The Journey

It was the lowest point in my life.

It was the desolation. The reservation on the southeastern part of Utah just above the four corners area, the desert we let the natives keep...probably because there is nothing there but sage brush, lonely highway, and complete lack of cell service.

I had no Pandora, no radio stations, and had long since grown tired of the handful of songs I'd downloaded onto a USB stick before I'd set out on my journey.

I drove down that road and cranked Amarillo by Morning for the 38,959th time, but the music wasn't loud enough, or my thoughts were too heavy, or there was just no more running away from how I felt inside.

Barren. The lifeless desert was a perfect reflection of my life.

We'd just sold our house, our five bedroom, four bath slice of SoCal real estate. We sold it for half a million dollars, which, as it turns out, is nothing compared to the price of giving up on the dreams you made together. The future. The family. The plans.

Shattered.

I'd gone to Utah to connect with my roots, to escape from the reality that my life, as I'd planned it, was over. I hadn't meant to drive, but my flight got cancelled and I couldn't bear to stay in the house that, after the 30 day escrow, was no longer ours.

So in the comfort of my childhood home, nestled in the loving embrace of my parents and brothers, or on the back of a horse chasing cows, I hid from the emotions that were under the surface, an underlying current of hot lava that would destroy anything it touched if I let it escape. Even though this was all my decision. I was the one who took it there. I was the one who decided this was no longer right for me. I forged ahead with it all. But once we sold the house, it felt so...final. And with that finality came doubts. So many doubts.

Had I made the right decision? Or could we still go back? Maybe it--he-- was what I wanted, after all.

I stayed home with my family for a few days, then decided Moab would be good for my soul. Maybe I could regain some of the appetite I'd lost. Maybe those splendid arches or that slick rock would fill that void in my soul. Maybe the brewing company would let me bring my dog in and stay forevermore, or at least until that weak Utah beer brought on the numbness I used to be so good at harboring.

I stayed only one night, enough to do some hiking, not long because it was a place we'd gone together many times and it brought back too many memories and dreams that would never come true..also because Hank wasn't allowed on the trails. He had to stay in the car, waiting, wondering if I'd ever return.

In a way, I wondered the same.

I wondered if I'd ever feel whole again. if I'd ever feel happy again. If I'd ever stop crying. Because, as I drove down that highway of broken dreams, it felt like despair had taken over every fiber of my being. My tears flowed from a spring of eternal sorrow. Invisible, yet so very real.

Seven hours later, I landed at my sister's in Flagstaff. She hugged me--even though she's not much of a hugger--and I sobbed and blubbered about how I was alone and I wondered if the hurt would ever go away. This wasn't how I pictured my life at 35.

She looked at me, comforted me in the way that sisters do, and said, "don't be afraid to go to the doctor and let him help you get through this hard time."

Indeed.

Except I didn't. I got back to San Diego and immediately fell for a charming man, one who serenaded me and sent expensive flowers to my work, distracted me from my grief..and had serious commitment issues.

A few months later, I was alone again.

The despondency came back again, this time worse. But that was when I knew.

The only way out was through. I didn't know it all would affect me like that, not when I was so sure I had made the right choice. Still. Losing your best friend and partner, even if it is your decision, even if you choose to remain close (which we are to this day), is akin to death.

Divorce.

It's been two years. I don't feel despair anymore. I'm happy. I feel alive in a way I never have before. Now I'll go outside during a downpour, just so I can feel the rain on my skin. I'll shiver and let the ocean spray my face on a cold winter night while I watch the sunset, just so I can appreciate what it feels like to be warm. I'll jump into the Pacific after a long morning run because then I can remember how cool it felt while I'm enduring one of those hot fall days at my AC-less job.

It's feeling. It's plain old living, and I'm finally doing it.

And I'm almost certain that when I make that drive next week--two years after that initial desperate, soul-seeking 10 hour drive--I won't be crying. And if I do, it will be because I'm listing to Adele (seriously though!) or just feeling gratitude that after all that I went through, the pieces of my heart are back to together and I finally feel whole again.

