"A new slick leaf unfurling like a fist to an open palm"

Illustration by Luiz Stockler

Last Thursday I went to a show alone. I was dating a guy for three weeks and then we parted ways. Since I was the one to end things, I thought the honorable thing to do would be to buy the tickets he purchased. The tickets were for a band I love - Explosions in the Sky - and this poor dude hadn’t even heard of the band. He bought the tickets because he knew I wanted to go. 

Two tickets to see a band I love in Knoxville, TN, and no one to go with me. I was planning on selling both tickets, but then decided I would go alone to see the band I love. 

I had some annual leave to burn and took the day off. First, I had lunch with two dear friends. Then I had coffee with someone who makes me immensely happy and hopeful. After I was full of pumpkin spice latte, I filled my gas tank and left for the two-hour drive. When I arrived in Knoxville, I stopped at McKay’s and wandered the stacks with a $15 store credit in my wallet. I picked three books and I still have $3 in store credit left. Next, I made my way to the venue and was one of the first people in line. The folks near me were attending solo as well and they were all out of state travelers. We agreed to be concert buds and hold spots near the stage for each other in the event of a needed drink or bathroom break. 

I had a spot up front approximately five feet from the stage. The show was incredible. I let the music wash over me and reverberate through my bones. At that moment, I felt freedom, joy, grief, hopefulness, and purpose. I felt alive. Truly alive and unfettered and in the moment. After the show, I said farewell to my new friends and we went our separate ways. 

                                                                          *******

I drove home under the light of sharp stars with an autumn chill brightening the night air. Once home, I showered and fell into bed. My cat curled his warm, small body against my arm. My mind was peaceful and weary. I slept; an absolute bundle of contradicting emotions played through my dreams and I woke several times. 

How lucky am I to be alive and have dear friends, good music, excellent coffee, and unending access to books in my life?!  I have a devoted cat, kids who make my heart sing, and a challenging and fulfilling career. There are autumn leaves, and deepening evenings, and quiet, and a million delicious moments of goodness. I never want all of this goodness to end. 

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I had trouble sleeping on Sunday night. Depression has been lurking and it makes me nervous. Sleep is fleeting. Motivation is hard to find and I keep doing that annoying random crying thing. It is embarrassing. 

I’m terrified of being ill and alone. 

I know I’m not alone. I have at least a dozen kindred spirits who would be by my side at a moment’s notice; they love me without hesitation. Yet, the fear of being alone - unfounded as it is - hovers near me. 

                                                                           *******

Last night before bed I was thinking of all the goodness and promise in my life. 

Reader, I cried. 

This is not depression. 

I’m grieving. 

The joy I feel now contrasts with heartache and reminds me of the happiness I had while married. I was happy and content - for the most part - while married. I never felt restless and I was sure, so sure, that any issues we had would be resolved. My heart was joined to his. 

Then, out of necessity and self-preservation, I dismantled the life I loved. I made the decision to divorce. Met with the attorney. Paid thousands of dollars in filing and attorney fees. I parsed our belongings into his and her Excel columns. I distributed my children’s lives and time across calendar squares and between two addresses. I made this decision. I did this. Yet, I’m the one who wept as I signed the divorce papers. 

All of the goodness in my emerging life reminds me of what I’ve lost. 

*******

This past weekend I spent time with someone who makes me happy. We were sitting on my couch with the windows open, listening to music, drinking coffee, and talking. I told this person that I was having the best time AND it was incredibly painful. That evening of coffee and conversation reminded me of the things I missed about being married. I don't want my marriage back, but I want the warmth, comfort, and security that I thought I had while married. I simply want to sit on the couch and talk over coffee. 

*******

Of course, I still have those joyful moments and I know that this ache will grow softer and not harshly clamor. It will take time. I could help the process if I didn’t let the anxiety of future loss corrupt my current contentment. 

Time for a new promise to myself: I’m going to truly embrace living in the moment. Obviously, I’m focused on long term goals for me and my children, but I want to take all of these lovely moments of music, friendship, coffee, new relationships, books, and whatever else is good and true in my life and appreciate them in the moment. 

*******

As Ada Limón writes in her poem, “Instructions for not giving up:”

… patient, plodding, a green skin of growing over whatever winter did to us, a return to the strange idea of continuous living despite the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then. I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf unfurling like a fist into an open palm, I’ll take it all. 

*******

I’ll take it all: the grief and regret. The joy and promise. I’ll thrill at the prospect of so many tomorrows, hold steady today, and still let the past undercurrent and thrum. I'm practicing continuous living and unfurling a new life. I'm reminded of Maggie Smith's latest Keep Moving post. All of it adds up to who I am. I can keep making myself as I can go and I can certainly keep moving. 

Maggie Smith