Golden

The past two days here in New York City have been the most beautiful days I've seen in months. The weather was nothing short of phenomenal! I spent both days (Friday and Saturday) sitting on my ass on a park bench or a slab of concrete, thinking. I had lunch at Central Park on Friday, a salad. It was perfect weather for a mixed baby greens, chicken, avocado, dried cranberry, and walnut salad, with a side of balsamic vinaigerette. I spend a lot of time in Central Park, especially when my issues (i.e. my ex-husband, and my divorce) are getting to me. I was there for about two hours on Friday, people watching, duck watching, and relaxing.

So yesterday, phenomenal weather day number two, I decided to be a little spontaneous and venture over to Riverside Park. This is one of the many things I love about NYC, they can take a seemingly useless, eyesore of a piece of land, or waterfront, and it make a beautiful, relevant space. Riverside Park is located between Riverside Drive and the Hudson River. The south side of the park (which is where I spent the afternoon) is essentially a long, winding, bike trail accented with a few grassy spots for sunbathing or picnicing, and of course, the pier. Compared to Central Park, it really isn't very aesthetically pleasing to look at, but that's what makes it beautiful; it's honesty.

There are a million steps to walk down before you get to the "park," but once you're down there, this serene, sprawling, space is waiting for you, beckoning to you, forget the city, forget your life right now, embrace this life, it's peaceful, and honest; there are no ex-husbands here (at least not yours), only complete strangers, bike-riders (lots of them), runners, and the like, dogs, and ladybugs (lots of ladybugs).

We all seemed to have the same wish, to escape. As soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs I did just that. My ipod was on (no idea what was playing) and I began walking. My stride became a little bit lighter and softer with every step. City me met country me and for four hours my entire world slowed. down. Like the lens of a camera my minds eye took focus. I was acutely aware of everything around me. The whirring sound of the bike-rider's bikes as they whizzed by, the sound of the wind, the sound of my breath, the sound of my heart. I would walk about a mile and a half and then sit. The view was different every time, it changed my thoughts, which in turn changed my surroundings. It was like a magic slide show.

Sometimes I liked what I saw, sometimes I didn't, but equal time was spent focusing on each image. I met a ladybug within my first fifteen minutes there. She found a home on my bag and stayed with me the entire day. I watched her crawl around inside the crevices and folds of the leather of my purse. She seemed to be doing the same thing I was doing. It was obvious she didn't belong there but she was trying to find her way anyway. Every time I moved to walk a little and sit somewhere else I looked for her, and she was always there; busily exploring the terrain of my cream, Marc by Marc Jacobs hobo. Maybe I was a ladybug in a past life I thought.

I spent the better half of my four- hour- day- at- the- park sitting at the pier. This has to be one of the most peaceful places I've ever dwelled in. I was totally and thoroughly relaxed in my peaceful dwelling. I listened to music and thought until my thoughts were no more, and I could hear only the music from one side of my head to the other. I could feel the sun on my skin. It seemed so close that I swear there were flecks of gold from it being carried on the wind speckling the water, sweeping into my hair, and making my eyelids heavy.

There was something rare, indescribable, and mystical in the air yesterday that touched everything and everyone that wandered onto that pier. It had to be gold. Even my ladybug was gold, with black and white spots, and I never even noticed it until I was in that moment. Sporadically, as I sat there in pure peace, my eyes would close for a few seconds. My head tilted up towards the sky and I could feel the gold sprinkling and flecking across my face. It made me smile and wish that I could bottle this golden moment up and take it home with me where I would sprinkle it all over the apartment, and sniff it before bed at night so that it would fill my senses and get into my dreams. After a short while they would reopen and it was like a new scene going on around me all a twinkle in gold. New voices, new laughter, a kayaker in the distance, a shorter piece of wood bobbing in the river, a new pair of geese flying off into the horizon. A closer distance between myself and the sun.

