On the Horizon

I’ve been feeling a lot of loss lately. Maybe because my dad passed in July nine years ago, this month brings the fragility of existence to the forefront of my mind.

The husband of one of my mom’s very close friends just died. They met and married after he returned wounded from Vietnam, then remained passionately in love for 40-some years, raising three kids into being parents in their own right. The funeral was awash in laughter through tears.

My good friend lost her dad unexpectedly in February, and that loss has since shadowed both my relationship with her and my work life.

I’ve also continued mourning the end of my 21-year marriage, with an official divorce decree in May. Two decades of sharing a home and a life do not disappear with a court order. And memories pop up at the most unexpected times, making the process of moving forward long, labyrinthine and laborious.

My latest loss is Stacy. Don’t worry: She continues to get healthier and stronger, and her latest was the third MRI in a row with no evidence of disease. However, it’s been clear for a while that our relationship is not that healthy. The friction of our very different paradigms was wearing on both of us; we were arguing more than laughing in the last few months.

So we decided, more or less mutually, to end the serious romantic portion of our relations. We are doing our darnedest to stay friends, though, because neither of us can imagine a future completely devoid of the other.

Still, it feels like a loss. As my therapist explained to me last year, when a relationship ends, one mourns the loss of what could have been: all the hopes and dreams, future plans, possibilities of trips and schemes. The idea of “happily ever after” leaves a lingering mark.

The truth is that we often create a version of other people in our heads. I know I do. And when the reality of that person does not line up with the version we imagine, it can be really disappointing. It can feel like betrayal, even though the real person has done nothing wrong. It’s the same reason we are so devastated when a sports hero or movie star behaves badly in real life: Our internal portrait of others tends toward simple perfection while reality is always complex and flawed.

I thought I could be the person Stacy needed to weather her lingering cancer diagnosis into a bright future of renewed vigor and health. Perhaps she thought she could be the person to help me navigate into a bright future of patience and self-acceptance. Turns out, neither of us is exactly what the other had hoped for, despite our deep affection for each other. 

Alas, love is not all you need.

My strategy for dealing with this loss is…well, I don’t really have one, to be honest. I am working on re-developing some of the healthy habits I let fall away while swimming in the ocean of Stacy. My eating habits are skewing more toward vegetables than fast-food again, and I am returning to the gym at regular intervals. The alcohol intake has not exactly ebbed, but that will come along with time. Self-medicating in times of stress is an old fall-back for me. I continue to grapple with that one, as I always have.

When I first left my husband a year and a half ago, I told everyone who would listen – including myself – that I needed to be alone for a while to get to know myself better. Then I proceeded to date six different guys in the space of a year. That did not leave a lot of “alone” time. Then I met Stacy and immediately dove into an exclusive and monogamous relationship that included six dogs, two roommates and an extended family of relatives and friends with endless drama and excitement. I was effectively shielded from any introspection for quite some time.

The end of this relationship feels different from the end of my marriage in at least one important way. I really do feel – perhaps for the first time – ready to be alone.

I realize I’ve said it before, so it may sound disingenuous. But this time feels true. The time I spent with Stacy helped me think about a lot of things differently: my body and sexuality, of course, but also my perception of time, my value of objects, my place in the community, my inherent worth as a human being trying to get it right.

I don’t know what the future holds, and that continues to be pretty scary for me. But it’s also an exciting invitation to create the life I want. As I learn to let go of all the could-have-beens, I begin to see even more what-ifs that lead me on toward new possibilities. And who knows: my next adventure is probably right around that seemingly impossible challenge looming on the horizon.