The light of Dawn

This post brought to you by stream-of-consciousness writing. I was sitting on the beach one day with my journal. I looked up and saw two girls laying on the cliffs above me...and this piece just came to me. A few minutes later, Mel came along and snapped this candid photo of me writing. It captures the essence of my life perfectly right now.

She won.

It was a cheap, tarnished, lie of a trophy, but technically, she won.

If there were a ref in the game of life (some call that ref God or Karma, but where is the instant gratification in that?), she would have been booted out of the game for subterfuge or unsportsmanlike conduct. The game would have been called on account of rain, on account of the storm of duplicity, dishonesty, and destruction she left in her path. In his, too.

Naively I was floating along in the summer sun, surrounded by beach haze, evening baseball games, and local craft beer. I didn't even know I was supposed to be playing a game. And if I had...I didn't know how to play by those rules...or rather, lack thereof. If it had occurred to me that I had to win him, I still would not have disregarded my virtue to reign triumphant. What's the point of a victory tainted by trickery?

A trophy that doesn't shine with the light of integrity has no real value.

And so she rode off into the sunset with him on a foundation of lies, schemes, and dissonance. His noble steed indeed.

I stood alone, looking out at the ocean, pondering the colors of the sunset, the polarity of all things. Thanking God I never learned to play that way.

To the victor goes the spoils.

And to the loser--me--came solitude, the beauty of the setting sun, and the magic of the dawn yet to come.

Life 2.0

A reader messaged me and said she missed my blog. And it got me thinking...so do I.

But is blogging even a thing anymore?

I guess it depends on the purpose. But the message came at an interesting time, as I had literally been thinking about blogging as I lay on the beach yesterday.

That's where I am in life. Lying (laying? I can never remember) on the beach contemplating life. I've lived in the same place for two years, and relocation has been on my mind. I looked at a place in my same beach town today, but there's something that feels akin to settling when I think about moving into a dark, 800 square-foot studio. Sure, it comes with a  newly remodeled kitchen and boasts granite counter tops, yet it lacks room for my mountain bikes and off-street parking and would suck up $1400 a month and a piece of my soul. No thanks. I'll keep my townhouse with ample storage, poor insulation, and a shared wall with a neighbor who just might have a peephole somewhere, we're not sure.

But this is me now. Have spent the last 12 years at the same job, thinking about changing that, thinking about continuing to love that. Longing for some sort of life change that leads me to believe I might be having a mid-life crisis. Am I midlife now? I'm not sure, but at least my butt hasn't started to sag.

I'm not sure what in my life I want to change (definitely not the non-saggy butt, I worked hard for this squat booty!), but I'm ready for something new and exciting. Maybe I'm waiting for God to speak to me through a burning bush like in the old days even though He doesn't seem to do that in modern times except maybe through a sunset or a good Enya song.

And even then it's open to interpretation. It's all about perspective. As Emerson says, "People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also an expression of their character."

I see the sun rise through palm trees as I run my daily 5 on the beach each morning. I drink green juice and smoothies and avoid gluten. I watch the sunset over the water at dog beach almost every night. It's a mile walk and sometimes I have to carry Hank. Sometimes I make new friends, sometimes I keep to myself. Most times, though, I've learned to say YOLO (you only live once) to new things and have random and fun adventures. Sometimes my responsible friends yell at me and tell me I need to think more about my choices (like going rock climbing to a deserted beach while barefoot in a bikini in Cabo with a random local is a poor choice?) but I'm not dead yet so...nah?


And yes. I'm single. I've been divorced for 2 years. I have gone on countless dates, quasi-seriously dated 2 different boys (though neither made it as far as being Facebook official) but have yet to find a guy that has makes me want to settle down. In fact I recently stated that I'm out of the dating game. It's lasted 4 days so far. It's hard to know exactly how much to reveal about my dating life on a public blog (ahem, secret dating blog). Because I don't know who will end up reading this.

My old readers? New readers? My mom? No one?

Who cares. It feels good to be writing again.