Ghoulish

On the day when it will be possible for woman to love not in her weakness but in strength, not to escape herself but to find herself, not to abase herself but to assert herself -- on that day love will become for her, as for man, a source of life... - Simone de Beauvoir

Yes, Halloween. Ghouls and ghosts and goblins. I had no idea.

My mother is visiting on an extended (interminable?) forced vacation. I was happy that she'd be able to spend Halloween with the children, and even happier for them. I allowed my ex-husband to come over to trick-or-treat with the children. It seemed an innocent enough idea at the time.

You see, I'm very comfortable with our divorce. Sure, I'd prefer to have no contact with him whatsoever, but I'm also resigned to the fact that I will speak to him daily for the next 13 years. It's no matter to me - I stopped loving him long ago. His needs, his desires, his aspirations mean nothing to me. We have discussed our new relationships and it never bothers me even for a moment - there are no pangs of jealousy, no lingering moments of "what if". I mean, the things that always made me crazy continue to, but for fleeting moments I can tolerate them - knowing that it's time-limited and I will be free of his presence soon enough.

We take the children trick-or-treating in my neighborhood. My *new* neighborhood. The one where I'm still the only single mother. The one where I'm attempting to allow my children to spread their wings (to counter his stifling nature), the one where I'm attempting to show responsibility and independence, the one where I'm attempting to make a life for my children.

It's a lovely evening and the neighborhood is wonderful for the event - many people have TV's showing the UT football game pulled out into their driveways, and all say, "Hey, come by and watch the end of the game when you're done!". The family I know best in the area are having a large get-together. They have a fire-pit in the front yard and there are about 20 people huddled around. They invite us to stay and we agree. The boys are playing, the girls are playing, and the parents are drinking. It's a nice evening.

My mother is enjoying herself and having a beer (very rare event). The kids are completely occupied. My ex-h (Baboon) is chatting up a storm with my closest geographical neighbor. I'm not entirely bothered by it, largely because I don't care. I'm getting to know some of the other moms in the area and I'm enjoying the evening.

As the night begins to dwindle down, I see the neighbor becoming bored with the Baboon and I laugh to myself. I know the feeling well. I'm guessing that neighbor-boy hasn't been able to get a word in. There is little more tedious in the world than a one-sided conversation, and I spent the better part of 15 years engaging in such non-dialogue.

The crowd dissipates, and only a few people are left around the fire. Many of the stragglers are quite drunk. Two of the men start asking me how I got out of my marriage. It's funny - their wives are right there, and the alcohol has reduced their inhibitions to the point of not caring, and they confess how unhappy they are in their marriages. I'm surprised - not shocked, I'm well aware of the feeling - but I'm surprised that the conversation is so ribald. The wives are shooting the men eye-daggers, and I can only imagine that the rest of their weekends will be nothing short of abject misery.

One of the stragglers is a football coach at a nearby college. During football season, he travels to the college early in the week and comes home on special weekends only. He's a huge man - and quite attractive - 6'3 or so, built like an athlete, his balding head the only real acknowledgement to his age. His wife pops by briefly, dumps a baby in his arms, I hear them argue a bit. Then she declares to the crowd that she has a terrible headache and is going to bed. She's cute - not beautiful, but attractive enough. As she walks off, he rolls his eyes and sighs, shifting the baby on his hip. I'm giggling at the family costumes, wondering when exactly it was that his ball-sack was severed.

He plops down next to me, listening to the other two men ask me about the challenges of divorce and I suddenly get very quiet. All three of these men are living lives that aren't what they imagined, yet they don't have the energy? integrity? gumption? fortitude? to change their situations. It's makes me a little sick. I've tired of the conversation, I've tired of their lives, I've tired of my own life. Their unhappiness is none 0f my concern, and if they can't find a way out, I can't help them. But I'm giggling a little on the inside, until my world comes crashing down.

Duckie, who had been asleep, wakes up and crawls into my lap. Bear comes back with his buddy and both take chairs around the fire. The talk mellows a lot with the kids around. My mom is a little tipsy. The Baboon stands up and clears his throat. "I know most of you don't know me, but there's something I want to say and I want you all to hear it."

I cringe. I have no idea what's coming, but I know it's wretched. He has always carried an overinflated sense of his own importance, and this dramatic introduction only signals badness. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and my stomach absolutely sinks.

