Marriage from the Outside

Although not completely outside of marriage, I am existing much closer to the border these days. Within a few months I should be a foreigner, single again, or is divorced a different state than single? Whatever my nationality, it is definitely outside of married, which gives a strange perspective to those marriages that are close to me.

For example, at a recent party for my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, I had the painfully difficult experience of being the only solo (unattached? single?) adult present. No husband, as that would have been weird we are in the midst of divorce, and not really a good party for a date, as I am still married. Plus I was reminded that my siblings will soon celebrate 25, 20, and 7 years of married life (OK, the 7 is a second time around). I am pleased for them all, parents, brothers and sister, happy for the longevity of their commitments. But I was shattered at the same time. My own marriage lasted 10 years, no small feat. But no one acknowledged the accomplishment of my marriage, the one that is broken. Marriages are only celebrated while they still function. Despite the continued friendship that exists between my husband and I, the longevity of our marriage is irrelevant, and it makes our ending disturbing for everyone close to us.

Then it was off to an interesting visit with an old friend in SF. It was great to see her. She hasn’t changed at all really, just aged a bit (haven’t we all). Her husband is kind of quiet, but I only saw him one night at dinner, so all I know of him is from her complaints. Next time I see her I’ll insist she say good things so there will be a chance I will like him. The thing that gets me is that she’s been a vegetarian for over 25 years, and he’s a guy who “doesn’t like vegetables.” Like, how does that work? He refuses to go to her favorite restaurant–holy shit, an awesome vegan place on Geary and Jones called Millenium, pricey but out of this world fantastic. And yet she will go to his favorite steakhouse on his birthday and actually claim to like it–apparently there are excellent side dishes at Ruth’s Chris. My response is “huh?” Is this what we do for love? Or companionship? Or to avoid what I’m experiencing these days? Guess I’m not in the best place to hear complaints of other people’s marriages. I’m leaving that country. Don’t know why anyone would stay if it’s so bad.

And then there are the good marriages. The ones that give me hope and break my heart at the same time. Cat-sitting for a co-worker and his wife, seeing their beautiful home, their shared spaces, the evidence of their happiness. How can I not feel an overwhelming sense of failure when I walk into their house? All the things my husband and I could not do, did not do. Of course what I don’t see is just as important as what’s visible. But I’m not planning to search their closets. I prefer to keep my illusion of their happiness intact, because despite the difficulties it uncovers in me, it also makes clear that other options exist. There are possibilities beyond my experience. Thank god.

I look forward to crossing the border, to becoming an alien, a foreigner again to married life. I don’t know what I’ll call myself–single, divorced, solo. But whatever it turns out to be, I’m looking forward to the journey. I’ll be truly happy to get on with it.

Praying for a Guru

The paperwork is filed. Divorce is on it’s slow, indirect, pokey way. My soon-to-be-Ex returned the papers, all filled out, within a week of receiving them. I was so shocked at the quick turn around I had to get them out of my hands and filed them the next day. I completely turned my head inside out in the process.

Do people actually celebrate after filing for divorce? It’s what I imagined I would do. Nice lunch, glass of wine, flirty waiter. Instead I left work abruptly, came home, and laid on the couch for 6 hours. There might have been beer involved, but definitely no flirting. I basically freaked out. My anxiety was completely unexpected.

It has to do with the split in my life, the chasm, the emotional freefall that has accompanied leaving my husband in a place where I have no support network. No one to catch me, hold me, comfort me, help me close what feels like a torn apart, gaping chest wound. The bleeding heart, the darkness of depression, the ugly process of ending a marriage.

This is where the divorce gurus come in. They reassure me that I will feel better. They tell me that it’s OK for me not to be ready to date yet, but that I will be someday. They acknowledge the confusion, accept it as normal, suggest it will recede. They start to heal the torn heart, they calm the splitting head, they put the feet back on the ground. Everyone needs a guru. Or two.

So now I wait for the state to determine a date for my marriage to be over. I wait for a judge who doesn’t know me to decide if I can keep my house or if it has to be sold to split its meager value with my husband. I wait for the time that I can hand over the wedding ring that belonged to his family. And I talk to my gurus. They are the only clear path that I can find.