Buds and Roots

My friend, Maraiya, recently asked me what happened to all the hot dogs I had in my freezer. We sold some of the 40 piece packages to friends. The rest came to a wonderful end, being donated to our local food bank. I think they weighed in at 19 pounds. That is also funny, 19 pounds of hot dog.

I often get asked for updates on how I am doing. At times, my old desire to not be seen kicks in, and I want people to stop asking. With close friends, though, it is a good time to really stop and think about where I am. A few weeks ago, I was talking to some co-workers, and one of them joked with me, "You better watch these two," pointing to the two other women in the room, "they'll be trying to hook you up with someone." I felt panicked at the idea and buried my face in my hands. One of the women - so compassionate and empathetic, a professional and born therapist - said, "Oh, she's not ready." Often I am asked not only how I'm doing but how I am feeling about Michael. I realized on my drive home that day that I wasn't ready for a relatinship with anyone. The questions center around whether I want to be with Michael or, if not him, what I want in another person. But my heart isn't ready to answer the question. I have felt relief since I understood this and peace in being alone, allowing myself to open up in this new space.

My therapist reminded me a week ago that it is more difficult to remember ourselves in relationships - we get tangled up in what another wants and needs, thinks about what we want and need, how to do what we both want and need, disappointment and hurt when needs and wants are not met. I married fairly young at 22 and had a 10 year anniversary last year. In those 10 years, I forgot how much I love to travel - to just go, to see new places, to return to familiar places and explore. I love the liminoid experience of getting out of my normal routine. I forgot many old and precious relationships, not putting forth the effort to keep them up. I have realized in the last month that I love to snowshoe - my last trip ended in such euphoria that I apologized to my fellow snowshoer for talking so much. I remembered again my waxing and waning passion for understanding how to light a young person's fire for education, especially young people who have not only failed in the traditional public school system but who have been hurt by that system, and how to turn that fire for education into an amazing future. I have realized that my ease in administration - organization, delegation, analyzing and synthesizing, managing details (nerdy me - I get almost as excited about strategic planning and organizaitonal analysis as I do about social justice) - are a gift. I remembered how much I love to talk about books and philosophical ideas with those I love. There is more to come in rediscovering myself at 33. I remembered the most important reason for my four years of college, love of wisdom, discovering truth and how to live authentically.

Certainly, there are new feelings of lonliness, emotional and physical, new feelings of loss, new struggles with what this busted relationship will have to look like because there are kids involved. There are the days - as recently as last week when I had a fever for 48 hours - when I feel like I have failed at everything, am a terrible mother (fueled by the survival need for them to watch the idiot box for two and a half hours because I was too ill to do anything else - Asher loved it, of course), that I can't do everything set before me (the list keeps me up - curse the list!), and that I surely should just be locked up. Ah. . . new discoveries.

I spent this weekend in Ft. Collins with my close friend, Amy. There is a couple in her church whose marriage is in somewhat similar circumstances as mine. The wife is currently in Nashville with a friend, sorting out whether she wants to stay in her marriage after a quick and passtionate emotional affair and close call with a full affair. I saw her husband and two young kids at church. Even with his smiles and hellos, I could - imaginary, perhaps - feel his pain. I recognized the stunned look. I remembered the first weekend I went to church after I made discoveries about my marriage. I felt exposed, unsure how to act around all these people who new my dirt and who were unsure how to act around me, and at the bottom feelt so deeply sad that I thought I would never stop crying. There are those deep areas still - that slightly hollow look in the eyes - between the branches. But, amazingly, there are new buds, an appreciation of the water and nutrients my roots drew in the winter.