It felt like Mr. Weird Science was holding my hand every step of the way; right up until my one-way flight to Turks & Caicos where I'd become the Pilates/Fitness Instructor on a private resort island. For months, he patiently listened to all the stories I concocted about how moving to a remote Caribbean island with a population of three hundred would be an abysmal experience fraught with boredom and loneliness.
The fact that my EX (yes, my EX-husband) breezed in and out of the city recently and we enjoyed conversation over lunch seems almost inconsequential. It's only real relevance was the fact that it validated my possession of a fully healed and optimally functioning heart that is open to loving and being loved. Closure complete.
You know what? I was a catch when I met my EX, damn it! I was full of energy, sense of purpose, self-love and a zest for life. I had dreams, goals, aspirations and was eager to share my life with him. I loved the idea of happiness and success becoming a joint project. And I couldn't wait to co-create a life together in which we both thrived personally and professionally while constantly evolving into better versions of ourselves.
Social ineptitude resulted in lots of alone time where I sometimes nurtured my resentment, fears and love of red wine during severe bouts of single-itis. But there were also those absolutely IndieGirl-icious periods when I experienced many an "AHA!" moment and great epiphany. During both the bleak and bright times I definitely discovered patterns of behavior that I wanted to change, if only I knew how.
Fucking TRUST! You're lonely without it and utterly screwed if you dare invest it in others. At least that's been my experience. The risk involved in trusting someone (post-separation) is so absolutely unnerving to me, that I've been walking around with this uncontrollably latent paranoia that the world at large is out to get me.
All that self-help woo-ha couldn’t have prepared me for the next whammy. If anything, it just thickened my rose colored glasses which, when finally shattered, led to corneal lacerations that would render me blind to hope and love for the next couple of years. It all started with me chit-chattin’ on the phone with a mutual friend of mine and my EX.
So that was that. It was over. A done deal. My EX left the next morning, marking the end of an eight year chapter of my life entitled “Love & Marriage”. There was no getting around the fact that I had officially been abandoned by my husband, best friend and lover; only to fend for myself as a 38 year old single mom with the emotional fortitude of a 2 year old.
Brooklyn and red wine now served as our buffers. Brooklyn had no idea that daddy had cheated on mommy and that our family was irrevocably broken. Or that daddy was going away and she was gonna stay with mommy in this concrete jungle. She had no idea she was destined to a life doing her business on sidewalks, making new friends at a new dog park and learning to embrace long, cold, snowy winters bundled in a coat and rubber boots.
So me, my EX, his homey, and Brooklyn headed downtown on foot toward my Lower East Side apartment. I was actually happy my EX brought his homey as “the buffer” because, otherwise, I wouldn’t have known how to tamp down my emotions to avoid an explosive and embarrassing scene on the street. Conversely, silence would’ve been equally awkward and uncomfortable. Good thinking!
I was already used to living and performing under the duress of PMSD (post-marital stress disorder) which my psyche learned to strategically navigate using a brand-spankin’ new disorder: MPD (multiple personality disorder). I never knew which Keex would emerge on any given day or for any given performance. So, what would it be today; the day I had to face my EX for the 1st time since all his dirty laundry got aired out to dry?
