the talking...Here's a song I just heard on Pandora that I was not familiar with. Silken-voiced Ray LaMontagne is one of the latest additions to my own personal pantheon. The man is truly a genius of love (to borrow a phrase from the Tom Tom Club).

calm after storm

2010-04-09T16:44:00.042-04:00

I'm looking out my front picture window at the tops of trees--some with new little spring-green leaves, and one with clusters of white blossoms. The sky is overcast, the breeze a bit cool and damp, but I feel absolutely content.

This is a very good thing.

The past couple of weeks have been pretty stormy, for a number of reasons. Many of them are what my my psychiatrist calls "life stressors," upheavals and uncertainty in my personal and professional lives. But a fair amount has to do with simple chemistry. By which I mean, mostly, those pesky hormones.

[Fellas, if you're squeamish about "girl stuff," this might be your cue to move along...but feel free to stay. You might learn something.]

One of my favorite single mom bloggers, T at T's Quest, wrote a post a little while back called "PMS, Processing, Powerful Intention" about the thoughts and feelings that get stirred up during the "luteal phase" of a woman's cycle. In particular, she was faced with some questions and fears about her relationship and ultimately the angst gave her an opportunity to figure some important things out.

It was tough, and scary, but she saw it as an opportunity for growth.

I've struggled with PMS for years now and tried various coping strategies from diet and exercise to herbs and pharmaceuticals. I've read everything I can get my hands on about the subject, and I've talked to health care professionals of all stripes. As I move along in my forties, it seems to be getting worse, which I understand is not uncommon as a woman heads toward You Know What.

Exercise helps. Getting enough sleep helps. Eating right, limiting alcohol, meditation, medication, and just taking a break now and then all help, too.

But still, most months, I have the classic symptoms--mood swings, increased emotional sensitivity, irritability, as well as some physical effects. Oftentimes I begin to obsess on whatever "problem" is confronting me at the moment and find myself stuck in a loop of rumination. Afterwards, when the shift occurs, it's like, "Things aren't as bad as I thought. What was I so upset about?" Problems seem resolved, and I seem to be heading in the right direction once again.

Could this be what the tumult of PMS is for: bringing up issues that need to be faced, unsatisfactory situations that need to be resolved?

This hormonally-induced condition doesn't cause problems, although it may feel that way (to the woman and to those close to her)--it simply brings them to your attention in a particularly urgent way. According to women's health guru Dr. Christiane Northrup, "there's always a message behind the PMS. If your relationship or job is not serving your highest purpose, then you might be more susceptible to PMS, which is the time of the month when anything that isn't working in your life will be less tolerable. If you're walled off from this information, you'll think that you are "Dr. Jekyl, Mr. Hyde." But really, the "disowned" part of you is just sending you a message."

Similarly, the Mars/Venus guy John Gray, sees "a strong correlation between between PMS and the inability to cope with negative feelings in a positive way." In the chapter "Women Are Like Waves," he says that PMS happens when a woman resists the natural downward turn in her "wave-like" cycle of emotions and self-esteem.

Modern neuroscience gives us an explanation: apparently, strong emotions and memories of negative emotional experiences are stored in the deep limbic system and are unleashed when the hormonal shifts during PMS lower a woman's serotonin level. A study by Dr. Daniel Amen found that "within 5-10 days before the onset of the menstrual cycle the deep limbic system becomes inflamed or more active with the drop in hormones. This deep limbic activation colors events in a more negative way." (I found more about Dr. Amen's research on PMS here.)

OK, so you're not just making it up--there is a biological basis. Now, what to do?

One solution, apparently, is to treat the decrease in serotonin with an SSRI medication like Prozac, Zoloft, or Celexa. But it also seems that just being aware of the biological basis of the emotional turmoil can help you understand what's happening to you, and stop beating yourself up about it. And know that this, too, shall pass. Which may help you feel less helpless when you're being swept along by the wave.

I know one thing that definitely helps me get through it: writing. Scribbling in my notebook, writing letters that I don't send (and a few that I do), crafting blog posts. Some of these words are for myself alone, some for one person in particular, and some of them are for you, reading here. Knowing someone is out there, even just a handful of you, whether or not you post a comment, really helps somehow.

