On My Way To Me…
January 2008… The kids and I had returned to Georgia following our most unusual, and prolonged Christmas break (the whole mess can be found in one of my most recent blogs “Chances Are”). Al had been newly served with divorce papers in California; the divorce action which Al had originally initiated in Georgia, and had been put on hold was now reactivated, and best of all (if there is anything “best” about such situations) was that Sorrell Trope, my California counsel would be “steering the ship” from hereon out. I had felt an instant connection while initially speaking on the phone, but when we finally met in person, not only was my confidence confirmed, but a huge measure of respect was added to the equation. Sorrell was surely one of the most distinguished, accomplished, gracious, yet gritty gentlemen I had ever met. Not since my Grandfather, “Pa” passed away, had I met any man who approached the “very high bar” Pa set. I also obtained new counsel in Georgia (with Sorrell’s help) and it had been made abundantly clear who the “top dog” was to be. A “Motion To Dismiss” had been filed in Georgia objecting to “jurisdiction” and “sh*t” was about to get REAL. The other new, and terrifying, part of this equation was that I was also, now, roughly, $75,000 deep in debt over all the assorted attorney’s retainer fees. Somehow, though, I felt a sense of comfort, compared to the way I felt before our “Christmas holiday!” How was that possible? It was beyond me; ummm, not really…Sorrell made it possible. What WAS beyond my comprehension was how I was shrinking, practically by the day! My previous size 8 pants were literally falling off me, and while it was exhilarating to try on a size 4 (or a 27, depending on how “bougie” we want to be) pair of jeans, and have those, too, be loose…I was still stunned by the unintended transformation. My generously stocked drawers, walls of shelves and the hangers of clothes draped from the iron rods lining my dressing room/closet were essentially unwearable. At the beginning of this horrible process, I had no appetite at all, and could hardly look at food, much less eat anything. Little by little, as the weeks and time progressed, I could keep food down, but very little of it appealed to me? By January, I was pretty much existing on coffee and plain yogurt in the morning, bottle upon bottle of water throughout the day, and then grilled Salmon with romaine lettuce and lemon wedges at dinner. That the kids were in school all day made my new non-eating habit easier. No judgement, please, but yes…there were glasses of Pinot Grigio involved; after all, I was human, and my life had become something resembling nothing, that I ever could have previously imagined! I was in Harris Teeter one afternoon before school pick-up, and ran into “one of the girls” from my Bunko group, also considered something of a local celebrity type; we attended many of the same Resort functions, were friendly with one another, but I would not have gone so far as to call her a “friend?” Anyways, that particular afternoon, as we ran into one another in the produce section, she did a total double take and said, “good job…you look absolutely f**kable; the death and divorce diet, right?” I was flustered, flushed and in a hurry to get out of there as quickly as possible. The expression on her face and the tone of her voice seemed oddly genuine, but I was not quite sure what to make of the comment. One thing was certain, if I could find nothing else positive to say about divorce, it was definitely an express ticket to a size 2 and a whole “new” me? Later that same evening, I relayed the exchange I experienced in Harris Teeter to Emily and as soon as I mentioned the suspect comment, she shot me a look and said, “watch out Mama, ‘Mrs. L” was right; the line of men is going to start forming pretty fast.” Again, I felt myself blushing and uncomfortable, but gathered that the new “adjective” I had garnered earlier in the day was, indeed, a compliment.
It couldn’t have been a week later, when dropping PJ off at the Sea Island Spa and Health Club for one of his bi-weekly Squash lessons, I discovered Emily might be “on to something.” As soon as PJ and I entered Sea Island’s beautiful and expansive new fitness center (another of Al’s creations), we were told that the original Squash pro had “moved on,” but Terrie, the concierge, said she was sure that PJ would like the new Pro? We walked down the stairs to the area where the Squash courts were situated and sat on the expansive cedar bench that covered the free wall opposite the Squash courts, waiting for the Pro’s previous lesson to conclude. Our wait was brief and within minutes, two men exited one of the Squash courts that had been added to the new fitness center. While one of them turned to walk towards the hall where the locker rooms beckoned, the other man walked towards PJ and I and introduced himself. His name was Mack; he was roughly 6 ft. tall with a nice build, attractive face, dark hair and an absolute dreamy accent…the kind of lyrical voice that held the power to captivate. I could have sat there for hours just listening to him speak. I remember also thinking, PJ was probably not the only one who might like the new Squash pro. His accent might have been Australian, but truth be told, whatever it was, I didn’t much care… I was magically presented with a new, and much-needed distraction, and the new squash guy was certainly “easy on the eyes!” Mack shook both PJ’s and my hands and said how much he was looking forward to working with PJ.
