My Imaginary Boyfriend

I STOLE THE IMAGINARY BOYFRIEND IDEA from Amy Sedaris. But I added a twist of Oprah.  Amy is wonderful, but I don't really want what she has with Ricky. The Oprah part comes in because I heard from a friend of a friend, that although she didn't find what she was looking for on those dating sites, signing up and filling out her "wish list" helped her to figure out what she was looking for in a relationship. Then she married someone she met somewhere else. Isn't that the way those stories always go? And happily ever after and good for her. Really.

So what am I looking for? L's new boyfriend doesn't have to be perfect, but he does have to at least aspire to all of these qualities:

• Communication: He has to at least believe that communication is primary in a relationship. He doesn't have to be the best communicator all the time, but he needs to recognize when he is in danger of shutting down, and rectify the situation. He needs to be willing to listen and share with courage and respect, even when the news is difficult.
• Maintenance: You don't just put gas in a car and drive it. You change the oil; you rotate the tires; you check the fluids. My new boyfriend needs to understand the importance (and the fun!) of maintaining relationships. I'm not saying that date night has to be stiffly regulated--that can be a trap in itself. But he can't skimp on time together: talking and being silent; laughing and sharing sadness; being alone with me and being with friends together.
• Well, I have more to add, but just now need to attend to some other things, and think about this a bit more. This is my list, and subject to change without notice. What's on your list? Do you have ideas to share?

THE UMBRELLA AND THE ROSE

The divorce has been final for about a month. It was hard, but it finally felt good to have it behind me. But now J has been suddenly more communicative, starting slowly right after the divorce with little things, and building ever since. He actually texted me and asked me to have coffee with him yesterday. I said yes, but I felt cautious. My hopes and fears bounced wildly back and forth. Was he going to make a big pronouncement--some terrible news about his health--or was he having a change of heart? The divorce was a terrible mistake? But it was just...coffee. We chatted. We had awkward silences. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I don't know if it was a fluke, but he called me again today to tell me about his job. In two years he has never called me unless he absolutely has to.

Here's my take on it. I'm not going to worry about it, but if he is thinking he's had a change of heart, he needs to understand that although the job for L's Boyfriend is open right now, the job has become professionalized and the qualifications are much higher than they ever were before. Plus the competition is stiff. He has to compete with my imaginary boyfriend (He's wonderful. His only fault is that he's imaginary, but I quite enjoy our coffee dates.) and all the guys out there that might answer my ad on whatever dating service I will try as soon as I can stomach a dating service, or can afford to join one. My new boyfriend will have to meet very strict conditions, starting with openness and date night and being comfortable in my community. My new boyfriend will dance with me. Who knows? My new boyfriend might even be a girl.

I'm at the library coffee shop, and a couple is getting their engagement pictures done outside my window, here in front of the flower boxes. It's a rainy day, which will make an interesting photo. That's another condition. My new boyfriend will want to be photographed with me, like it's a privilege for him to have his image next to mine. Am I starting to sound full of myself? I kind of hope so.

The flower boxes are full of pink and white begonias. The dark green leaves are lush, and behind the flowers are tall hedges which will form a green backdrop for the photos. A blue and white awning protects the stone porch of the library, and rain drips elegantly from the awning. I imagine it will look like strands of silver beads in the pictures. The couple is very young and hopeful. The girl is a little plump and taller than the boy. The boy has tattoos and a close clipped goatee. The photographer, a woman in her early forties, is suggesting various poses--seated at the wrought iron tables, holding hands and looking at each other, leaning against the stone railing of the porch. She pulls out props for them, a silk rose and a black and white floral print umbrella, so maybe the rain was part of the plan all along.

A year ago, or even six months ago, my mind would have raced ahead, jumping to conclusions about J and his intentions. I would maybe try to coax him back prematurely. Now? I kind of just want to wait and see. I don't even know what I would say if he told me he's had a change of heart. My own heart feels kind of like wood.

The first few poses were kind of stiff, but now the young people loosen up, begin to grin at each other. The photographer says something and they all laugh. They are so hopeful and so beautiful. I remember a boy and a girl who ran up the stairs to the roof together in a thunderstorm, dancing naked in the midnight downpour. I want to tap on the window and tell the girl to run out into the rain. Let it soak through her clothes and drip off of her long hair. The boy might run after her. Then again, he might not. But, Sweetie? Don't let that stop you.

One Day--A Poem by Patricia Jabbeh Wesley

ONE DAY
by Patricia Jabbeh Wesley

Love Song for the Newly Divorced


One day, you will awake from your covering
and that heart of yours will be totally mended,
and there will be no more burning within.
The owl, calling in the setting of the sun
and the deer path, all erased.
And there will be no more need for love
or lovers or fears of losing lovers
and there will be no more burning timbers
with which to light a new fire,
and there will be no more husbands or people
related to husbands, and there will be no more
tears or reason to shed your tears.
You will be as mended as the  bridge
the working crew has just reopened.
The thick air will be vanquished with the tide
and the river that was corrupted by lies
will be cleansed and totally free.
And the rooster will call in the setting sun
and the sun will beckon homeward,
hiding behind your one tree that was not felled.