Dawning

Anxiousness is paralyzing. Joy tangled up with fear, and excitement, and pain. That feeling of wanting to cry and laugh and scream all at once for reasons you know but are unable to understand at the moment. How overwhelming life can be and then suddenly everything is silent. You don't know whether to relax or run. I have so much ahead of me, nothing is in front of me. I could run if I weren't so afraid. If I had the direction, If I knew the direction. I read something the other day about being aware of your unconscious mind. I'm too aware of it. It speaks to me all the time. Showing me things, giving me the answers to questions I never knew I needed to ask. I don't know what to do with all of it, it makes me so anxious. What move is the right move, what if I do it wrong? How many more chances do I get to screw it all up again before its over, I'm maxed out. My hands are shaking with the realization of what my life has in store for me, and while it may not all be great, it's certainly satisfying. It's certainly beautiful. "Don't look at your situation, try to look past it," is what he told me. I was too involved at the time to imagine the possibility of that. But now. I see what you want me to see. It's clear as the blue sky on a sunny day. I am dancing in the light. I own it. It belongs to me. It always did.

Satisfaction

It's not too often that I get what I want, exactly the way that I want it. So when it does actually happen, it's worth documenting. This past Saturday night was especially rough for me. I've been communicating with my ex again, and it's proving two things one, to be agonizingly difficult, and two, if there was ever a doubt before, divorce is definitely the answer (for us anyway). I can't even remember what time I went to bed, but the first thing on my mind when I woke up Sunday morning was blueberry pancakes. I think I dreamt them up the night before. It's funny the things that pop into your mind after a rough night. Usually, I'm more of a french toast kinda girl, but blueberry pancakes were my heart's desire this particular, windy, rainy, New York City, Sunday morning. They were calling my name so persistently that I pulled myself up way earlier than I should have been awake, dressed, and tipped out of the apartment in search of sanity and satisfaction. I find myself getting lost in the sounds and the somberness of the city. It was just me, my ipod, and gray drizzly rain as I made my way up 60th St. to Eat Here Now.

As I took off my coat in the diner, and heard the clinging of silverware, and the chatter of thick New York accents, the smell of coffee, whatever mood I was in shifted. All that mattered was the goings-on in this place and time. I take comfort in the noise, it's a welcome distraction. I settle into my chair, and with a deep breath I exhale my worrisome thoughts. I catch snippets of the dialogue being exchanged around me. Even the way a little girl likes her eggs is more interesting to me than whatever i have going on right now. The waitress takes my order and within about ten minutes there was a perfect, porcelain, plate of fluffy, perfectly colored, blueberry pancakes, accented by two fat, cute little sausage links. I took my time buttering and syruping them. In this time and this place, they were the most precious things to me. My sanity depended on this staggered stack of carbs speckled with tiny blackish blue berries. The first bite was nothing short of sweet satisfaction, and every bite thereafter confirmed the perfection of the bite before. I guess sometimes dreams do come true.

A mess

I guess I had some unfinished business here. That's the only reason I can imagine I'm back here again. Right back where I started. Here. I wish I could say it's unnecessary, but there is so much to do. Too much to do here. It's comforting and uneasy all at the same time. The remnants of a life that once was, the promise of a life that will never be. It's sickening to watch you attempt to seduce me. I don't want you. You seem desperate and unsure of yourself. It's disgusting. I'm cornered, backed against the wall facing what I have, turning my back on what I want; hoping my decision will spawn the desired outcome this time. It's a challenge, but I've always loved a challenge. So difficult, so validating, so intriguing. I know where I stand now. I know what I want. I know what this is. I know what this isn't. Definition confirmed. Nothing here is the way I remembered it. It's all a mess, but I guess that's the way I left it. I can't stand a mess; nothing is where it belongs, nothing is all in one piece, but somehow everything is as it should be. A mess.

It's Not ALL Daddy's Fault

I have issues and it's not my daddy's fault. I know this may be surprising, seeing as how every issue that anybody, especially a woman, has ever had can almost always be directly attributed to the first man in her life, daddy. Don't get me wrong, he is no Heathcliff Huxtable, more like James Evans, but even that is a stretch. But he was there, present, in action. He's had his moments when he would get drunk and act like a plum fool, but he was there. He cuts the grass, he washes cars, he takes the garbage out (he has to be provoked, but he takes it out none the less), he does what he needs to do for our family. He also does what he needs to do for himself, and he's never apologized for it. I respect that. My parent's marriage is far from perfect, but I learned a long time ago that that's not my business. I have issues and it's my mother's fault. My mother and I don't understand each other. We never have. Too often it's just assumed that mothers and daughters just naturally have this wonderful, best girlfriends relationship; it's all hair and makeup, and nail shops. My mother and I are more like frenemies, not in the sense that I think of her as my enemy, although I'm not always sure she doesn't view me that way. In the sense that she makes life as difficult for me as possible, and she never seems genuinely happy for me when it's not. It's been a long time since I heard my mother say "I'm proud of you" and we never say "I love you."