Those were NOT easy days for PJ. Between the isolation of his unique “homeschooling” situation (not at home, and not with me as the teacher), and with the wide variety of activities I had him enrolled in to compensate for his lack of social interaction with peers his own age; the two afternoons a week I drove him the hour and a half ride to Jacksonville for tutoring/therapy and back; plus all the emotional upheaval and havoc that Al’s and my divorce proceeding was creating, the situation had definitely begun to take a toll on my then ten year old son. He was moody, sullen, oddly quiet, and almost the exact opposite of the child who at the end of his Kindergarten year at Franklin Academy, had been recognized with an award naming him “Most Likely To Appear On Saturday Night Live.” Miss Ann’s description of being at the chalkboard, teaching a lesson and turning around to find PJ (often) doing a headstand in his little chair positioned in the classroom’s small half circle of desks with the other kids holding back giggles, seemed a veritable impossibility when compared to the child standing next to me at the Squash courts that day? It wasn’t happenstance that I was determined to provide PJ with as many positive activities as humanly possible. There had to be something that would put some joy back in his life? Whether it be the drum or guitar lessons he took; the afternoons spent at either Sea Island’s Shooting School, golf lessons at The Lodge, Squash at The Spa, The Beach Club’s Sailing Program, baseball in the Spring; or a random afternoon when we would walk Sea Island’s shoreline with our three dogs, talking and picking up shells, there had to be something I could do to make up for his learning disabilities, and Al’s and my divorce? The bi-weekly afternoon drives to and from Jacksonville, our family drama, etc… and the depressing effect it was all having on the character of what used to be such a happy young boy was constantly on my mind.? My missive to provide some relief for him was what had led us to the Squash court that particular afternoon. PJ may not have felt the enthusiasm I so hoped he would, but at least I knew some of his frustration could be released with a few good physical outlets, and THAT was something I could provide for my son. During PJ’s first lesson with Mack, I stayed and watched the interaction; PJ was engaged and seemed to be getting on pretty well with this new instructor. The following week, after PJ’s third Squash session with Mack, he left the court to go change in the locker room and Mack remained, leaning against the wall where I stood, talking to me. I had the distinct feeling that there was a bit of flirting going on, and I actually felt a little giddy. If PJ got a little distraction from the heaviness of life with the outpouring of physical activity, surely an innocent little “crush” on Mack and a heartbeat of distraction from my very weighty life couldn’t be too harmful? Was I mistaken about, or misreading, the potential flirting? Mack had to be close to ten years my junior, and he also knew I was going through a very messy divorce. I knew that, because Mack made it a point to tell me that PJ had opened up to him a bit and shared a little of the family drama PJ was living with. Mack, however, didn’t seem dissuaded by either the divorce, Al’s influential position at Sea Island, PJ’s up and down moods…nor my age. Weird, right? It was Tuesday, February 12th, with Valentine’s Day just a couple days away and after PJ’s Squash lesson that afternoon, Mack once again stayed behind while PJ went to the locker room. Now, I was certain he was flirting with me, as he “leaned,” somewhat shyly but overtly over me and into the wall where I stood and asked if he could take me to dinner for Valentine’s Day? He went on, explaining that I couldn’t decline his request...he had already made reservations. There was more. He continued talking, saying he knew I was in a vulnerable position, but wanted to assure me that he wasn’t afraid of Al. He was also not interested in causing me needless trouble, nor generating rumors with a brief fling; he legitimately wanted to get to know me better, and wanted me to know that “he was in my corner!” He had just finished talking when PJ reemerged from the locker room, and Mack quickly whispered that he’d call me in the morning when the kids were in school. I was stunned, flattered and intrigued too. True to his word, the next morning my cell phone rang and there was Mack’s sexy accent on the other end. We exchanged very few pleasantries before he asked what my answer to his dinner invite was to be? I answered him honestly and said his invitation was both unexpected as well as lovely, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. Not only did I not want to attract criticism or additional trouble from Al’s already treacherous attorneys, but I didn’t want to mislead him either. I told him it wouldn’t do for me to spend this particular Valentine’s Day out in public, on that very small island, on a date…but that he was welcome to come to Tabby Lane and join the kids