He turns to me. "Amanda, I still think you're the most beautiful woman in the world. I've never stopped loving you." He drops to one knee in front of me, in front of my mother, in front of my children and in front of my neighbors.

"I know we had our differences, but I also know we can work through them. I never resented your success like you think I did. I love you, will you marry me, again?"

The silence is palpable. My son breaks the silence with excited cheers, "Say yes, Mom. Say yes!"

I feel a sharp burning sensation in my throat. I can't breathe. I stare into my son's eyes and I know how much he wants it. I think he senses how much I don't, because he becomes silent and a little somber.

My mothers laughs out loud. "Baboon, you've always had a way with words."

Me? I want to throw up. I want to punch him. I want to spit in his face. I want to laugh - loud and hard and until I pee myself.

In a span of 30 seconds, 1000 thoughts flood my brain. I'm free of him. Finally. After all these years. To jump back into that - never. Not in a million years, not for a million dollars, not even for my children. Because they can't afford to have that mother again. Because I can't be that woman again. Because I now know what kind of love I'm capable of and I can't bear the thought of settling for anything less.

I thank my hosts for a lovely evening. I gather up the children and my mother and I walk back to my house, with the Baboon hot on my heels begging me to talk to him. Once inside, I ask my mother to tuck the children in and I escort the Baboon onto the back porch to have a little talk.

He looks deep into my eyes and reaches out to hold me. A hand catches my waist before I dodge the full embrace. His hand on my body feels skeletal - possessive, gripping and cold. Somehow, I do not scream. I do not smack. I do not react.

I look him dead in the eyes and say, "Never."

"But, babe..." he begins.

"No, Baboon. No. I'm done. It's over. It's been over." The tears filling his eyes soften me for a moment. I don't like to hurt others. But then I remember - I remember how much time I spent hurting and I can't sacrifice myself and my needs for him. Life is too short. One chance.

"You need to leave now." I tell him. He reaches for me again and I can't embrace him. I can't touch him. I can't give him even the slightest hope to cling to. "Goodnight."

"No one will ever love you the way I do." He says, walking out the door. And that did it for me, it was the only thing I needed to hear.

I heard it for 13 years. And you know what? I hope to God he's right and that no one else ever loves me the way he does.

Clocks

The illuminable, silent, never-resting thing called Time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, like an all-embracing oceantide, on which we and all the universe swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are, and then are not: this is forever very literally a miracle; a thing to strike us dumb, for we have no word to speak about it. -Thomas Carlyle

I'm shocked that it's been six months, almost to the day, since I've written. I wonder if writing through the last six months would have changed anything - honed the focus, so to speak. It's not likely.

I've been caught in the undertow, swimming along, knowing that to fight would be futile. My life has completely changed in the last half-year. I wonder if I should write about it now literally, or if I should just pick up where I left off and hope that the pieces fall into place as I go. To tell the story in its entirety is out of the question, it would take far too long and leave far too much to recollection - which is at best vague and faulty.

But where then to begin? More importantly, how? Where I left off? Perhaps. We shall see...

I've never made it a secret that my job largely defined me. I love being a nurse, in the heart of surgeries, digging deep. It was also pretty apparent to me that my job was beginning to take a toll, and that became more clear after I purchased my home. The drive to work was tolerable enough - 30 minutes, but the drive home was interminable - at best an hour in stop-and-go traffic, and hour of my life wasted, never to be retrieved. Each day in the car underlined what I already knew - while I adored my coworkers and surgeons, adored my under-served patient population, the drive was an unbelievable time waster and, being prone to road-rage, made me insane. I had to make a change and I had to do that quickly.

I took a job in a new, struggling hospital very close to home. The facility is beautiful, but the reputation was horrible. Yes, I was bored. I felt contempt for my healthy patients, contempt for my coworkers who had no idea what real surgery was, contempt for the surgeons that did pissy little surgeries on these healthy patients and loathed my ignorant boss. None of that mattered - it was a few bucks an hour more, I was close to home and close to my children, and I knew it would be the sort of job I'd be able to leave at home.

I started on a Monday. By Thursday, I was Charge Nurse. Two weeks later, the Director was escorted out of the building and I assumed the role - not because I wanted it, per se, but because someone had to do it and the pinheads I was working with were certainly not up to the task.