Never.

I am the woman my mother wanted to become but was too afraid to be. She has a constant, nagging attitude with me that she doesn't share with my sister. She and my sister are just alike, but me, I'm the different one. I want more and I dare to actually get it. I feel like my mother used to be me. But then she got pregnant with me and all of that changed. She lost her freedom. She lost her dreams. Reality kicked dreams ass. She married my father, and the rest is his story. I get it, but why do I feel like I have to pay for it. I had a beautiful wedding to a paper perfect man. My mother couldn't have been happier. She bragged about my damaged ex-husband all over town. When I called to tell her about the "incident" she was upset, disappointed, but ever hopeful. I could hear it in her voice. I came back home. I needed her help. I needed her to be my girlfriend and empathize with me. I needed her to tell me I was doing the right thing. I needed to know she was proud of me for leaving. I needed her help. I needed. her. help.

It wasn't long before she subtly, then blatantly began suggesting that my husband and I try to work things out. I don't know why I continue to look to my mother for support. She's never given it to me, so I no longer ask, but I still look for it. I still need it. I have become hardened to asking for and accepting help, and it's my mother's fault. I am too proud, too ashamed, too embarrassed. I would rather proudly suffer in silence than ask for help. I have a problem with the principle of the matter. If you have to solicit help, it's not really help is it? When something is wrong, and everything is falling apart, and trust me, everything is falling apart, I handle it on my own. Not only that, I do it in such a way that nobody has any idea how desperate for help I truly am. I wear a veil of sheer confidence, grace, and total happiness, regardless of life's circumstances. I'm not saying I'm unhappy, but even happy people need help sometimes. I wasn't always this way, but I've been this way for so long that I can't remember when I wasn't. I justify it by telling myslef it's the ladylike thing to do. I tell myself that I don't have time to cry or breakdown. I am stronger than that. I got things to do. I think about my mother and wonder what happened to her? I think about myself and wonder if I am my mother's past realized. I think about my unborn daughters and wonder if their mother is compassionate enough to stop the cycle.

*3/06/09 UPDATE: My mother told me she loved me today for the first time!! I always knew it, but it was heavenly to hear.

Read Between the Lines

It's amazing how similar my feelings about my world then, and my world now are. I've always had friends who were older than me, even as a child. When I was in the first grade Colinda was my oldest friend. She was a fourth grader who lived around the corner from my house. She had three brothers, and I always felt like she was stronger and knew more because of them. I learned how to play video games at Colinda's house, her brothers taught me how to throw a decent punch, if I needed to defend myself, and Colinda was the first person to teach me how to ride on the handle bars of a bike. In the life and times of a kid, these are all extremely important life lessons. Of course I haven't ridden a bike in at least thirteen years, I don't play video games anymore, and I can count on one hand how many times I've ever thrown a punch. Colinda did teach me an invaluable lesson, however, that I still use to this day. She taught me how to teach myself how to do things. You could call it responsibility, accountability, courage, initiative, or independence, whatever it is, it's the the thing that makes or breaks us in life. It's the difference between living and existing.

We were sitting in her garage, and she was reading a book. I always loved reading. I had a ton of Little Golden Books at home that I'd memorized from cover to cover, but I'd never seen a book like the one she was reading before. The words were very small and tightly spaced on the page. There were no pictures, so one page contained like a million words. Words I'd never seen before, some of them I'd heard in conversation, but I had no idea what they looked like on paper. I was fascinated. The most amazing thing to me however, was how fast she was reading silently I was floored! I thought she had to be the smartest person in the world. I sat there for at least an hour watching her turn page after page. She didn't even need to use her finger to follow along. When I finally left her house that night I felt something I'd never felt before: determination. I went home and took out my first grade English book. It was the most beautiful of all my school books. There was a huge frog or some green animal on the cover, and there were big, bold, streaks of blue and purple that looked sparkly and reflected the light, so it looked different depending on what angle it was in. I did my homework for the night, and then flipped back a few pages past the information that the teacher had already covered in class. I read about three extra stories and answered the reading comprehension questions that followed them, but that wasn't enough. It was too easy, and the words were still very big, not small and tightly spaced like the ones in Colinda's books. I went over to my bookshelf and pulled down all of my Little Golden Books. I began to read, but I started to get upset because these weren't good enough either. I already knew the stories by heart. I needed to learn something new.