And then I can enjoy the calm, the breezes, the blossoms and green leaves. And share that with you, too.

only one

2010-04-04T12:21:00.027-04:00

Last Saturday I bought myself a dozen roses, partly to celebrate spring and brighten my home, but mostly to cheer myself up after something disturbing happened, something that caused a serious setback in my process of healing from a recent heartbreak. When I asked the florist how I could make them last as long as possible, she told me to put the roses in hot water (a new idea for me) every time you cut the ends, and gave me extra preservative packets.

I followed her instructions and the bouquet lasted a whole week, but by this morning most of the flowers had lost their freshness. Only one remained soft-petaled, firm-stemmed, head held high. And it made me realize that sometimes, one is enough.

One perfect rose, symbol of beauty, love, hope.

One call from a friend at just the right moment, when you need it most because you've done everything you can on your own and you're about to give up (or have already given up) hope.

One hymn on a beautiful Easter day, coming on the radio right at noon and forcing you to stand up and sing.

One image, or line, or even just one word that completes a poem like the last piece in a puzzle.

One man who stands by you and gives you the love you know he is capable of, the love you deserve, instead of protesting he can't give you what you need. Who doesn't bail when waters get rough, who stays and helps you untangle the riggings and repair the cracks, instead of swimming away to shore, leaving you in a very leaky boat wondering why you ever thought it was safe to get in, and why you stayed, rowing and paddling, as long as you did.

One sure step on the path out of the darkness into the light after stumbling off, circling back for a bit before moving forward again.

One God, gracious and infinite. One Savior, taking on the woes and horrors and faults of the world and renewing life over and over again.

That's what I'm celebrating today, all by myself, and it is a beautiful day indeed. "This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." Amen.

talk about the passion

2010-03-31T17:32:00.009-04:00

Not everyone can carry the weight of the world.

It's spring break, and the kids are out of town with their dad, so I'm setting my own schedule. Perfect for quality time with that special someone, eh? Since that role in my life has yet to be cast, I've decided to "date" myself and do some things that a romantic beau would do--buy flowers, get a massage, make nice meals, etc. There are plenty of other items on the agenda, which I posted about a bit on my other blog (with a pic of the flowers). But I'm also setting aside time for rest and reflection.

On that more solemn note, it is also Holy Week, of course, and Christians all over the world (and probably some other people, too) are commemorating the Passion. I'll be attending special Eucharist services at St. Bart's, and also reading a canto from Dante's Inferno as part of the annual Maundy Thursday Reading at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine.

And I don't think it was a coincidence that WFUV played this REM classic today (they are housed, after all, at Fordham, the Jesuit University of New York). For some reason I'd never realized the religious resonance of the lyrics before (duh). The video would indicate that Michael Stipe was alluding to the problem of homelessness, which unfortunately is no less of a hot topic now than it was in 1983.

The image here is a modern-day photo of the Garden of Gethsemane, where according to the Book of Luke, Jesus prayed, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. I heard this passage, and the rest of the Passion story, read by some wonderful actors at church on Palm Sunday. I find myself repeating these words often, as a prayer, when it feels like I'm carrying the weight of the world. To remember that someone took on that weight, and got through it. It makes my troubles and sacrifices seem less trying, somehow. Have faith. Talk about the passion.

what you need, what you want

2010-03-29T11:21:00.023-04:00

Lately I've been hearing this INXS classic in my head a lot as I think about relationships--I finally had to YouTube it.

What do I need? What do I want? Someone who "gets" me, who's totally into me, whom I'm totally into, too. Someone who has his own full life, but who also has some space for me, and who can work around the spaces I have for him. Eventually, I want a life partner, which for me ultimately means marriage, but I'm in no hurry--I can wait until it's really right.

As for right now? When two people have full lives, as midlife single parents do, they can't spend every spare moment together, even though in the first flush of bonding and infatuation, they might want to. They need to be with their families, of course (top priority); they need to attend to their work; they need to be with other friends; they need alone time to rest, reflect, pursue creative interests. As for their relationship--a phone call every few days--an encouraging email or text message from time to time, to let them know you're thinking about them or to lift their spirits when you know they're having a rough day. A date night once a week, schedules permitting. An occasional weekend away. Eventually, being part of family outings and activities with their partner's children. Separate lives, with some walks hand in hand, until it seems right to join their lives together. But no rush. All in good time.