I had no idea what I had signed up for. My phone became my lifeline. I had to increase my cell phone minutes to a disgusting number, and it rang non-stop. Employees calling in sick, texting me just to whine, officials calling for information - it just never stopped. Still, part of me whined and a part of me loved the responsibility, the power, the ability to turn this bum-fuck hospital into something worthwhile.

I made huge, sweeping changes immediately. I fired people, I reorganized the structure of the operating rooms and the scheduling, I hired new people my bosses were watching. When I started, we had maybe three surgeries a day. Today, we are averaging twenty. It's awe-inspiring.

My new title became official last Monday, and it's a complete life- and game-changer for me. My salary increased dramatically. I'm going to amazing parties in amazing environments. I'm recruiting new physicians daily, hiring new people to keep up with the volume and generally and genuinely LOVING it. Now, it's taking a toll. I'm exhausted. My personal life is (almost) non-existent. I hung pictures of my children in my office and that is where I see the most of them. But it is all for the greater good.

Some days, I miss the simplicity. I miss actually being in the OR. But for the most part, I see this as an opportunity to create something from nothing - to build a future for the hospital, for me and for my children in a way that was merely a pipe-dream six months ago.

It's awesome really.

I love this house. In six months, I've been to San Diego, South Beach, and Aspen (those were all personal trips). I've gotten two promotions and two significant salary increases. I'll be going to Nashville and San Francisco in the next three months for work. I've made friends, I've made enemies. I've formulated new goals and accomplished some. I've made larger goals and look forward to those. My children love their new houses, their new schools and their new friends. I miss downtown. I miss old friends that are largely lost. I miss old stomping grounds that are hard to get to now.

So while all this change and time has created new challenges, I know that these challenges will be short-lived. I guess that it will take a solid six months to adapt to all the change and to feel less isolated out here, but after that, I've lucked into a situation that will change my life, and my children's lives, forever.

To that end, I finally managed to get internet access at home, which means that the missives can now continue. And to have the time to sit on my lovely back porch, in my lovely home (which is no longer the financial burden I feared it would be), is tremendous.

Settling

"The ideal of happiness has always taken material form in the house, whether cottage or castle; it stands for permanence and separation from the world." - Simone de Beauvoir

I'm saddened by how long it's been since I've written - and I'd love to be more philosophical. The truth of the matter is that I've been insanely busy and time has been at a premium.

In short, I've spent the time since I've last written purchasing a home, moving, hanging with my mother who ostensibly came to "help" and working.

What I can tell you is this: This is not the first home that I've owned, but it is the first home I've owned on my own. No one helped me, no one else made it possible, it's mine.

I can also tell you this: I have loved most of the places that I've lived for one reason or another - I've made them all my own. However, the house I loved most was this kitschy little 1920's Travis Heights bungalow that couldn't have been more than 800 square feet. We sold it when I was pregnant with Bear because it would have been a miserable house to have a baby in.

BUT fuck, I loved that house. I loved the pink stucco. I loved the dark wood walls. I loved the black floors and the built-in cabinetry. I loved the back porch. I loved the front porch. I loved the way the walls beat with my heart in that crappy little casa.

Here's what's funny - I never realized, throughout this long and laborious process, that I was completely recreating that little bungalow that I've always missed. BUT, that's just exactly what I've done. Yes, it's an updated version. Yes, it's an upscale version...but....it's that house that I loved so much, only this time, it's all mine.

I love it here. I'm very happy. It feels so much like me.

Existence

"If a man hasn't discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live. " - Martin Luther King, Jr.

So, last night, through the haze of sleeping pills and total exhaustion, I power out a post about how unfair it is to share your soul with others, as your emotions may impact theirs and perhaps that's not really a fair thing to do to another. I fall asleep thinking of this and make a decision to withhold more information from people, as a favor to them.

And then yesterday, one single event completely changed my perspective.

I'm used to foreshadowing in movies, I'm used to foreshadowing in books, but when it happens in your life, and you actually realize it, it's a very bizarre feeling. As I'm walking in the front door, I see a doctor duck into the hall to make a phone call. I'm quite far away from him, but I hear the conversation vividly: "Honey, it's Dad. There's a bad wreck near our house. I don't think you'll be able to leave the way you normally do, so take an alternate route in, or just wait a while."