Every evening that week I went to Colinda's house. I had expressed to her how much I loved her books and how fast she could read. So she began to read to me out loud, as I followed along, but I couldn't keep up. By the end of the week I was frustrated to tears. I'll never forget sitting on the steps to our house crying one evening when my mother came home from work. "What's the matter?" she asked me. "Did you fall down?" "Did you break something?" I shook my head no to both questions. "I can't read" I stammered to her through a flood of tears and a snotty nose. "You can read" she said, you get good grades in English class." "I've bought you plenty of books." "But I already know how to read those." I said. Unbeknownst to me, at the tender age of six, I understood the concept of learning; going beyond what you already know, challenging oneself to do something, or think of something you've never thought about before. It seems so simple, but so many times in life I have to remind myself of what I'm learning, and who the teacher is. Needless to say I taught myself how to read that summer. The following year I was a second grader taking fourth grade reading classes. I always finished first or second when we had to read silently, I was always called on the read out loud, and of course my grades were stellar.

I'm not sure exactly what brought about this memory, but it was the first thing on my mind this morning. Perhaps its my divorce, or the transitional state my life is in right now, mixed with the fact that frustration and tears are at an all time high. Maybe it's because I am thirsty for something new. Maybe its because its been awhile since I've read a really good book. It could be all of these reasons. I'm not sure of too much at this point in my life, but I know that regardless of my situation, at my core, I am that same little girl who taught herself how to read beyond a first grade level. I'm very proud of myself for that.

Lavender Memories

Like most people getting a divorce some of my days are clouded with painful memories. I am starting to see the light however, and I'm beginning to realize that it wasn't all bad. My soon-to-be ex and I shared a million, little, lovely, experiences together that I could never have shared with anyone else but him. Some experiences are nothing if not poetic, this was certainly one of them.

The evening was beautiful and unassuming, it was a random Wednesday night at the movies.
Cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery, you wanted to eat them there, I decided we should sneak them into the theater.
You were so afraid of getting caught; you devoured yours right away, I saved mine for later.
But somewhere we both got lost in the movie, and time got away from us.
As soon as the lights came up that pretty little cupcake frosted with lavender colored icing was on my mind.
I clutched the white tiny box housing the confection of deliciousness until we were just outside of the theater.
There was a misty rain falling, the light from the movie theater marquee above our heads, a mass of people in my periphery, and the blare of the city traffic at my back.
I was oblivious to it all.
I ripped open the box to discover that my pretty little cupcake was smashed to one side, and all of the icing was smeared across the inside of the box top.
Without a second thought I began to use my fingers to get it all off, it tasted so sugary sweet, and I was so sorry that it was ruined.
I looked up at you, and saw a tear roll down your cheek. You looked as if you'd seen something that you'd never noticed before.
I blinked, "what's wrong" I asked you, as we began to cross the street together, the memory of sugar still lingering on my tongue. "Nothing" you replied smiling, tears still streaming down your beautiful face.
And you were right.

Mine

I've never been a selfish person. I was the girl at the lunch table in second grade who would pass out each item in her lunchbox to all of the other kids. Nothing makes me happier than knowing that I have something to share, which is essentially, something to give, and actually presenting someone with it. Lately, however, I have been thinking about what is mine. I have this urgent need to claim something, anything that has been a part of my life in any way. So often I feel like I am grasping at thin air. I used to feel like I had a grip on my life, and the life I envisioned for myself. I shared that life with another person. Now that I have done that, it so hard for me to distinguish between the things that belong solely to me, and the things that are part of a past existence. What is worth holding on to? What should I let go? My life in New York City was so much a part of me, and I'm having to let it go. I feel like I'm giving up my future for the past. It's not completely impossible for me to envision a future here in Virginia. I just always thought a future should feel fresh, and new, unchartered territory; but I've definitely been here before. I can certainly own that.

Blog, please forgive me

I promised myself that I would blog everyday of this year. I am going through an extremely crucial time in my life, and most days this blog helps me to get out all the things that can't say. But today I'm so full, it's all so overwhelming that I can't even begin to find the words to type into this small, square space on my computer screen. It won't fit. It's too much.

Sincere Lee

Who Holds my Heart?

