I always seem to come back here, to this place of writing and sharing. It feels like a boulder on the shore - I may wash away in the tide for a while, but somehow I always end up washed back here.
It's now been nearly twelve years since my first post here. I was 18 when I started this blog for my Freshman English class; two months from now, I'll be 30 and freshly divorced.
There is much, of course, that I cannot and will not write about that last detail; I am not here to tattle or list grievances. Here is the short story: we were together for nearly 12 years, and now we are working on paperwork for our dissolution. No, there was no infidelity on either side. And no, I was the one who initiated both the separation and the dissolution. Yes, it was - and is - very painful. And yes, I do hope he quickly finds happiness after we part ways, even if it sounds trite.
And here I am, back here on this seaside boulder, washed ashore like a half-drowned man clinging to torn planks of his shipwrecked vessel. I am not here to tell the story of the shipwreck, but to tell the story of what's next. I am alive and back on land; I have survived, and I have a rare and beautiful chance to restart.
My twenties, the third decade of my life, I gave to him; and gladly, for many of those years. But now, leaving, I am about to turn thirty and enter the fourth decade of my life. And, in leaving my husband, I have thrown away the map I had drawn out for my life. My future was supposed to be with him. That was the plan. He was supposed to be the co-star in the script of my life, and now I've got whole seasons of useless script I have to just throw away. Back to the drawing board. New paths; new plans; new dreams.