I had something like that for awhile, and it gave me hope that I could have the kind of love I wanted for the long term. It buoyed me through some rough waters in other areas of my life. But then things got too "complicated" and this very cool, very caring, but very stressed man couldn't go on at the same pace as before. I worked on my own life and my heart and learned that I had placed too much pressure on the relationship to provide things that no romantic union could or should. That wasn't healthy, and it had to change. Based on the time we'd spent as a couple, I believed we both had the tools to heal together, and allow each other to heal separately, from the wounds and scars we'd collected from the past. I had no expectations, I let go, but I kept my heart open.

And then, after a few more ups and downs, he made it clear he didn't want to be with me. Because I was very attached to him, and I thought we had great potential together, it hurt a lot. I still miss those times and still don't understand why he didn't want to reconnect. But I know that it doesn't do any good to push something on someone that they don't want. That only drives them farther away and makes you feel even worse. And there are some things that you'll never understand; you just have to accept them.

So, although it is completely counter to my natural inclination (I can be a stubborn little thing), I'm letting go. I bless him on his journey and wish him well. I hope he finds what he's looking for. If you truly love someone, you want them to be happy, even if it means they will not be with you. If I say that enough times, maybe I will start to really feel it. Repetition, repetition, repetition.

What have I learned? First of all, that it is possible for two people to feel deeply for each other, to have so much in common and have their hearts and souls and bodies touch in a magical way, and for it not to work sometimes--and hard as it is, you have to just accept that and believe there is a reason that you just don't know yet and that something better is in store. I've also learned that a lot of the wonderfulness came from me: I can be a pretty awesome girlfriend if I put my mind to it. ;)

Life is short, life is hard, but life is also beautiful. For a little while, we were there for each other, listening and talking, laughing and singing (and sometimes crying), hugging and kissing and giving foot massages, sharing the ups and downs and enjoying our time together--that was beautiful indeed. I'm hoping to have that again in a lasting way. I believe I deserve it, and it will come to me sooner than later.

Here's another tune that fits right now--my new ringtone these days--"Wave," a lovely Jobim classic that happens to be one of my father's favorite songs ever.

So close your eyes for that's a lovely way to be
Aware of things your heart alone was meant to see
The fundamental loneliness goes whenever two can dream a dream together

almost blue

2010-03-26T17:07:00.003-04:00

Today I had the pleasure of watching Bruce Weber's astonishingly beautiful (and exquisitely sad) 1989 film, Let's Get Lost, a documentary about the life and decline of Chet Baker. The final scene is of the 57-year-old Chet, who looks about 30 years older than that, singing Elvis Costello's haunting torch song, "Almost Blue."

I've been a fan of Elvis for the whole of his three-decade career, but now it's hard to hear his voice, or even his name--because it reminds me of you. During our first long, rambling, wonderful phone conversation you told me about his show Spectacle, and on our second date you were wearing a pair of new Costello-esque spectacles. Soon after we got together you loaned me his latest CD, which I still have, and I haven't returned it because the advice books tell me I'm supposed to go "no contact," and that includes sending stuff that belongs to you, and they say that if you really want the stuff you'll let me know.

Since then, as I said, when I hear his voice, or a song he wrote sung by someone else, or even someone saying his name--it gives my heart a twinge. The other night I was watching this weird random movie where Elvis has a cameo in some crazy subplot. He leaves a message on the main character's answering machine, and then they keep talking about him throughout the movie, and he makes an appearance here and there. I actually cried when I first heard his name. I know it's goofy and sentimental, but that's how I roll. You must already know that about me.

So when I heard Elvis is playing next month in the city, I took a leap of faith and bought a pair of tickets. I splurged--center aisle orchestra seats, midway to the stage. I figured I'd find someone who would love to go with me, any of a number of friends, and have a great time at a fantastic show. But I admit, I secretly wish that it could be you. The venue is in Washington Heights, just over the GWB, so it would be an easy commute for you. And it would be my treat--think of it as a present to celebrate spring, to celebrate life and love and most of all music, which you love as much as I do.