and I for dinner, if he wished. I found myself feeling slightly cowardly and awkward, sure that he would decline, but pleasantly surprised when he responded that he’d love to join us. I clicked my phone off, and thought about the little flutter I felt inside; how in the world was “this” happening? The flutter and the “this” I felt, coupled with Mack’s appearance, eager smile and bouquet of flowers at our Cottage 64 front door the next evening, brought a smile to my face and resulted in a warm, friendly evening, lots of genial talk over dinner with Mack, myself and my two kids. There was an easy rapport that I wasn’t sure how to handle? I was pretty certain the moment he left later on that evening, that another “date,” probably and unfortunately, shouldn’t happen. It would be difficult for me to resist “the draw” to him that I felt. I was indeed attracted, but he was too sweet, too young, and as charming as the diversion was, I couldn’t risk any more trouble than the huge portion already filling my plate. I promised myself that I would be kind but as clear as could be, that any friendship between us could only be platonic. Several Squash lessons and a couple weeks passed and so far I had managed to avoid the “friends only” talk with Mack. He had phoned a number of times, but our schedules had not permitted anything other than telephone exchanges, and a phone call couldn’t convey what I wanted to say, and how I hoped to say it. What transpired over the next two days revealed more about Mack’s character than I could possibly have anticipated, and while he might have proven to be a “keeper” had the circumstances been different, timing was not our friend. Spring in Georgia is beautiful, and it’s a shame that I was too consumed with the realities of divorce to enjoy what could have been a lovely romance. At the same time, that Spring also portrayed an apt analogy for any hint of a love life that might develop over the next several years…everything blooms, but not everything lasts.
“Chick-Fil-A” was mainly a Southern icon at the time, and a new location was due to open on St. Simon’s Island within weeks. A huge promo had been created around this specific opening, and the chain was going to open their freshly paved, parking lot the evening before their Grand Opening celebration for campers? “How odd” was all I could think. Here’s how it was set suppose to work…the first 50 people, or duo of people, to arrive and STAY the evening until the ribbon cutting the next morning would receive a year’s worth of free Chick Fil-A meal coupons. PJ had caught wind of the advertising and was desperate to participate in the much-hyped event. As I drove him to school that Monday, our conversation was consumed with the topic of the overnight “Campout.” I’m pretty (98%) certain, PJ knew that particular type of activity wasn’t really in my “wheelhouse,” and while he wasn’t asking me to take him, he was making his desire to be a part of it abundantly clear. Hours later, I picked PJ up from the “makeshift” classrooms we had created for his creative schooling environment, which originated the year before. PJ’s suite of classrooms were immediately adjacent to the suite of offices Al used in the oceanfront (much older and abandoned) hotel building that was now nothing more than a support space for the team of engineers, contractors, technicians and administrative team assembled to help Al achieve his grand “Master Plan.” Al created and directed the execution of each and every detail of the design and building of Sea Island’s new campus of Georgia’s storied “Cloister Resort” and its many, many offshoots! None of those details mattered that day; PJ hopped in the G-Wagon with an enthusiasm I hadn’t seen him display for months. I greeted him with my usual “hey honey, how was your day and where shall we get todays snack?” He was absolutely ebullient as he started telling me that his Dad (Al), had stopped by his classroom that morning to say hello and after learning of the Chick-Fil-A event and PJ’s, now, almost obsessive fascination with it, and had offered to take him to do the overnight camping occasion together. I can’t lie…I was more than a little surprised by Al’s proposition, (it was waaaay out of Al’s normal “M.O.”) but I was also super excited and happy for P.J. at the same time. How great it was that PJ would get the opportunity to do a such a hugely anticipated and fun activity with his Dad. I knew very well how self-conscious PJ was about the enormous amount of time he spent with Emily and I attending the many resort and area activities, that most young boys participated in with their fathers; this one night could go a long way to make up for much of the past, and Al’s absence due to work, tennis, travel etc… Big win for PJ, and a great rest of the day for our little family. PJ was beside himself, almost unable to talk about or focus on anything other than the overnight excursion at Chick-Fil-A. The next day, I picked PJ up from school at noon to head to Jacksonville for one of his weekly routine tutoring/therapy appointments, prior to an immediate