There is a plane landing in about 5 minutes in New York City, and I'm not on it. After much obsessing aboout what would be my next step in my life, I have decided that, at least right now, I am not ready to go back. I have no idea what, if anything, is waiting for me there, besides my soon-to-be-ex husband, and of course I'm in no hurry to get back to that. I cannot lie, I miss my friends dearly, my job was beginning to pluck my nerves, but in a strange way, I miss it too. But these are both elements of my life that I have, or, can find here in Virginia. I've been thinking a lot about the saying "home is where the heart is," and what that saying means to me. If my loved ones are in Virginia, does that mean this is my home? Even if I don't always feel at home here? I love New York City, I always have. I love the noise, the people, the energy, the restaurants, Central Park. My gosh how I heart Central Park! New York and I have a relationship that Virginia will never understand. I've been having a love affair with the city for the past two and a half years. I can't honestly say that I'm ready to give it up and run back to sensible Virginia, or anywhere else for that matter. I've slept around with Washington D.C. a little, but nothing compares to New York. No where else makes me feel the way New York does. I come alive in that city! I'm in love! Now if only I could get New York City to reciprocate that love; my decision would be so much easier.

I'm having a moment

So it's the day before I am supposed to leave Virginia to go back to New York, and I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing. As much as I love the city, I'm in no rush to get back. My plans are not finalized, I have no where to stay as of right now, and I'm not completely sure that I still have my job. Logically speaking this does not seem like the best idea right now. But what exactly am I supposed to do when one alternative is no better than the other. I have about $17.00 to my name, which is not even enough for cab fare from the airport. I haven't even began to think about how I'm supposed to eat for the next week and half before I get another pay check. New York is a fabulous city, but it can seem like the boogey man when you're broke and homeless. I only have a few more hours left in the day to decide what my next move will be. Am I going to the airport in the morning? or will I stay here another week or two until. . .

Virginia is for Lovers

I just love how each state has a "slogan" or a "saying" that I'm guessing is supposed to embody everything that the people who reside there appreciate about that state. I've always wondered who had the balls to come up with this concept of branding, and whether or not these sayings have any true meaning in the lives of the people who grew up there. I've lived the majority of my life in Virginia, where the saying is "Virginia is for Lovers." As a little girl growing up here I never really thought about it. Now, however, as a young, soon-to-be divorcee,this saying puts a lot of pressure on a girl. It's so exclusive and exact; "Virginia is for Lovers," in other words, non-lovers keep out. In fact that's exactly how I felt upon returning home. If Virginia is for lovers then what the hell am I doing here? I came here back in the early spring to marry a man that I was no longer in love with. How did you allow this to happen Virginia? Shouldn't there be some sort of checklist, or a "Virginia is for Lovers" handbook that specifies the rules for couples who wish to marry and/or start a life here?; a checkpoint at the Virginia State line where the love doctor checks your pulse to measure how fast your heart is racing when the two of you kiss. Okay, maybe I've been watching too many Meg Ryan movies, but the point is, ever since I've been here, I have been totally consumed with the idea of what it means to truly love someone and be in love. I observe couples all the time. I watch their movements, their body language, the way they look at each other. I listen to the way they speak to each other. I have spent the last two and a half months here looking for proof of this place for lovers. While I'm not sure that every person here subscribes to this notion, or has even given it a second thought, the one thing I am sure of is that I refuse to become a cynical, bitter, divorced woman, who doesn't believe in true love.

Sincere Lee

"There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice"-F. Scott Fitzgerald

Drinking flat champagne

The nervousness has already begun to set in. I am about four days away from facing the inevitable. On Tuesday January 5, 2010 I will return to the big city that I love so very much to face my realities. It doesn't quite feel the way that I thought it would. I am usually running, skipping even, and smiling with giddy anticipation of leaving boring, mundane, typical Virginia, and heading back to Mecca aka NYC. But this time is, dare I say, bittersweet. I am actually a little sad. Virginia has been very good to me. I can't really harken back to any time in my life when I've felt the way that I feel right now; but I imagine it's the way a high school graduate feels when he or she leaves home and goes away to college. The unknown. How am I ever going to navigate this maze? There is, of course, that trail of broken promises, unconfirmed hopes, and disbelief. Before pouring a glass of last night's leftover champagne, I thought of how wonderful it tasted. It was so crip, and light, and bubbly. I was so looking forward to experiencing the exact same thing again tonight. It is flat, but I'm drinking it anyway.