Once inside the OR, everyone is talking about this wreck, except me. I've got yet another monster big case with the potential to go really bad. The anesthesiologist and I get the patient in the room to get started. We are wondering where one of the techs is, it's unusual that he's not in the room helping us. Another coworker comes in and asks where he is and we sort of start to make fun of him, joking about how he never misses this sort of thing and how he's usually in our way in a big way, "helping".

My boss begins calling him, leaving horrible messages asking where he is. Then, the pieces begin falling into place. His wife calls looking for him. News reports say that the vehicle in the accident was a rental car, and he was in a rental car. His BMW been broken in to at the hospital a couple days prior, he was in a Cobalt which surely contributed to the accident - you're used to driving a car that handles like a dream, and suddenly find yourself in an unfamiliar rollerskate on wet roads. My other boss decides to drive to the scene to see if it's him. Shortly after, we receive confirmation - our coworker was the only victim in the accident, and it was a brutal and awful accident.

I'm not going to pretend that his death was personally devestating. I barely knew the man. He had only been working with us for a couple of months, and our conversations were still in the realm of the superficial. I had never even asked about his family, his hobbies or his interests. Of course, I feel badly for him and realize that his life was snatched from him very prematurely. I am concerned about the well-being of those that loved him and relied on him - but I don't even know who they are.

What his death does prove to me personally, however, is that I was wrong when I wrote yesterday's post. It is not only acceptable to share your thoughts and feeling with others, it's mandatory.

Yes, your words do have an impact, and yes, your words may alter lives irrevocably. But, as long as it's coming from an honest and true perspective with honest and true intentions, you should share your thoughts with others - because you might not have the opportunity again.

You have to live with intention, you have to define your life for yourself and on your own terms and you have to love with passion - every single day. I don't want to sound all macabre, and I certainly don't feel morose today - I feel renewed and reenergized - but we are only promised the present.

With that, my promise is to be as open and honest with you as I would like you to be with me. Yes, in the past I've felt burdened by the confessions of others and I've worried that my own confessions may cause a similar burden to be felt by others. But that's a mistaken approach and an error in my thinking. We cannot live in fear of our feelings, desires or intentions: it's all we are and all we have.

Blabber

"We assume that we know how someone is going to react to us. We assume that our efforts will or will not be successful. And not only do we believe our assumptions about what other people are thinking, but then we end up taking those assumptions personally and even end up resenting the person. To avoid assumptions, ask questions. It takes courage to trust the present moment, to allow other people to be exactly who they are, and to let life unfold according to its own plan… and it avoids a great deal of suffering." - Don Miguel Ruiz

I'm reserved by nature. I know some of you are laughing about this. No, the things that don't matter I will ramble on and on endlessly about, but the things that do matter - it's fairly safe to assume you have little idea.

I recently asked someone reasonably close to me for some advice and began the story with, "I'm so stressed, I really just need an objective opinion." Before I could even ask the advice, this person, that knows me fairly well said, "What? What do you have to be stressed about?"

I laughed.

"No, really, Amanda. You never appear stressed, what's going on?"

So I rambled the list. When I was done he said, "Shit. I had no idea. Most people would be curled up in the fetal position in the corner of some room in a pysch ward."

Yeah, you think? But I tried to redirect the conversation back to the original question which was far more personal than the things I am comfortable sharing. He had some good opinions, and the conversation forced me to make some uncomfortable declarations along the way.

Later the same day, someone came to my home and made some confessions of their own to me. It left me feeling very burdened and very drained. Some of these things were opinions on me and my life, others were requests of me and still others were his own issues that have no impact on me, but burden me nonetheless.

It got me to thinking: How just is it to make confessions to another? Big or small? How fair is it to reveal your soul to someone having precious little idea how your words will impact them?

One the one hand, I see it as personally liberating; there are plenty of things that I would love to share with others. Perhaps it is my inability to be self-disclosing, perhaps it is just because sometimes people's confessions burden me, but I'm struggling to believe that it is acceptable to share with another in such a way. You might hurt them, even when that was not your intent.

I have always tended to tread lightly with the feelings of others and now I'm struggling with sharing my soul. How do you do that, knowing that mere words may carry the power to alter life - irrevocably?