turn around and return for his standing Tuesday Squash lesson. We were almost over the causeway between St. Simons and Brunswick when my cell rang from its mounted fixture on the center console. I hit the accept button and the car speaker revealed it was Al. PJ started speaking excitedly, eager to tell his Dad that we had assembled a cooler of drinks, snacks, games, a deck of cards, a couple of sleeping bags, lawn chairs and a few more comfort type items and “they” would be all set for the big camp-out. I could have predicted when I heard Al’s tone that he wasn’t calling to say he shared PJ’s excitement, and while those weren’t the first words out of Al’s mouth, what he did say was every bit as dismal for PJ to hear. “Peej…listen buddy, I’m not going to be able to make the campout tomorrow; I’ve got Ramsey and Stevie coming for a full day of meetings, and I told them we’d meet for dinner afterwards to strategize and review everything.” That was it; those were the only words Al spoke, before adding, “Mizz, maybe you can take him and just stay for an hour or two, instead?” PJ answered his Dad before I could utter a word, saying in a choked-up voice, “that’s not the way it works Dad,” and then he pushed the “off” button and slumped back in his seat. I hesitated to speak too soon, hoping to give PJ a moment to calm down and process his feelings. Trying to soften the blow and offer a couple alternate ideas, I started listing different options for the rest of the evening, but PJ wasn’t having any of it. The rest of the hour long drive was made in virtual silence, with just the radio and freeway noise humming in the background. Instead of dropping PJ at Dr. Sispard’s, and going for a Starbucks or something else, I went inside with him. As much as I despised the idea of having to sit in the depressing lobby of the dingy, yet sterile offices shared by the three therapists, along with their stony-faced receptionist, I felt like PJ could use some emotional “backup” and decided to wait for him inside. He dreaded those afternoons almost as much as I hated that he needed them, and today would be especially difficult after the blow he had just been handed. Emily had a “Franklin Yearbook” meeting that afternoon, so I knew she would be busy until we got back to the island, and together we could think of something to cheer PJ up. I wanted to absolutely throttle Al for getting PJ’s hopes up, only to dash them just 24 hours later.
Two hours later, PJ and I were back on I.95 heading North towards home. The car was still filled with silence and the weight of PJ’s obvious pain. We were approaching the stoplight shortly before the right turn required to merge on to the causeway leading towards St. Simons, when my cell rang; somewhat anxiously, I answered it. When I heard THAT voice, I felt an odd sense of comfort…who knows why, but I did. It was Mack; he explained that he wanted to call and let me know he would have to leave the Squash lesson a tad early that afternoon, but then asked what we were doing for dinner tomorrow evening, and if he could take the kids and I to dinner with him. I said thank you, but explained, or tried to explain in a lighthearted way, what had happened earlier that day between Al and PJ, and said that I wasn’t sure what tomorrow was going to look like yet. He asked me if it would be okay for him to offer to do the Chick-Fil-A overnight with PJ? I was blown-away, overwhelmed, and at a loss for words. Not being 100% sure how PJ would react, I told Mack I would put him on speaker, and we could mention the idea to PJ together. Mack was a total champ; he was super careful and positive with his choice of words, and told PJ he had heard of the promo, but hadn’t been in the area long enough to really know if he should go on his own? He said he would love an opportunity to go, and went on saying how appreciative he’d be if PJ would go with him. PJ’s entire face, as well as his body language lit up like I hadn’t seen for far too long. By the time we got back to Sea Island’s Fitness Center and I walked PJ in to his Squash lesson, Mack was waiting for us and winked at me while he started chatting PJ up about tomorrow’s big adventure. My heart felt so full, and grateful; I was seriously NOT convinced that I’d be able to resist that darling Aussie’s charm, even though that was the plan I thought I had talked myself into previously? The next afternoon, we pulled in to the parking lot of St. Simon’s brand new Chick-Fil-A, and sure enough, there was Mack sitting and waiting on the sidewalk outside the chain’s main entrance. PJ practically leapt out of the car….and I greeted Matt a bit more effusively than I expected. He couldn’t have been more sincere when addressing PJ. “PJ was doing him a huge favor, and he was excited!” As Mack and PJ unloaded the back of the G Wagon where the bag and cooler of “provisions” was waiting, PJ saw Mack was holding a skateboard along with his backpack, he turned to me, and knowing exactly what he was about to ask, I offered to make the quick trip to Tabby Lane and bring PJ’s board back with me.