Although this blog is a public space, I have no idea whether you will ever actually read this. Perhaps this is what the spiritual teachers call "putting it out into the universe," and maybe it will reach you on what they call a "soul level." If so, and you want the other ticket, it's yours. Just call. Or send an old-fashioned card or letter, or better yet, show up on my doorstep with a bouquet of blush-colored roses. Silly as it may sound, my door is still open to you. And to Elvis. And right now, I am more than almost blue.

side by side

2010-03-23T19:08:00.001-04:00

Days like these, you really wish there was someone to talk to at the end of the day--on the phone, in person--to cheer you up, to let you vent a little and to remind you this too shall pass. Someone special, in your corner. Someone who thinks you rock, and tells you so. Someone who happens to rock himself. To stand or walk or crawl along the rock with you. To rock you to sleep sometimes.

When I was very young I wrote a song, a wistful little yearning thing addressed to the person I imagined I would be spending my life with. From the last stanza:

All of the things deep inside
that we usually manage to hide
could come out in the open
'cause i'm more than just hopin'
you're always someone on my side

That's what I'm talking about--someone on your side, looking in the same direction--not carrying you, or holding you up, but next to you. When you're a parent, this kind of partnership is especially sustaining. I think I had that for awhile, more than a decade, and then it stopped working that way, for a tangle of reasons. And then again, briefly, with someone new, for a few months last summer and fall...so much promise, unfulfilled.

So this is why we pray. One of the reasons, anyway. Holy Week is nearly upon us, and I will be in the city while the kids go on vacation with Bob. I'll be catching up on work, of course, but I've also been scheduling some fun time--both with friends, the ones I haven't seen in awhile, and on my own. More about that next week, as things progress.

repetition

2010-03-20T12:43:00.002-04:00

So, in my seemingly never-ending quest for healing from this most recent breakup (which of course is also about the previous breakup and the divorce etc etc etc), I've been reading the two books I mentioned in this post. And doing (some of) the exercises. It's still rough. My last post here was almost two weeks ago, and I wish I could say that I'm feeling different now, but that's just not true. Yet.

Last weekend I found yet another self-help tool (yes, I am in danger of becoming addicted to self-help)--Kathryn Alice's guided meditation for releasing a person. I'd been reading bits of her book Love Will Find You using Amazon's "search inside" function and found my way to her website. I didn't want to wait for shipment, so I did the digital download. And it's good--her voice is calming and she thoroughly explains what you are doing and prepares you for the meditation by reassuring you that yes, it is time to release and yes, even if you may get back together someday, "You can never go wrong with release" because "If you are meant to be together, nothing can keep you apart."

I did the meditation Saturday night and I felt better. Then I had to do it again Thursday morning. She does say that it might be necessary to repeat. As necessary. And it was. And still is. Oy.

Time for some serious spiritual work. Trust. Pray. Cry.

Repeat when necessary. Again and again and again.

curious

2010-03-07T14:58:00.005-05:00

It is a cloudless sunny day, warmer than any we've had since Halloween. When we met it was warm, the end of May, and then when we fell for each other it was June, and by July everything heated up even more, and for my birthday at the end of that month you had bought me the expensive perfume I wanted, and tickets to a concert, and you came to my bare new apartment with your measuring tape and a round wool rug and your air mattress in a blue Nike bag, and then a few days later you helped me move and brought your power drill and your level and some other tools and made sure that all of my windows had the custom ordered shades properly installed.

The level leans against the wall in a corner of my office, the rug is still on the floor under my sofa bed, the air mattress and the blue bag are stuffed into one of the back closets, and every time I pull the white plastic beaded cords to raise or lower the shades I remember your big hands and arms and shoulders--every single time. Is there anything left that reminds you of me that way? Do you still have my pictures on your computer? I had to delete yours, and it took me awhile because I had some in different folders and they kept popping up here and there. Do you feel anything when you ask for herbal tea and someone brings you Bigelow's "I Love Lemon"? How is it that you can hear Elvis Costello's voice without thinking of me, without pressing my number on your phone?

Are you really better off without me? Are things really a little less difficult for you without someone listening and saying encouraging words, without one single person in your life hugging and kissing you no matter what, saying "I love you?"

The night before Valentine's Day, you emailed to let me know you'd gotten my card, you'd kept your job, and you hoped I was well. You told me I had been a good friend and lover to you, that you appreciated that I had always been there for you. "These things will always be special to me," you wrote, as if it was over, really over, and there was no chance, no chance at all we could be what we once were to each other.

