On Tuesday, March 20th, a 7.2 earthquake struck Mexico. The Genius is in Mexico.
It never once occurred to me to ask him if he was alright. Clearly, since we had to speak that day (oh, the joy!) he was alive and well. Pre-Pocket Call I would have certainly asked if he felt it, if anyone was injured, are his colleagues okay. Post-I’ve Been Living a Double Life for the Past Four Years I didn’t even think to ask how he was faring. It wasn’t that I stood on ceremony and said, “No matter the natural disaster I forbid myself from ever inquiring as to his health, well-being or whether or not the sex is still rocking with The Happy Dance Chick.” It simply just did not occur to me to ask.
Have I moved on? Pfft. Hardly. I’m sitting right here. In the moment. Being whipped back and forth like the tail of a ticked-off cat, as I metabolize emotion upon emotion, looking for the meaning in it all. Have I embraced the challenge of working through betrayal and slogging through my divorce in a way that I believe will work for me? You bet your sweet tuchus I have.
I don’t even really understand what ‘moving on’ means. If it means that I don’t care enough about The Genius to check in on him after an earthquake then I’ll send out the change-of-address cards. I just think it’s that I don’t care anymore, period. (Again, he was clearly alive and well. Obviously, I don’t want my boys to be without a father. Especially not a good father, which is what The Genius is. It’s the only prop I can give him, so I shall.) Perhaps that’s why I am able to emote but not drown in it. Or give him free reign to come and go as he pleases to see the boys. Or not freak out when I come home and he’s folded my clothes. Although I have to admit, it makes my skin crawl to know he’s touched my underwear. (Because we share so freely here I have to add that the word ‘panties’ is on my list of grossest words ever. Right up there with ‘moist’. And ‘gonad’. Dream job: rewrite all the words for private parts so that they aren’t so un-sexy.)
From the night of the Pocket Call onward I have made one thing clear to myself, and through HGM, to you, which is that I will not curl up in the corner and cry. I’ll cry, just not in the corner. Arachnids live in corners. I will not inhale pint after pint of Ben & Jerry’s to ease my pain. A few glasses of a spicy Zin however are essential, and according to some studies healthy. I will not pity myself, and no one pities me. Not my family, friends nor anyone kind enough to comment on HGM. I won’t fight with The Genius. I won’t bring the boys into this mess. I won’t allow stress and anger to course through my veins, turning my cells on end and brewing up toxins that will only make matters worse. I’m a big believer that dis-ease is the cause of disease.
I will live life. I will respect the gift of each day by being grateful for the beauty that is all around me. I will laugh. Freaking hard. At most anything. Because it feels good. I will treat my body well. I will tear down the walls and build sand castles in their places. I will keep my eyes peeled for signs that will guide me along my path, like the encounter with Mr. Jackpot, the Sherpas at my Anniversary dinner, the myriad of women that have appeared as if sent from beyond to steady me at just the right time. I will be fearless. 100% fearless. There is no way I am getting to the end without having taken risks, pushed myself to go beyond what I thought I was capable of doing, and been truly vulnerable.
And I will write. Because it’s healing me. Every post pulls a nail from one of my many walls, sheds a tear that needs to be freed, and clears up a bit of my very own hard drive. I’m rewiring through word count. And it’s working.
Instead of moving on, I’m moving inside. I spend at least an hour a day, and three when I’m writing, inside my being. Add two hours for gym days, and when I take an epic hike you can add another five. I look at my feelings, thoughts, aches and pains. I notice how a thought can lead to a change in my facial expression, a tensing in my chest, or turn of my stomach. So I sit with that thought. Give it its moment and send it up to the clouds attached to the basket of a hot air balloon. (We all have our own pet images. Mine comes from the Wizard of Oz.) I’m not leaving anything by the side of the road again. I want to meet these feelings, concerns, fears with arms outstretched. Ignoring them is what led me to the Pocket Call. By not ignoring them I expect to be led in a much better direction.
I’m always moving. And I’m always healing. A little bit each day. I’m going to honor that achievement and not subscribe to a timetable as to how I’m supposed to be feeling 7 months after The Pocket Call and 5 months after The Big Reveal. I’m not moving on from anything.
I’m living my life.