Emily and I sat at Tramisi’s just an hour later, and both marveled at Mack’s kindness; how was it possible that such a young guy, with little to no knowledge of our family dynamics had more insight into, and compassion for, a ten year old boy, than the boy’s own father? That was a question to which I would never find an answer, because other than PJ’s regular Squash lessons, I was careful not to let Mack any closer. I wasn’t one of those cool, cavalier people who might make the most, but surely a mistake, of an opportunity like the one that the “hunky dunk” Australian provided! Missed chance…probably, but the safer choice…surely albeit regrettably! As the divorce evolved, I’d have hated putting anyone through what the next few years brought!
It’s super tough to be so formal, when you feel otherwise.
There were a couple other “pitches” that I might have caught, but the intensity of the divorce proceeding was just too daunting. It wasn’t altruism that kept me from seeking the pro-offered company of a number of suitors…rather I was just way beyond overwhelmed? I was focused on two things…surviving and my kids There was absolutely no room for anything, or anyone, else at the time. The next many months were filled with challenge, after challenge, and the balance between legal and personal hurdles was pretty evenly divided. In the interim between Spring through Fall of 2008, Al pulled every stunt imaginable to wear me down…..stomping on, and attempting to shred any sliver of spirit or steadfastness I might have had left in me. It got so intense and heated in the jurisdictional battle, that we had two decisions before Georgia’s Appellate Court, which Al and his legal posse used as leverage to obtain my signature on a “Temporary Support Order” before Al would give his consent for the kids and I to go home to California for the summer. I truly thought that when that edict arrived from Al’s legal counsel, both the kids and I might crumble. Summertime and going home was the one thing that had been bolstering Emily and PJ’s (and my own) resolve to get through this untenable circumstance, but I could either sign the uber-restrictive “Temporary Order” that Al was demanding, or we would be prohibited from carrying on our usual routine, and seeing our home and family again. I signed the order, and with it sacrificed any potential upper-hand I might have otherwise wielded. Preserving my kid’s well-being and spirit was my priority, for better or worse…so to speak. By the time that “negotiation” was finalized, it was too late to fly commercially with our dogs from Georgia to California, due to airline restrictions and heat embargos. Al was absolute in his refusal to let us fly home on our own jet, despite several pleas from both the kids and me. He maintained that he “was ‘ALLOWING’ us summertime use of our Freehaven home, but he would not agree to one more thing!” Not to be deterred, I came up with a plan, and with the help of Lilith’s husband, my then brother-in-law Dick, a solution was found. The kids finished their last day of school in May; Dick flew to Georgia to escort PJ on a flight back to California, where he would stay with my Mom for a couple days; meanwhile Emily and I charted a course to drive from Georgia to California, and left the next day. Loaded into the Land Rover for our cross-country drive were…Emily, myself, Jerrico (our German Shepherd), Grace and Charlotte (our two Pembroke Welsh Corgis), PJ’s turtle Squirt, and a hefty load of suitcases, etc! That might have been my first cross-country drive, but it would definitely not be the last. We spent our summer at home in California and then in mid-August returned in the same “fashion” when we left the end of May, for the start of the Georgia school year. There’s much more to tell and there will be subsequent blog entries to deal with the ensuing events and road trips, but for now, let’s get back to the topic at hand.
Several years, tears, headaches, and hundreds of thousands of dollars later, the kids and I were back in California. We were home, but everything was ALL so different now…. I was officially divorced. Technically, there should have been no more constraints on my personal life, love life or any other decisions I might make, but in reality my kids, my responsibilities as a single mom, and my family of origin (that was suddenly, and once again, OPPRESSIVELY vigilant) were always there…stuck in the front of my mind, and demanding that I step up. In some ways, it was like I had returned to my twenties, before meeting Al. In addition to feeling small, fragile and more than a little fearful of what the future held, I was gripped by the old, but familiar “your Collins is showing” judgement. The guilt and ghosts of the past were standing on one side of the field, while my new “freedom” from Al and the hunger to escape the massive control I’d felt for 19 years was standing opposed. It was an internal battle I didn’t know how to resolve, and as things worked out, that mental wrestling caused me to make some pretty “iffy” and unwise choices. As mortifying as it is to admit, I felt like a desperately thirsty person, who just spent a decade plus wandering through a desert searching for water. It was more than a bit overwhelming to learn how just how many tall, cool glasses of water were lined up at the bar waiting for me to take a sip?