That was three weeks ago. I immediately deleted the message, as I had all the other messages you'd sent the past six months, as I had your photos and the Word file I'd saved of your profile from the dating site where we'd met. You know how sentimental I am, how I save things that connect me with sweet memories. But the advice books say that it is important to get rid of anything that reminds you of your lost love. That it helps you cut the ties and move on. So I shredded the Christmas card you'd sent, and I shredded the envelope with your address, and I deleted your address from my Amazon.com address book, and now I realize I should probably shred the page where I wrote your address in the back of my planner, so I am not tempted to write to you again.

Three weeks. And before that it had been three more weeks since you'd sent that last text message, the one that finally got it through my head that you really, really didn't want to be with me anymore. Or couldn't. Whatever, it doesn't matter. The results are the same. Either way, we no longer speak or talk or touch. We no longer laugh together, or cry. I can no longer think of you as someone on my "team," a part of the inner haven I turn to when I'm spinning and stressed and stretched too thin.

No, at the moment, I am not well, not particularly. I'm sad. I'm tired. I'm trying to forget you and it's not working very well yet. I'm here missing you and hoping it gets a little easier and wondering if I shouldn't think about changing my window treatments.

And waiting, waiting for spring.

mystery worship

2010-02-26T12:19:00.000-05:00

This just in: Ship of Fools, a Christian webzine out of the UK, has published a "review" of my church in their Mystery Worshipper column. Go here to read it. I pretty much concur. They are working on the seat cushion thing, though. And if they were sitting near me they may have thought differently about the congregational singing. Yes, we love to hear the choir, but some of us also love to sing. I'm just sayin'.

moving on

2010-02-14T08:47:00.001-05:00

Am I the only one out there who hates Valentine's Day? Ugh. It's been a very long time since I've had what I would call a "happy" Valentine's Day. This is the third year in a row that I am going through a painful breakup (sorry, that's redundant--is there any other kind?). 2008: the separation/divorce. 2009: the Canadian (rebound #1). 2010: the Jersey boy (rebound #2 for me, #1 for him). Of course, everything resonates with what's gone before, and so much of it is still
just really about the divorce.
So my gift to myself today is two books:

Getting Past Your Breakup by Susan Elliott and Moving On by Russell Friedman and John James

All of these authors are in the grief recovery biz; they know their stuff. Hopefully their books will help me clear out some of mine.

Oh, and as for celebrating the day, I gave Godiva chocolate hearts, heart balloons, and homemade paper doily cards to my two little Valentines. And a box of chocolates tied in a big red ribbon to myself.

How about you? Valentine's Day: love it or hate it? What are you doing for your loved ones, and for yourself?

starting over, googling for answers

2009-12-11T14:19:00.001-05:00

I have great hopes for this blog. I had these hopes at the beginning, then I lost them, and now I have them back. It's a good time for me to get this going. I'm trying to heal from a painful experience in my life as a single woman, parent, person. To follow up on the previous post, due to the severe turbulence in his own life, the "he" who had that dream seems to be bailing from the plane I've apparently been piloting. Or, more accurately, is suggesting that, for my own good (he really does care about me), I not count on him as a passenger anymore. I'm trying to keep my hands on the controls. I'm trying to weather the bumps and accept circumstances beyond my control. I'm trying to learn.

There's a subway ad (pictured above, courtesy of NYC the Blog) that proclaims "Because Some Answers Aren't Found On Google," promoting Marble Collegiate Church, a wonderful place that I often pass--just half a block from one of my favorite places in the city, Church of the Transfiguration (aka "The Little Church Around the Corner." Sometimes when I'm feeling down and have a little extra time on my way home from work, I head eastward on 29th Street until I hit Fifth Avenue. Marble Collegiate is on the northwest corner; mostly I just look at it then head east towards Madison--the Little Church is mid-block on the north side of the street.

Anyway, one time I actually walked up the west side of Fifth and paused in front of Marble Collegiate. There's a statue I'd never really noticed before--maybe it was the bright floodlights and very prominent position--I realized that night that the figure is Norman Vincent Peale, a man who has special significance to me. When I was a kid my grandparents were really into New Age spirituality, and my grandma was a minister in the Unity Church. In addition to the work of the "sleeping prophet" Edgar Cayce and others, they also had some of Peale's books around the house. My mother, who is definitely not a New Ager, told me that as a teen she had read The Power of Positive Thinking and took his advice to heart. She made an effort always to smile as she walked the halls of her high school, and sure enough, many of the notes from classmates in her yearbook mention her beautiful smile. I remember devouring an anthology of inspirational Christmas stories published by Peale's magazine Guideposts (sort of a prototype for the "Chicken Soup" series), long after the holidays were over. Later, when I attended Ohio Wesleyan University, I learned that Peale, who was still living though in his 90s at the time, was an alumnus. I hadn't realized before that Marble was Peale's church--apparently, he was pastor there for half a century. Standing there in front of his statue, I felt what my friend Kim calls "a synchronous moment."

