I haven’t had a conversation with my ex wife in over a year, barring one short exchange on what would have been our second wedding anniversary last August.
Cutting off contact was definitely the way to go for me. It’s the way I’ve always had to do things to heal. Talking with exes has always ripped the scab off my wounds, exposing the tender pink flesh underneath.
But, of course, every once in a while, I get curious. I think that maybe I would like to check in on her life.
Next month, it will be one year since my divorce was finalized.
I moved halfway across the country and began a new job one year and three months ago.
I moved into my current, cozy little studio apartment with my dumpstercat Chet one year ago this week.
I began casually dating eight months ago, convinced that I wanted to “play the field” and try out “ethical non-monogamy.”
About five months ago, I began dating this super cool guy, and about three months ago, I realized that I had no interest in non-monogamy or “playing the field” anymore and I was perfectly content to be in a “real” relationship again. No anxiety about what I could be missing, etc. And no weird residual hangups about my divorce. It’s pretty awesome.
I have settled into my new life. My New Normal. Nestled into the cozy reliability of a routine, a steady paycheck, a great health insurance plan (for now…), a place of my own, and reliable snuggles.
I’ve seen dozens of think pieces, of Facebook posts from friends and strangers, telling me how I should feel about myself and my outlook on this year. I should feel lucky, I should take a good hard look at myself and realize that it’s all my damn fault that I’m not happy (forget about the fact that we have no control over some very serious shit that can happen like death and poverty and mental illness and abuse and it’s a very victim-blaming way to think about it to tell us we can just snap out of it.)
Personally, I’ll admit that 2015 was the bigger dumpster fire for me. That was when my depression had gotten its worst ever, and shit hit the fan with my marriage. 2016 has been a year of growth and rebuilding my life.
But for this country, 2016 has thrust me into a huge amount of worry. But that’s out of my control in many ways.
So what are my take-aways for 2016? What have I learned? How have I changed?
Since I have an MFA in an aspect of theatre, I’ve read a lot of plays, and I am no stranger to the work of Samuel Beckett.
I first saw a production of Waiting for Godot as a senior in high school while visiting what would become my undergrad theatre department in 2004. I knew nothing about the play, and, while I claimed to be an artsy and intelligent student, I was pretty perplexed by it all.
Waiting for Godot is an existential absurdist play in which two characters, Vladimir and Estragon, are stuck in an eternal loop of limbo in which they are constantly waiting for a character named “Godot” who never comes.