Change = Letting Go

So it’s over a week now since he moved out, and i’m feeling a bit more sane.  I don’t do limbo very well, never have – so the waiting for the move was torture.  Now that i’ve had time to begin adjusting to life on my own again, my version of normal is reestablishing itself. 

It’s been a great process of rediscovery, even in this short week or so.  It’s amazing how much of yourself you shelve when you connect your life with someone else’s.  I gave up so much of me – not all related to my marriage, to be fair – but definitely as part of that time, that journey.  Slowly, like a spring thaw, those aspects of who I am at my core are springing back to life, pushing their way up through the hard ground – little shoots grasping for space, air, and their little piece of sunshine.

I’m realizing, as part of that process, some of the friendships I made along the way in that part of my journey may not make it through to the next leg.  In some cases, it will be due to their discovering that who I am becoming no longer fits their desired paradigm.  Others may not really object so much to the newer me per se, but don’t like change in general; and so will be shaken by the loss of familiarity, and the rattling of their comfort zone.   Still others may fall victim to the inherent limits on our time and energy as our previous points of convergence are reduced, causing the relationship to wilt like a neglected plant sitting outside of the natural traffic flow.

Whatever the case, though I will miss and mourn those losses in some way, I am hopeful about discovering new relationships even as I forge a new one with myself, and about finding new depth in some existing ones that are being invigorated by the twists and turns of this present path.  Letting go of the familiar past, opening arms wide to the unknown future; and knowing it is the way I, at least, am meant to live.

Tomorrow, and the day after…

He’s moving out tomorrow.  Technically, he’s already started – took the little stuff today after he picked up the keys to his new place. Tomorrow is the big stuff – furnishings and the like. Tomorrow, the deed will be done.

Little stuff, big stuff – like us, like our brief marriage. A series of little stuff and big stuff – some good, some not so great. All relegated now to memory and history, like those boxes you pack when you move, and never unpack again.  You stash them in your attic or garage, maybe take them out someday way later, look through them nostalgically - or better yet, realize if they’ve been packed that long and you didn’t miss them, you probably didn’t need them anyway.

Some part of me doesn’t want to unpack this, but I know i’ll have to, someday; just not now. I’m not ready, I know that.  I need time – to grieve, to hurt, to be angry, to heal.  At times I fooled myself that I could somehow pass through this with barely a scratch, but fool is the appropriate word for that kind of thinking. You don’t give so much of yourself to someone without feeling it when they decide it just wasn’t that important to them – not important enough to fight for, sacrifice for, take on their demons for.  “He’s just not that into you.”  Ouch.

And so it goes. So he goes. So I go – on. 

The day after – Valentine’s Day. The irony is deafening.

And now, Mr. Elephant…

As in, the big pink one in the middle of my first blog post.  I said I wanted to write about my split with my husband of two years (2 years today, in fact), but I just haven’t been able to bring myself to do it until today.  So, here goes…

Part of the problem is the fact that my emotions around it have been shifting not just daily, but multiple times within the day, depending.  Even though this is potentially divorce number two for me, it couldn’t be more different than when my first husband and I split. 

The first time around, I married for friendship, convenience, as a means of escape, because my mom thought he’d make a good husband, and so on, and so on, and so on.  The infamous soundbite of that marriage is my telling my mom BEFORE the wedding that I didn’t think I was in love with him, and her telling me that he “didn’t have to twinkle my toes.” Hm.  Well, she was wrong, on so many levels, though she meant well – and in light of my father, I can see why she went with that theory.  I suspect he “twinkled” her quite a bit over the years, but good money says she’s lived to regret it many times over. I know I have…but I digress.

In the couple of weeks since we hit our marital wall, I have had every emotion they make a smiley for, and many they never thought of.  I’ve gone from anger up to giddiness, hurt down to fear, and spent a whole lot of time hanging out in confusion somewhere in the middle.  I still love my husband, and I’m pretty sure he still loves me (he says so), but we have come to an impasse neither of us can figure out how to reach each other through.   And we don’t know if we will.  So, here we are.

This isn’t a dramedy or a Lifetime movie. There’s no absolute villian, pitiful victim,  hapless heroine,  or clumsy-yet-lovable sap.  Just two very broken people with tons of their own crap to deal with, stumped on how to deal with each other’s – and not lose themselves in the process.  All I can say at this point is, stay tuned.

The burden of truth

I am REALLY sleepy.  But i’ve been looking forward to making another entry in my blog, now that I have the bug; and what else productive can I do at 3AM, requiring minimal energy?

Thanks to my friends Cynthia and pro blogger Steve for the shout-outs on the new blog (especially Steve for posting the crazy looking picture from BarCamp on his pingback! That’s love, right there…) Steve is my new media guru and Emergent mentor, along with being just a great guy and good friend! Cynthia is a dear woman who, along with her precious friend Kimber, I met through my Emerging Church group; both women with beautiful spirits and amazing stories, and with whom I have spent far too little time.