I admit I've tried to google for answers many, many times. When I was trying to deal with the impact of having a child with Down syndrome, when I found out my marriage was ending, when the ins and outs of relationships baffle me, or when something ends and I'm reeling and searching for peace. I've been doing a lot of that the past few weeks as this connection that has sustained me in many ways for six months is breaking down. If I'm lucky the search will lead me to a blog that is interesting or informative, or maybe a book that is actually helpful. Most times, though, the process only yields a list of ehow or wiki pages, desperate pleas on discussion boards (followed by responses of decidedly uneven quality and dubious value), something from Associated Content or some other article mill. But today, in the midst of a particularly downward swing, I used the keywords "breakup loss of mirror relationships" and found this article from a blog called "Think Simple Now." The author, Tina Su, who calls herself the CHO ("Chief Happiness Officer") of the blog, whose goal is to "empower people to find inner clarity and personal happiness through simple, uplifting, motivational, and applicable articles."

I found the article to be an effective, affecting compilation of personal experience and wisdom from other literature. Her advice is not too far from Peale's philosophy of embracing the good, believing in a higher power or force that orders the universe, and forgiving others and ourselves. It works for me in particular because the man in question is a truly good person--caring, generous, thoughtful, self-aware--and I find it hard to just stop feeling attached to him and deny the powerful connection we've felt. Tina's radical-seeming suggestion to just allow yourself to love the lost partner while accepting that you are no longer together, counter-intuitive as it seems, fits my situation really well. I know it will still be awhile before I can actually embrace what the relationship has taught me and move on, perhaps to love again. But I'm much more hopeful that it will happen. And then I can Google about something else for a change!

interpretation

2009-08-20T00:24:00.001-04:00

I wake from a dream of tornadoes. I have seen dozens of funnel clouds in my dreams since I was a child, when a terrible twister ripped apart a large part of Xenia, Ohio, just half an hour from my house. In this one, the building I was in--some sort of large residential dwelling, among other buildings in a smallish city--was hit, the roof destroyed, but I was safe, as were the people I was with (who? was he one of them?). And I called my parents to confirm that Bobby and Stella, who were staying at their house, were fine too--their house had escaped the storms also whipping through that area.

He tells me that he dreamed he was getting on a small airplane and I was the pilot. He had been assigned a seat in the back, but was waiting outside for the other people to get on because he knew that he could get a seat closer to the front, since he knew me.

There are storms whipping up in both of our lives, maelstroms, monsoons, hurricanes, at times escalating into tidal waves and cyclones. He is in the middle of some particularly heavy weather at the moment; am I trying to make sure I am safe? Does he see me as guiding him, "piloting" a craft to a far-off destination, away from the strife he faces here on the ground? Will his knowing me make his journey more comfortable, bring him forward to face the future from a better vantage point?

Skies are so murky at times like these. I am trying to ride the waves--of fear, of hope, of disappointment, of love, of loss. I am trying to learn how to pilot my own plane in such a way that my passengers are comfortable and safe and can "relax and enjoy the flight," as the captain always says. Right now I am hoping this other dreamer will be along for the ride, and I'm waiting to see where we're going, dreaming, looking to the horizon, remembering to breathe.

perhaps they have a sense of irony?

2009-05-22T13:06:00.000-04:00

Just got one of those automated solicitation calls on the landline. The recording indicated that the recorded voice was calling on behalf of the "National Organization for Marriage," and asked if I was registered to vote in New York.
Click.

singleness of what?

2009-05-17T15:13:00.001-04:00

I'm starting this new blog as a way to express and explore my spiritual path as a single parent. The title comes from the Prayer after Communion in the Book of Common Prayer. I recently joined a church and one day this phrase stood out for me and brought tears to my eyes.

I'll be posting questions, quotations, thoughts, and stories from the trenches. Stay tuned!