Lately I feel like I’ve been hearing a lot about troubled relationships — couples separating, thinking about separating, questioning their futures.
Most recently are two writers I admire. Admittedly, I think it’s more their lives I admire than their writing, of which I’ve only read some blog posts and many Instagram descriptions.
From their pictures they seemed to have the perfect life. A loving marriage, two beautiful little girls, successful writing careers, the woman especially (her book is being made into movie with a very popular young actress). More than once I’ve thought, I want her life.
But then I noticed a change. They stopped appearing in each other’s pictures; they stopped commenting and liking. There were no family shots.
Then the kicker: they spent the holidays apart.
I worried. Isn’t that silly? I was worried about two people I didn’t even know. I worried as though it were my own relationship.
Last week the woman finally came out and said that they had been living apart for a while.
It bummed me out, a lot more than it should have. I’m not sure why. I mean, they’re strangers, right? Why should I care? But following people on Instagram or any social media, keeping up with their lives, you feel like you know them.
It also made me wonder why some people break up and others stay together. Those of us who’ve had relationships that haven’t worked out — did we make the wrong decisions, are we not satisfied with something less than it once was, did we not work hard enough to fix things? Or are other people fooling themselves?
I know it’s useless to wonder. It doesn’t change anything.
It’s been more than a year since my own life status change. While it certainly doesn’t feel new anymore, I do feel like I’m in a holding pattern.
That was one of the cards that came up during my tarot card reading with YP: the Hanged Man, which in its position meant that’s how I look to the outside world, as though I’m in a stalemate.
Then again, while it may look like I’m in a holding pattern, in some ways I’m not. I’m enjoying living on my own, doing exactly what I want when I want, not constantly worrying about what someone else thinks. Because of my personality that’s what I always do. It’s hard for me to turn it off. The only way I can is when I’m on my own.
I met my ex-husband when I was 21 and was pretty much with him for 12 years. After we split up, it was only four months before I started dating someone. I dated that someone for two months, we broke up, and about five months later I started dating someone new. He and I dated for six months, broke up, and four months later I met someone else. I dated that guy for two months, we broke up, and five months later I met MB.
Before last year, the longest I was single was five months (which seems so weird to me because I’ve always thought of myself as a wallflower), and during those times I was single, I spent much of it getting over a guy, trying to date, or actually dating. This past year and two months, excluding the time I was grieving my relationship, is really the first time I’ve concentrated fully on myself.
Maybe that’s why I’m so reluctant to give it up, at least for now.
In other news, a few months ago, I finished this paranormal teen romance novel I’d been working on since last March. I was loving it but now I’m a little discouraged. I queried a bunch of agents, and I’ve gotten several rejections so far, including one very kind, personal one from someone who had requested the entire manuscript.
Now I’m wondering if the book wasn’t quite ready. I think the premise is there but maybe the story could be stronger. But I’m not sure yet what I want to do, if I want to revise the book or plow ahead with the sequel — or sequels — which might help me go back and improve the first installment. The advantage of plowing ahead is that it would keep me creating for a long time, instead of trying to sell. Creating is much more fun.
In the meantime, I’m still working on short pieces. I had my first article published at Quartz, “What 21st-century libraries can learn from this 19th-century institution,” and continue to write for the Wordnik blog, most recently about horse racing terms, selfie variations, Heathers slang, and when a thing isn’t “a thing.”
I’m still loving my new digs, which seven months later, aren’t so new anymore, although not according to the neighbor I rode the elevator with other night. She eyed my suspiciously before finally asking, “Are you new?”
I said not really, that I’d been living here since August.
“Oh, that’s new,” she said.
I had thought I’d stay only one year, but now I want to stay at least another one. In the beginning I wasn’t used to not living within walking distance of everything I could possibly need. But I’ve gotten used to it. While I can’t just pop out to pick up food or whatever, I can make sure to stock up things when the opportunity arises.
Plus I’m totally spoiled in other ways. The gym right in the complex, my own washer and dryer, all the space, the quiet and beautiful surroundings.
While at my old apartment, I had to wear earplugs every night because 1) my neighbors were super-noisy and would come home at two AM and fight, have sex, or talk on the phone for three hours, 2) the floors were hardwood so you could hear every footstep, and 3) the walls were so thin you could hear everything else, here I never have to wear them.
The only things that ever wake me up are birds in the wee hours of the morning and, get this, a full moon on a clear night. Like, the sky is so clear that the light of the MOON wakes me up.
I’m not ready to give that up either.