I had the privilege of getting in a quick convo with them both before the Shane Claiborne event at Area 15 (interesting meeting Shane; somehow who I expected, yet not, at the same time – I like that!).  Cynthia excitedly noted the fact that she had been the first to comment on my blog, which was cool for me to find out, since I hadn’t even had time to check email since I posted.  We also talked briefly about the potential consequences of putting your “inner mess” on display, possibly for the world to see; even more risky, the prospect of family members near and far reading in print what has yet to be spoken.  Whoa.  It was appropriately sobering.

I’ve never been one to hold back much, something i’ve learned to temper over the years.  When you grow up with the sickness of secrets permeating and poisoning your life as I did, you learn to despise not only deception, but anything resembling the lack of full disclosure.  “Radical honesty” becomes intoxicatingly appealing (anyone see “Lie To Me” debut last week? Loved it!).  But i’ve had to learn that with such honesty comes a vulnerability that is not for the faint of heart, and potentially consequences not only for your life, but for the lives of those yours touches. 

It is that secondary fallout that has caused me to temper my use of truth, especially as a mother.  That sense of great responsibility for the lives of those you love acts as a governor in so many ways, among which is considering the impact of what you say before you say it.  Capturing your internal dialogue in the public forum as it does, the very nature of blogging should prompt a heightened diligence around such concerns.  Perhaps that’s the reason i’ve begun, hesitated and stopped so many times before – maybe at some level I realized that it was a responsibility I wasn’t prepared to take on – the burden of speaking my truth as well as being my own censor. 

I’m not sure if Depeche Mode meant it in the same way, but the concept still works:

You had something to hide
Should have hidden it, shouldn’t you
Now you’re not satisfied
With what youre being put through

Its just time to pay the price
For not listening to advice
And deciding in your youth
On the policy of truth

Things could be so different now
It used to be so civilised
You will always wonder how
It could have been if you’d only lied

It’s too late to change events
It’s time to face the consequence
For delivering the proof
In the policy of truth

Never again
Is what you swore
The time before
Never again
Is what you swore
The time before

Now you’re standing there tongue tied
You’d better learn your lesson well
Hide what you have to hide
And tell what you have to tell

You’ll see your problems multiplied
If you continually decide
To faithfully pursue
The policy of truth

Never again
Is what you swore
The time before
Never again
Is what you swore
The time before

Now the Christianites reading this might think, “That’s not right!” Maybe. But I can think of at least two prominent examples of blatent lying by the great patriarchs recounted in scripture, right off the top of my head.  Not to mention if you really pay attention, Jesus himself could be considered evasive, at the very least. He didn’t go around puking the truth on everyone in his path (though if anyone had the right and reason, surely he), but instead carefully shared with some, denied direct answers to others, hid kernels of truth in artfully crafted stories, and avoided some conversations altogether.  He obviously knew a lot more than he told, and i’m sure he had good reasons for not adopting “the policy of truth”.  I consider him an example worth modeling, and try very hard not to model him after myself as i’ve found many do.

Beginning again…

Hear that? That was the sound of my life changing drastically – again.

I’m beginning another season of major change, which in fact began on MLK Day, appropriately, when my husband and I decided to split.  This is divorce number 2 for me, the journey through which will be the subject of a later blog post (probably several).  In the days since i’ve realized how much of me was in hibernation, tucked away because it didn’t match the decor of the lifestyle of the couple we had become. 

This personal transition significantly coincided with the transition of Barack Obama to the presidency, and the major shift of our country into new focus and new hope, even as we face the painful renovation of our economy from its errors and excesses.  I can relate.

And so, it seemed a good time to give blogging another try – attempt four, I think this is.  I think I may be off to a better start this time, hopefully with a little help from some folks with expertise that I connected with at the recent Charlotte BarCamp.  I’m trying to get my social media skills up to par,  and the BarCamp was the kick in the pants I needed, well-timed as it was with my current life change. 

I always have liked new beginnings: learning new things, acquiring skills, meeting people, having experiences I haven’t before.  Maybe it’s a residual effect from my military brat days – the adaptation to changing homes, even countries, on a seemingly random, unanticipated basis.  Military kids learn not to hold on too tightly, and to be prepared to embrace the unknown to come, pressing past the fear.  “Hoping for the best, preparing for the worst” as some say. 

I welcome feedback from others whose journeys intersect mine.  I named my blog “between the boxes” because i’ve realized that a key component of my journey is the continual navigation of that space between the paradigms that people try to confine you to, for the sake of their own security and sense of control.  I understand that need in people, even myself; but I am compelled to rebel against it in all of its forms.  The delusion of control is to me the harbinger of the greatest evils we perpetuate on one another, and I desire to expel it from my life wherever possible.