Speed

"Driving is a spectacular form of amnesia. Everything is to be discovered, everything to be obliterated." - Jean Baudrillard

I have a lot on my mind. Too much. I'm in this holding pattern that isn't all that great for me. Wait for the house. Wait for the job. Wait and see what's going to happen with X, Y and Z. I'm a doer, not a waiter so this makes me restless and a little bit grumpy. Things are good, things will all work out and the pace is about to increase in a big way...but until then...grrrr.

This morning, both children are crazily asking what the plan for the day is. I mentally run through the possibilities and nothing is appealing to me. It's not apathy - I'm up for something, but everything I can think of is just so...mundane. I tell them that I'm going to take a bath and get dressed and then we'll decide. It's only 8AM, so we've got time.

While I'm in the bath, I realize that what I'd really like would be to be in Myrtle Beach with them. To visit the Aquarium, to walk barefoot in the sand, to have She-Crab Soup and fried shrimp at the Sea Captain's House listening to the waves lap the shore. Then later, curl up in bed and open the windows and let the ocean air lull me to sleep. Alas, that's not possible.

BUT...I can get my toes in some sand. Hell, I can even go to an aquarium. Corpus Christi is only three hours away, and driving is always fun. Why not? No really...why the fuck not? So I ask the kids if they are up for an adventure. I tell them my plan. Bear looks a little apprehensive, but goes into his room to get dressed and comes out in palm tree trunks. Duck chooses a skirt with a little palm tree on it. Yeah, they're onboard.

I had never been to Corpus before, so I was excited. The drive down is a blast. Once we're out of San Antonio, Duckie is asleep and Bear and I are having a fun chat about all sorts of randomness. That part of the drive is completely magical - a flat, two lane divided highway and virtually no traffic. I'm not driving, I'm flying.

I love driving fast. Really fast. It's such a great way to clear my head. When you're in a car traveling at high speeds, nothing else matters. It can't matter. You have to focus on the road and what you're doing and everything else just sort of falls by the wayside. We're listening to reggae, Bear is singing and I'm just driving. Duck wakes up and is thrilled by the sight of palm trees and it all just makes me very, very happy.

Bear says, "Mom, I've got this funny feeling in my tummy. This is exciting. We didn't plan this, we're just doing it."

"Yeah, babe. I know. You know I'm a planner, but sometimes I just need to shake things up a little."

"That's pretty cool, Mom."

Glad you think so. It won't be the last time.

We get to Corpus and find the Aquarium easily enough, so that's our first stop. It's pretty cool with some really nice exhibits, but the highlight was the dolphin show. It's so amazing to watch such beautiful animals sailing through the water, then lifting out of it before crashing down in a way that is impossibly graceful. The children loved it - almost as much as I did. After, we tromped around the USS Lexington because I felt like we should, had an ice cream cone, then took our shoes off and ran through the sand and let the cold waves tickle our toes.

I love watching my children like that - totally and utterly blissed out by something so simple and pure. I took lots of pictures and just let them have some time. It's getting to be fairly late in the afternoon, however, and I'm realizing that we need to find a hotel room. As I look around at the options, I'm a little shocked.

Turns out Corpus is actually kind of ghetto. The crowd is changing by the second. The families are disappearing and a whole bunch of really rough looking people are beginning to emerge from somewhere. I pop into the only hotel that looks like I could manage sleeping in it, and it's questionable at best. While I'm standing at the desk waiting for the receptionist to check availability, masses and masses of scary looking people begin pouring out of the elevator.

A little advanced research and I could have likely found something more suitable, but this wasn't that sort of trip and I didn't really feel like driving aimlessly around the coast trying to decide where to sleep with two kids that had already spent the morning in the car and were hungry and thirsty.

I look at the kids and tell them we need to go have something to eat and we'll talk about our hotel options at dinner. We find a cute little beach restaurant and sit outside eating fried shrimp and crab and watching the pelicans and seagulls fly overhead. It's wonderful. But it's getting cool and it's getting late.

Duckie is beginning to get sleepy - I can see it in her eyes. Bear is just bouncing off the walls from the adventure. I wanted to wake up and play in the sand the next morning, but I realized that I really didn't want to spend the night in Corpus, in a hotel with a bunch of rough looking people who would be very drunk very soon. Then I realized that the kids would fall asleep instantly on the way home and I'd be able to drive very fast on the awesome, sparsely traveled road between Corpus and San Antonio. It was a good idea, in theory.