It turns out, there are some good guys out there.
There were men from my days in real estate; there were men from my horseshow past; there were men I met from my son’s new school; there were men I met through friends, there were men I met in airports, there were men from my childhood days, and there were men from my Son’s new Rodeo world; bottom line, there was NO shortage of men. I dated a few and got a bit more seriously involved with one or two.
Nietzsche… pure genius.
There came a day when I knew there were new choices I must make. The realization happened after a day spent at a friend’s ranch for a party being thrown for an exclusive men’s group called the Rancheros Visitadores.
The Rancheros have a lengthy and storied legacy, and are dear to my heart as my Father himself was always a cowboy, and Ranchero, at heart. The rest (long and short) of the story goes like this. Every first week in May, this enormous (300+) group of “cowboys,” (some legit/some not, but most of which are all successful men from every corner of the United States) gather in the Santa Ynez Valley, and ride on horseback, or horse-drawn wagons, from a “starting camp” through the town of Solvang and onto the enormous campus of Old Mission Santa Ines, where an assembly of Priests bless the group and their week-long trip ahead. From there, the group makes their way several miles into the Los Padres National Forest to a private ranch/campground, where the remainder of the week’s revelry takes place. I’m going to omit some of the more salacious details of the group’s exclusive “camping trip,” as I know my Father, back in his day indulged in, and (probably) many, many more since have managed and continue to find, a good bit of “mischief” along the trail. Nonetheless, that particular first Sunday in May of 2013, the riders were making their pilgrimage to the destination campsite and rode through my friend’s enormous ranch which happened to be located just shortly before the Ranchero’s campsite. My friend was a model for many years, as well as a lover of good times, and on many occasions she would host a “pit-stop” type of party for the Ranchero cowboys. 2013 was no exception, and she had invited me, and Paul, my then “gentleman friend.” I know that phrase sounds ridiculously awkward, but I find the use of the word “boyfriend” for someone of my age, a touch “off-putting.” I’m no longer a “20, or even 30+ something” and never imagined that after being married, and divorced with two children, the word “boyfriend” would ever creep back into my vernacular…go figure? At any rate the party was a huge success, and more fun than I’d had for awhile.
It’s pretty cool for a cowboy (whether horseback or driving a wagon) to plead for a picture together; so, yes, sir!
At the risk of sounding a bit “full of myself,” I know I looked good that day. Let’s be honest… we all know those days when we’re just a touch more “sensational” than others, right? That day was one of them, and there was no shortage of “part, or full-time cowboys” paying me attention, regardless of my “gentleman friend’s” presence! Paul was a pretty decent flirt himself, and had not been entirely straightforward with me about either his past, the future or plans we might, or might not make, so I didn’t think he was bothered much by the good-natured bantering and dancing happening in that rustic, little Cantina-type building. I was mistaken! Apparently, the attention I was receiving from the cowboys, whether young, old, handsome, or rugged, had gotten a little under his skin. I’ll finish that train of thought in a moment, but I interrupt here, because Paul’s jealously and somewhat childish behavior was interrupted that day too! He stomped out of the tiny little ranch cantina where many of the happy, raucous group was dancing and toasting with Tequila shots, even amidst an errant cowboy or two riding their horses inside to refresh their drinks. I left the little dance floor and turned to follow Paul outside the tiny makeshift cantina. As I stepped out the doorway, I came face to face with a handsome and familiar face from my childhood. We looked at one another, and simultaneously spoke the other’s name, both wearing surprised but obvious smiles. Paul became somewhat non-existent for the next ten minutes or so, while that tall drink of water and I did a quick catch-up session on the past 40 years. That we had instantaneously recognized one another after that many years startled me, but learning that he was happily married with kids wasn’t startling at all; disappointing perhaps, but not startling. Back to Paul…his ego was slightly bruised, and once we were in the car leaving the party, he mentioned that he hadn’t felt comfortable AT ALL that afternoon. “He thought we needed to discuss a more permanent and serious future, and he should probably buy me a diamond!” Whaaat? Neither of us had had enough Tequila, or anything else for that matter, to mistake or misunderstand what had just been said. “His temporary jealousy and realization that he might not be the only person attracted to me, got the better of him.” Regardless of those words, the rest of the weekend went quickly, and absent any further mention of either the party or the diamond. What would follow didn’t happen overnight; in fact I spent the next month or two searching my soul, and looking for reasons why I made the choices I’d always made about romance, love and everything in between. The diamond never did materialize, and even though, in the long run, Paul turned out to be a truly decent person, it became apparent, that it was time for me to be REALLY real with myself, and I broke off the year-long romance. Suddenly everything seemed so obvious….. I needed to be spending my time enjoying my teenage son, my engaged daughter, my“son-in-law to be,” my extended family, and the endless activities that were hosted at and around the hub of Rancho Valiente.