A REALLY EMPTY NEST

I find myself alone with time on my hands. J has taken the kids on vacation. They'll be back next week. It struck me earlier today that this will be the shape of my life after everyone goes off to college, so I'd better get used to it, or nudge my life into a different shape if I don't like it.


I generally do like my solitude and independence, and I've never in my life been bored. I'm much more likely to be stressed and overextended than find myself drifting around with nothing to do. But since the divorce I've felt like I'm waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something to be different. Then I watch myself waiting, and watch myself watching.... and I get rather sick of it.


I'm starting to tell people. I ran into a colleague today--someone I like but don't know well. He asked how my summer has been and I could feel myself hedging. "It's been interesting," I told him. I wanted to tell him and I didn't want to. Of course he wanted to know what I meant, and asked a few more times until I spilled it. What did I think he would do? You can't just give a loaded answer like that and expect people to not press forward. But I can't seem to give the light and breezy answer, either. "Oh, my summer was great. Everything's fine. If you don't count my broken heart." (See, that always sneaks in, even if I don't really say it.) He was kind about it when I told him, and I think I saw tears welling in his eyes, but I'm not sure. I liked him better for those tears, and wondered about them, too. Maybe he knows what a broken heart is. Or maybe it was just sympathy, or knowing how much his own divorce might hurt.


Another friend told me she wanted to celebrate her divorce. Every marriage is different. I was glad to hear her story, too. It helped me realize that I can make my life into what I want it to be.


Here are my challenges: I hear myself telling friends that I need to figure out how to make my life work again. Maybe I need to begin to visualize a new life. What do I want it to look like? Maybe I should write a recipe.

• family (which is mostly my kids and my sister, now)
• meaningful work (I sort of have that)
• living within my means (working on that one)
• close friends with lots of visiting (I've been low on that lately. my fault for hunkering down.)
• social network
• regular rhythm
• good health
• fitness
• nature

I'll have to tinker with the portions of each ingredient. I'll let you know when I figure it out.

D-Day

I have been in limbo for so long that it began to feel normal. I've been waiting for the court date, waiting to feel human again, waiting for the heat wave to pass, waiting for the rain that's not even in the forecast yet. It's been almost two years since J moved out, a year and a half since he asked for this divorce. I vaguely understood that life would be somehow better on the other side of the court date, and now here I am.


How do I feel? Numb, still, but yes. Better. I feel not so stuck. I feel lonely and kind of old. Still waiting for the rain.


Getting divorced in a small county is probably different from doing it in a large county. The courtroom was empty--only ours was scheduled for that morning. I risked running into family and friends, which I didn't particularly want to do, at least until after it was over. I thought about wearing movie star sunglasses and a floppy hat to guard my face.


I had already planned to ask S to come with me for support. I had plenty of people I could have asked, but she is a relatively new friend, and had never met J. I felt like that was better. When I told another friend about the court date he suggested that I would need someone to be my eyes and ears, because I would not be able to remember anything. It turned out to be good advice.


It was eerily like another traumatic experience I had years ago, where all these professionals were just doing their job like they do it every day, making small talk about the weather, and I was just trying to keep myself from falling apart.


I put on a nice dress, a blue and white print cotton summer dress. It was kind of like a blue willow pattern, probably too festive for the occasion, but I wanted to look nice, and to feel cool, and crisp. I passed through the metal detector and stopped. I didn't know where to go, and I wasn't about to ask Harry, the sheriff's deputy who guards the door, where I had to go to get divorced. Usually, I do ask him. "How are you doing, Harry? Where do I go to pay my land tax?" Not today. I just stood for a moment considering the staircase up to the courtrooms, and then I saw my attorney's legs, then the rest of her, coming down the stairs. She told me everyone was up in the library, and S and I followed her up the heavy staircase.  J was seated with his lawyer, wearing a blue shirt and silk tie. He looked nice, but uncomfortable. He said hello, and I introduced him to S. We sat down, and that's when the nervous small talk began and I just sat there blinking. J didn't look at me anymore, and my lawyer gave me a stack of papers to sign. I didn't read anything, just started signing copies and copies. J's signature was already there. I usually take pride in my signature. These days I write longhand so seldom that when I do, it feels artistic. In the courthouse library I just scribbled my name so it was barely legible on all the copies of the dreaded document. I thought about how that messy signature would be in the courthouse for generations, how my grandkids might look it up someday if they want to study their genealogy, and that messy signature made me sad. But they might correctly read my sadness into that scribble.


Finally I finished signing and we were in the courtroom, rising for the judge. The judge was the same one who married my sister ten years ago, and that felt like a nice symmetry. I know the court reporter a little, and she waited until the end of the hearing to give me a small wave. I appreciated her waiting, and appreciated the wave. I waved back. Nobody asked me to testify, and when J did, he was crying a little. I appreciated that too. He is not a crier. In 25 years I would only need one hand to count the times I've seen him cry. It was a simple ceremony, and took about 20 minutes. The judge had some questions about the arrangements, and then rubber-stamped our split. We stood up again as he left the room.


