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.
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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.
YES, I’ve been noticing the ghosts around town a lot lately. And I’ve kept putting them in the same “grief” bucket of my Mom dying 3 years ago. But kids grow up and life changes, and it’s just the way life goes. Thank you for still writing… your processing of things online is so helpful!
I feel much of the same aloneness you do except I am still married. He has zero interest in doing anything and I live to travel. So, I go. it’s beautiful but still lonely much of the time
Thank you for the Love and Rockets reference!
In the early days of divorce, When my kids were with their dad, I often felt like I was playing hooky. If I didn’t plan something outside the house, there was no proof that I was spending my time “living up to my potential.” Or course, in the early years there were tons of days spent at different fields, watching some sort of athletics take place so I did see the kids even when it “wasn’t my weekend.” Added bonus was I wasn’t searching for a soccer uniform 45 minutes before we needed to be at the field.
At some point, I don’t know when the guilt left, and I said, “Self, if you want to take a 3 hour nap Saturday afternoon, eat Fruity Pebbles for dinner, and then stay up until 2 am reading, do it!” I also gave myself permission to be the mom who woke up on a Saturday in December, and said to the kids, “I want to drive over to the beach this afternoon and get ice cream.” The laundry would still be there waiting when we got home. New memories and new traditions. Not to replace the old ones, but to create something new to savor alongside the old.
It’s weird to get older and remember people and events, even yourself, a decade or two ago. Something about the back of my 10-year-old nephew’s head reminds me of my grandpa’s, who died in 2012. It makes me remember my grandma saying that I reminded her of her mother. Which… as you get older, must be both weird and comforting, to see features again that you haven’t seen in maybe 50 years? Nonetheless, said great grandma had a debilitating stroke at only 57, so I monitor my blood pressure, cholesterol, and exercise regularly. My daughters need me!
Circumstances aside, I’ve enjoyed having you write regularly again, Linda. Long time reader, rare commenter due to demands of said daughters :-) (MORE SNACKS!!!!)