Mar
30
I didn’t have anything going on this weekend, which felt a little yikes to me going into it — I should be doing something, I should have plans, I should be productive/busy — and then it settled around me, like a full-bellied exhale. Why should I have plans? There are plenty of times when I do, and having free time is a luxury, not some sort of criticism.
(This is definitely a divorced lady thing, for me anyway. I feel like it’s weird/embarrassing somehow to have an open dance card? As though my worth as a person is tied to a busy schedule? As though in family life you don’t get a free weekend and crow about it to anyone who will listen? “I didn’t do shit, it was just chill!” “Oh that is so nice, girl.”)
I did however take myself on a local summit hike, Mt. Pisgah, which is technically less of a hike and more of a grueling deathmarch up a gravel trail. It’s short but quite intense, although I can count on being passed by a runner just at the point when I am wishing I had brought a cyanide capsule for a quick exit option. Or someone in a weighted vest, just COME ON NOW.
Once you get to the top, the misery is instantly forgotten and you can bask in the view along with the knowledge that getting down is far more pleasurable. I hadn’t done this hike in a good long while, and like many things around town it is a little haunted for me. I remember the kids leaving us in the literal dust on the way up. I remember sitting on the bench at the summit, flanked by both boys. I remember when it wasn’t just me, when I felt like a part of a bigger whole.
There are ghosts everywhere, though. I pay for groceries and remember when the same bagging clerk would say nice things about the kids. I drive past a playground and remember sitting there on warm days. I go to the movies and remember when we would thumbs up or thumbs down each preview. I see an ad for Sonic and remember getting treats there, watching the workers come out on roller skates.
This can all get a little muddled in my mind. Sometimes I find myself piling all the normal sad feelings that every parent goes through as their kids get older into a sort of divorce bucket, like it’s all part and parcel of one outcome. But it’s not, of course. Kids grow out of playgrounds, and that has nothing to do with my marriage status.
So I have to watch that. Being at the top of a hard hike is not a lonely feeling, it’s one of deep accomplishment (and relief). Being divorced does not mean I will never do this hike with my boys again. Sometimes the best way to de-haunt a place is to go back, perhaps not necessarily to playgrounds like a creeper, and be in it again. I was here once before, and I’m here now, and things have changed between those times, just like they changed everywhere.
Maybe what I felt when I got up there was the sense of being a deeper kind of alone. The same sneaky feeling that tells me I need to stay visibly, acceptably busy or I am of no value to anyone. The same feeling that prompts me to take a photo and post it on Instagram Stories or it will be like I was never there.
But I was there. That was enough. And you know, maybe that means I am enough, too.
Letting myself believe that, even a little, helps me stop clawing at memories and enjoy them instead. It helps me sink into a restful weekend without worrying that some unseen entity is shaking its head in pity at me. It helped me on that hilltop, feeling the breeze, feeling strong, feeling gratitude for what was instead of pain for what isn’t.
Comments
-
My product review site:
[
Loved this post. We used to do this thing all the time called front yard family. It was just … playing in the front yard while the grown ups sat in the driveway. We did this so often, for years, but in declining amounts. Last year we might have done it once? Oof.