We were done. It was over. Twenty five years of marriage. And now on to something else.


Some things have obviously changed, but some things will be the same. I had a few things in my car to give J. Just some things he left at the house last week. He said, "I'm really sorry." And I said, "I'm sorry too." I said, "J, we should be friends," and he said, "Of course." He drove me to my car so I could return his things.


We said more to each other after he drove me to my car, and I treasure those things. I asked for a hug and he gave me one. This has been a very amicable divorce. Even amiable if such a thing is possible. Does that make me feel better or worse? Better, I'm sure, in the long run. I wouldn't pull bitterness down on us or our family, though it might make it easier if I could hate him.


Afterwards I felt utterly drained, washed out and rinsed. All I could think to do was sleep, and I'd already been doing that for days.


Where do I go from here? I'll need to recover my strength and vitality. A broken heart sure takes a lot out of you. But I know it's better to have this finally behind me.

What Can I Control?

Anger was a big problem in my marriage--my anger, his anger, and our different and incompatible ways of dealing (or not dealing) with it. And guess what: even though the marriage is over, I still trip over this problem. Sometimes the wrinkle in the rug is my anger; sometimes it's someone else's. Here is a quote I found a while back. I keep returning to it to let the same lesson settle in. It's from Harriet Goldhor Lerner's The Dance of Anger. "Most of us want the impossible. We want to control not only our own decisions and choices but also the other person's reactions to them. We not only want to make a change; we want the other person to like the change that we make. We want to move ahead to a higher level of assertiveness and clarity and then receive praise and reinforcement from those very people who have chosen us for our own familiar ways" (Lerner, page 35 italics in original).

This quote intersects perfectly with what I hope I'm learning about control. That is, the only thing I can hope to control is my own behavior, my own attitude. I can't even always do that. Or maybe I could, if I were very careful and very clear. I certainly can't control what other people think or feel or do or write or gossip about any more than I can control the weather. If I tried I will probably exhaust myself and frustrate myself. And come to think of it, controlling my behavior and attitude is a big enough job for the rest of my life.

On one hand, I could get frustrated that I can't control what someone says or does or feels. Instead, I'm choosing to feel relief that I can stop trying.

A Hopeful Practice

I've been spending some time with a new friend. Not a romantic friend, but I've been enjoying his company quite a bit. I think I was supposed to meet him because among many things we have in common, he is also recently divorced after a long marriage. He is a few years ahead of me on this journey, and has some good advice and guidance. Talking with him helps me process. Just hearing his story and sharing mine is therapeutic. Both the similarities and the differences are helpful. He is actually at the point that I'd like to arrive at soon. He is happily dating someone. I'm envious, but I also appreciate his warm presence in my life. In a way, I feel like I'm using him for practice. I'm not dating him, but I do sit with him in coffee shops and share ideas, stories, hopes and fears. It's good practice to converse with an attractive guy in a public place. I try not to think too much about where I'm going to find a nice guy who enjoys my company, one I'm attracted to enough to climb out on this new limb. I haven't told him yet, that I'm practicing on him. :)


I have many questions for him about his journey, his process. And I hope that sharing mine will be helpful to him, too.

Clarity, Guidance, and Grace

I haven't written in awhile. I go along and things feel okay--pretty good in fact. But once in a while I hit a patch of panic, and I wonder if feeling okay means I'm really just in denial. Suddenly I see my future yawning before me without J or anyone else to love me or touch me ever again.


When J first left, about eighteen months ago my sister told me to pray for Clarity and Guidance. I'm not a real church-y type, and what I do is more meditation than prayer, but I added Grace to the list and wrote it on a heart shaped post it note. It kept falling off my computer monitor where I stuck it, and now it floats to the top of the mess on my desk periodically. Here it is now: Clarity, Guidance, Grace. And I think about those three gifts.

Clarity--I think in order to understand how I arrived here, I need to let the chaos of feelings settle. That takes time. I think of a muddy pool that's been stirred up by a storm. Only with stillness will the particles settle to the bottom and the water clarify. In some ways eighteen months seems like such a long time, but only recently have I begun to feel like I'm going to someday understand.


Guidance--I am just now learning where to look for guidance. I've come to ignore much well-meaning, but sometimes painful advice. I've found a few trusted sources, and stick with them for support, keeping most things to myself. Mostly I'm learning to trust my own instinct about what's helpful and healing.


Grace--the slipperiest one of all. Once in awhile I think I see it out of the corner of my eye. It is what comes to me when I'm running and first so wrapped up in my troubles that I forget to pay attention to my breathing. Only later I realized that the strict rhythm I have always tried to force myself to achieve--four paces breathing in, four paces breathing out--is exactly what causes the stitch in my side and the ragged pain in my chest. Only when I forget about the breathing because I'm attending to my troubles, do I run like I'm in a dream. Only when I suddenly realize I've gone twice as far as I meant to and still nothing hurts do I forget to attend to my troubles. It's circular, and now it's just slipped away from me again. Can anyone tell me what Grace means?