Fearless

Dear Comment,

It's been awhile since I've blogged. I almost let you scare me out of the one space that I created for myself as a means of expressing my inner most thoughts. Today I challenge myself to continue to be fearless. The world will judge me anyway, no matter what I do. I love the freedom that I feel in knowing that I can express myself here and never know who, if anyone, could be somehow enlightened, or even pissed off by my thoughts. So I will continue to think and express myself. I will continue to be fearless, and I look forward to hearing from you again.

with love,
sincere lee

Chance It?

Unless you've been living under a rock, on a deserted island for the past few days, everyone is talking about Tiger Woods and his infidelities. While I am not at all surprised that Tiger was caught cheating, or that he was cheating at all; I was a little appalled by the number of partners who have come forward. Now while it is indecent, and utterly disgusting to think of how wreckless and irresponsibly he behaved, would it not be less so if there were only two women involved. The general consensus amongst both men and women discussing this tragedy of a story is that Tiger's "transgressions" are made worse by that fact that the number of partners has increased into the double digits. Talk show host, Wendy Williams, commented earlier today that yesterday she felt like Elin Woods should stay for the duration of time specified in the couples updated prenup and collect her money. Today, however, since more women have come forward with allegations, she feels that without a doubt Tiger's wife, Elin should leave him. I ask myself why should it matter if it were one woman or twenty. That's like saying if a man punches you in the throat once, it's understandable if the woman stays, but if he punches you ten times, it's definitely time to heave hoe. Disrespect and dishonesty should not measured in terms of quantity, but quality. A large part of the reason that my estranged husband and I are separated and divorcing is because of domestic violence. I stayed with him for while after the incident for several unjustifiable reasons, but in the end I was not able to co-exist with him safely, comfortably, and lovingly as a wife, so I left. I can't count how many people questioned my decision to leave on the basis that he hadn't done anything like that since the initial assault. Was I supposed to sit around and ignorantly wait for it to happen again? Women have come a long way in America, but clearly, we need to reasses our values in relationships with men, and more importantly as those values relate to marriage. The concept of a second chance was birthed through America's womb, but when it comes to serious life circumstances, and relationships between men and women, second chances are often overrated, and undeserved.

Uncomfortable

Oh what I wouldn't give to be comfortable. About a month ago my entire world was turned upside down. In my haste to leave my husband and my situation, I forgot that I was also leaving my sense of normalcy and comfort; my seven-hundred, fifty thread count sheets, my queen sized bed, and my lofty, comfy pillows. Six of them to be exact, ranging in size from standard to euro. I think back on how I would stack them all according to size and prop myself up on them. I felt like I was in a cloud, floating on a sea of dreams. Oh how I long to be comfortable. I miss the joys of lulling in bed on Saturday mornings, peacefully drifting in and out of sleep, without a care in the world; that warm, enveloping feeling created by my own body heat that hugs me, and assures me that in this moment, while I lie in bed, all is right with the world. And even if it isn't, it can wait until later.

As I wake this morning on my parent's couch I am reminded of how utterly uncomfortable my life has become. The scratchy, harsh reality of my world hits me before my eyes even open. I am blanketed under a patchwork quilt of hard truths, pain, and resentment. It's kind of difficult to forget, or even pretend to forget how much life can be a pain in the neck when a pain in the neck sharply greets me good morning daily. I haven't slept in a bed in at least two weeks. Oh what I wouldn't give to be able to curl up in my sheets, hug a pillow, roll over and go back to sleep on this early, rainy, cold, Saturday morning. A bad marriage can interrupt your life in ways you never dreamed possible. Worst of all I know that right now as I am up lamenting about how uncomfortable I am, my estranged husband is still sleeping; no doubt curled up in those seven-hundred, fifty thread count sheets, comfortably hugging a pillow.

Sincere Lee

Missing the main ingredient

Six months and two days ago was my wedding day. I knew the night before that I was not in love with my husband-to-be, but I was doing what I thought I was supposed to do. I was twenty-five, and in a long term relationship. We lived together for almost two years, and I'd moved four-hundred miles away from my family and friends to be with this man, and start this fabulous life in New York City. We were getting married. Nothing was going to stop me. Now it's six months into the marriage and we are separated. I have informed him that I want a divorce. I could go into the specifics as to why I have decided to dissolve my marriage so abruptly, but I will not. It makes no difference. I was not in love. I had convinced myself that I didn't need love to be married. I didn't believe in soulmates; I believed in choices.