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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.


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