We leave Corpus and talk about the day. The kids are so excited - telling me everything we just did as if I weren't there and I'm enjoying listening to them talk and I'm driving fast. Very fast. Very, very fast. It's dark at this point - and it's just perfect - not another car in my field of vision, not even the cop that clocked me at 92. In a 65. Oops.

He saunters up to the car - all slovenly and all I can hear in my head is Junior Brown's song "Highway Patrol". I hand him my ID and insurance and he asks me to step out. Bear screams, "Don't arrest my mom. She's a nurse, people need her." And I'm laughing.

The cop points out to me that my speed is not a laughing matter. I acknowledge his righteousness and apologize profusely. I tell him that I didn't realize I was driving that fast, but that I never get the opportunity to drive on straight, flat roads. In an effort to lighten him up, I say, "Honestly, Officer, I'm surprised my Corolla even goes that fast. The speedometer stops at 80 so I really didn't realize." He doesn't laugh.

He says, "Did you realize you weren't signaling lane changes, either?"

Sometimes, I'm just on. "Sir, at those speeds, do you really think it matters?"

Well, it was funny. Shit, dude, my kids have Krispy Kreme donuts...may I interest you? No, I didn't say it. But they did, and it crossed my mind.

He wasn't the asshole he could have been. He only gave me a warning for the failure to signal lane changes. He did write me what I'm sure will be a phenomenally expensive ticket, and he did slow me down for the duration of the drive home.

That was even more excitement for the children, however, and Duck didn't fall asleep until we were close to San Antonio. After she fell asleep, Bear and I had a really great, really important conversation about life and love and happiness. He is such an amazing little boy with a great heart. He fell asleep about 20 minutes from the house, as usual.

I accidentally woke Duck as I was getting her out of the car and she said, "Where are we?"

"Home, sweetie. We're home."

And she says, "Oh, good. The perfect end to a perfect day." Her chubby little arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her sleepy breath warm on my cheek felt wonderful, and I'm glad we had our "adventure" today. We all really needed it and while I won't fall asleep with ocean air filling my lungs tonight, I did walk on sand, and breathe the salty air and I did get away from it all for a bit.

Bondage

"Whether we know it or not, whether we want to or not, and whether we care or not, we are all programmed to try to win our generation's game of reproduction - we are all programmed to pursue reproductive success." - Robin Baker

I've got a theory. Yup.

I've alluded to it in my most recent post, Chump and I touched on the biological factors in a post from 2008 called Polarity. But it's funny, because this topic keeps coming up over and over again in conversations that I've had with others, so I'm going to make the effort to put in into words, to share my theory with my blog-reading world.

Please do not bother to point out that the theory contains some sweeping generalizations. Of course it does. We all know exceptions to the rule, but my friends, trust that those are exceptions. I actually attempted to google some statistics to help beef up my argument, but the statistics I found are a bit older than I'm comfortable with and don't take in to consideration some of the nuance I'm speaking of. Therefore, fact is null and void and it's me spewing my highly (il)logical argument into the ethernet.

Theory: First marriages are doomed to failure.

(There are a handful for whom lighting strikes once and life is bliss from the walk down the aisle to the pall bearers walk. But, they are the minority, I assure you. JB comes to mind, and I know he's reading this and rolling his eyes at me, but he has two things going for him - 1. He's great. 2. His wife is exceptional.)

Wait, wait...maybe my theory needs some qualifiers. I'm not talking about the first marriage that occurs at age 38 between two people who hold out for the lightning the first time then finally find each other. I'm talking about the other kind; the kind that occurs in your mid-to-late 20's - the kind that most people I know are in or were in.

OK, now we have our frame of reference, right? Good. So, back to the theory. First marriages are almost always doomed to failure. There are many reasons for this, some biological, some generational, some situational and some circumstantial.

When you are in your 20's and you're looking at your life, you have plans - educational goals, career goals and family goals. Through your 20-something glasses, you envision your future.

