I remember sitting in an off-beat coffee shop/bar on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It was a funky little dive where you had the option of coffee and vegan cupcakes OR live alternative music and beer until 4am. Only in NY. And there I sat amongst a crowd that I didn’t exactly fit into. They all appeared to be twenty-something aspiring musicians or artists; complete with their own “individual” style that tended toward a variation of edgy black clothing, tattoos and piercings. And, despite the blaring tunes I’d NEVER heard before (nor did I like), I felt more at home there than I did sitting in any Los Angeles Starbucks for the past 6 years of my life. Directly across the street from the coffee shop was my new home; a completely un-renovated railroad-style apartment. Oh, “railroad” = “no privacy”. My roommates (also 2 of my closest friends) had to walk through my “bedroom” (and I use that term loosely) to get to the kitchen (or the bathtub which was located in the kitchen; conveniently at an arm’s reach away from the stove or fridge). Like I said -- no privacy. But, I felt just as comfortable there as I did in my 1400 square foot town-home with 2 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, and a kitchen designated strictly for cooking and eating. Oh, except for the occasional, spontaneous romp on the countertop with my husband. Well, my future ex-husband. He was still in said Los Angeles town-home awaiting its sale with our Boston Terrier/dog-child, Brooklyn; named after the borough in which we met and fell madly in love.
I sat in that off-beat coffee shop/bar 3,000 miles away trying to re-define myself. Who was I without my EX? Who was I as a newly single 38 year old woman? What happened to us anyway? How did our beautiful, loving, open and honest marriage end in (GULP!)...I can’t even say the damn word! How did our marriage end in that damn “D” word? DIVORCE!!! There, I said it.