It was also a good time for me to conduct a serious mental inventory and study of my emotions. I desperately needed to decipher the feelings and subconscious messages that had guided the path of my life. My track record was not exactly “picture perfect” nor a model to be followed when making decisions about affairs of the heart. I spent a lot of time with Steve (then trusted shrink) trying to dissect why my life was constantly filled with emotionally unavailable, needy or narcissistic people? I too am, admittedly, very far from perfect and understand all too well that I, alone, am responsible for the track of my life. However, I’ve also discovered that I have a tendency to care more about what people think of me, rather than first considering what I think about them…”AHA MOMENT.” It’s always been HUGELY important to me, that people like me; to that end, I tend to consider (OR USED TO CONSIDER) everyone else’s needs and wishes before my own.
Paul was my last, fairly long, relationship before I made the deliberate decision to abstain from getting romantically involved for a while. Was I going to spend my time always worrying about making other people happy, before worrying about myself? It’s been a long, sometimes lonely, but satisfying process getting to know myself. Not the self I was taught to be, nor the self I tried to be in order to fit in, or make people seek me out…but the self who is strong, the self who makes me proud, and the self I’m STILL becoming. I’m a work in progress; I screw up; I sometimes lose people, and when my new boundaries are challenged and I overreact, I often need a good swift kick to get myself straight again. I keep trying, I keep kicking, and I hope I keep doing both those things for a long, long time. Meanwhile, I’ve experienced a couple fleeting crushes here and there, and have dated again too. I don’t know what, or who, the future holds, but I have a better sense of who I WILL BE in that future. I have a better idea of what qualities are important for me to see in a friend (male or female), in business associates, in extended family, and yes…in myself! I was in the kitchen the other night cooking and cleaning when Cody Johnson’s song, “On My Way To You” came on. As I stopped cleaning for a couple minutes and really absorbed the words, it struck me that all the years I’ve spent “post Al,” have really been about finding my way to ME, more than anything else. Thirteen years later (post divorce), I’ve raised two kids, and while I’m in no way an even close to perfect parent, I can, PROUDLY, look in the mirror, or at anyone else, and say I gave Emily and PJ my all, and would do that part of my life all over again in the exact same way. I’ve co-founded my own company, I’ve started this blog, and I’ve recognized, now, unlike any other time in my life that I AM ENOUGH. For now, and who knows how much longer, I’m still on my way to ME, but I’m good with that!
Imagine this gem by Cody Johnson, with the word
“ME” in place of “YOU”
All the boats I've missed
All the hell I've caused
All the lips I've kissed
All the love I've lost
I got kicked around
I've been black and blue
On my way to you
All the stars I've seen
All the songs I've sung
All the beers I've drank
All the damage done
I was just passin' time
Kinda just passin' through
On my way to you
Every curve, every ditch
Every turn, every bridge
I left behind me up in smoke
Every fork in the road
It was all worthwhile
When I finally saw you smile
Every highway, every heartbreak
Every mountain, every mile
I got the radio up
Sun is goin' down
I'll take a left at the bank
And I'll head straight through town
So baby, put on that dress
A little sweet perfume
'Cause I'm on my way to you
Yeah, every curve, every ditch
Every turn, every bridge
I left behind me up in smoke
Every fork in the road
It was all worthwhile
When I finally saw you smile
Every highway, every heartbreak
Every mountain, every mile
All the boats I've missed
All the hell I've caused
All the lips I've kissed
All the love I've lost
I thank God for that
I guess he always knew
I was on my way to you
On my way to you
On my way to you
Me.