When I reflect back to where I was when I was 21 (the year I began dating the man that would ultimately become my ex-husband), I was completing a degree in Marketing, planning to sell to the world. I had spent a great deal of time traveling in my life. I came from a crazy family that did their own thing all the time. I desperately wanted to have children, and to give them the things that I felt I had lacked all along - stability, roots.

So, with my mind functioning both consciously and sub-, I chose my husband, the father of my children. I wanted someone stable, first and foremost. I wanted someone outgoing enough to give my children a chance against my reserve. I wanted someone reliable, that didn't challenge my desires or needs, someone kind and nurturing, that would support my goals and help me build a home.

From a subconscious point of view, I wanted someone virile, healthy (genetically) but with a weak enough gene distribution that it wouldn't dampen my own - I wanted to make sure my children would look exactly like me - and I did very well in that regard. (Incidentally, this is something we all want, even if we can't admit it - that's biology at work).

Each of us has our own reasons, our own criteria. But the end result is the same. We seek someone at that point in time for very specific reasons. We're building our careers, we're defining ourselves, we're just beginning our voyage into who it is we are meant to be and we need someone that can support that chapter in our lives.

So we mentally make our list of what we need in another, and then we meet someone that fits that criteria, and we fit whatever criteria they've developed too. We are blown away. We enter into this relationship with nothing but noble intentions. Til death do us part? You bet! I'm onboard. And it's sincere - it is our sincere hope and our sincere desire.

But we made a critical mistake. We never bothered to appreciate how significantly we'd change. And that they would as well. We might have even had the conversation (as my husband and I did) but at the time, we were certain that we'd grow together, because our ultimate goals were the same - we wanted this. No, I mean it...we REALLY WANTED this.

But, ten years pass and in those ten years, we've achieved some of the goals we set out to achieve and some of the goals have changed. We've sacrificed huge parts of ourselves to make it work against our better judgement (because we were sincere and we REALLY WANTED this) and now our careers have gone one way, our lives have gone one way, our psyches have gone one way and our souls are somewhere else.

But, now we're in our mid-thirties, and we know ourselves. It's a true triumph, really. We are at this place in time where we genuinely know exactly who we are and what we want (at least for the time being, we could change again!). Our careers are where we intended them to be. Even if we're not completely happy in our careers, at this point, we've got a 99.9% knowledge of where we'll be at retirement. (And if we don't, that's a whole other ball of wax).

We know clearly who we are now - as defined by our professional life, the friendships that remain and the new ones formed, the children now present and the amazing deep-breath that comes from having accomplished all of that shit in just 10 short years.

And you lay in bed next to this person that your promised forever to, and as their hands clumsily touch your body you wonder how they couldn't have learned the right way to touch you in ten years, and you say something random that is on your mind and they look at you blankly and you stop and think...is this really what I've done? Is this really what I promised forever for? Is this really what I wanted?

No, of course not. Because the person you chose was chosen for what you thought were the right reasons, and in some ways, they were. That's the person you chose to start a family with and to start a life with. In reality, it wasn't the worst thing you could have done. Sometimes, you need the impetus of wrong to learn right.

If you waited, you probably wouldn't have had the reproductive success your biology mandated you to have. Your career may have taken a different turn. You may have ended up being the most selfish human being on the planet. You likely would have found yourself in a string of short-term relationships that left you feeling...nothing. Worse, you may have found yourself so lonely that you ultimately pledged yourself to someone so utterly wrong for you that life was filled with drama. No, you didn't do any of that. You married a good person and started your family - just the way you thought you were supposed to.

The rub is that it wasn't the person you chose for you. It's a no-fault clause. You couldn't have chosen the person that was right for you, because you didn't even know you. You hadn't even become you.

There is a salvation, however. You admit to yourself that it's OK. You admit to yourself that you are worth more. You prioritize yourself (for a fucking change) and realize that you're still only in your 30's. You acknowledge that you made a mistake, and that while you married a very good person, with a good heart and a good soul, you simply need more.

You acknowledge your selfishness. You set out to find to the person that is just for you. And it's OK, because you're only in your 30's. And you've got your entire lifetime ahead of you and then some. And you acknowledge that you'd rather spend that time with the person that is for you. And yes, it's much harder now - because you're talking about the children, you're talking about complicated finances, you're talking about hurting someone you do love, just not in the way you want to love.

But you look forward to the next 30 - with the person that is just for you.