Say Hello to My Little Friend

Here is what single life has turned out to be for me so far; a post-modern evolution of the platonic affair. Not exactly the kind of summer I thought I’d have.

I have gotten to know someone very well, emotionally in particular, but not physically. He has been hung up on someone else, which was fine until my feelings changed from friendship to more than that. I kept thinking he would be over his previous relationship, to open up the opportunity, but he clearly was not, and it stung every time he spoke about it.

There are lots of reasons I should not engage in any sort of relationship right now. The main one of course being that I’m still trying to negotiate (legally and emotionally) my position as an ex-wife. It thought that being in this friendship was safe. But as we spent more and more time together, hanging out, enjoying the summer, and what do you know? It jumped up and bit me. Yeah, it really did feel like that.

I asked myself, was really him or just feelings I had that had to go somewhere, and I placed them on him? I haven’t been able to answer that. Being his “friend” solved a lot of things. It gave me a great companion, I got a chance to get to know someone new, and I heard about and evaluated someone else’s relationship issues.

I felt stuck in yet another role I detest playing, “the friend”. And to be told that, is even worse, almost degrading. This only stands when I have feelings for the person. I have other male friends, I don’t seek out their approval or compliments. This is similar to connections I’ve had in the past, where the attraction was obvious, the emotional connection was there, yet to act on anything else was not allowed.

So on I go, navigating this bizarre world of single life. I’m not sure I ever really fit in anywhere, so I’ll continue making up the rules as I go and see what life will send my way.

The X comes to visit

The X is coming to visit. This is the result of a minor pressing from the lawyers due his lack of visiting the kids on their home turf. Now I have to deal with the idea of him being here and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

One task that is obvious for me is the self-preparation. He is bringing the children back from their time with him, so I am thinking about their return as well. Being mindful of how I am when they come back is on the top of my list.

I have become quite stuck in certain ways without them around. It’s funny how you see old people stuck in their ways. My grandmother eats certain meals on specific days for example. I on the other hand, have reveled in the lack of routine. I eat toast for dinner, chicken leftovers for breakfast. I stay up late, like a teenager pushing the limits, totally regretting it the next day as I’m pressed to nap for the sake of carrying on. But it’s my version of freedom.

Becoming “mom” again is easy. Being the ex wife is not. This is where I stumble and I don’t know how to act. Here is someone I don’t hate, I know better than anyone, who knows me better then anyone, who I have had the most intimate and important events of my life with. But now I must pretend that didn’t happen?

I like the idea of going with it all. Not over-analyzing (right!). So here goes me reseting my state of mind.

Living within

A friend recently sent me a great quote about looking within before looking without. It’s age-old wisdom of course in this day and age of embracing Eastern philosophy. I took it to heart having spent most of this year taking a good look at myself to figure out the best way to move forward. Sometimes it feels like one step forward and two steps back. This matches my health situation as well. Everything is so undulating.

The X has had some harsh words lately. The legal process that he instigated is not going according to his liking. I have pretty much gone along with everything but now I am standing strong on some points. I feel I have to. The mama bear in me is putting out the protection growl. But he sees me differently, maybe as a tiger, a snake, not sure, but it’s not warm and cuddly, that’s obvious.

But each time he bellows, I look at the situation differently. I don’t react immediately as I used to. I stop and think how I feel first, and then try to understand how he does. Now I just feel sorry for him. It must be awful to drag negativity around. I have my own baggage, but it feels lighter these days.

I care how he feels because we will always be connected. But moving on is hard, acceptance of new situations is painful, worrying about other people (and little people’s) feelings makes my empathetic well run dry. Looking within to understand it, to grow in a positive way, has become very important.

The Day My Bikini Died

I had no idea a piece of clothing could end up representing a huge part of my life. Bathing suits are an odd fashion piece, you own a few but you only really wear the one you feel the most comfortable in, though not necessarily look your best in. They tend to be ones that didn’t cost as much as the designer, new technology styles, but do the job just fine. My orange striped biking sits low in the front but covers enough on the rear. The triangle top is flattering but doesn’t disguise my small bust in a false advertising way.

My orange striped bikini was always my go-to swimming costume. For a recent trip I threw it nonchalantly in my bag with the high hopes of dock lounging and lake swimming. As I tied the strings around my neck I heard the unmistakable crackle of dry rot. I ran my fingers along the length of string I felt the hard broken elastic inside the orange stripes. I put it on anyway but it felt the waxed twine around my ribcage and it itched the back of my neck. As much as I would have liked to shed the top altogether I thought better of it and changed into a tank top with the bikini bottom which had now started to sag in the front.

To see that suit die was symbolic. It was the end of an era. I sat on the boat dock up north and twisted back to look at the label. I have bikinis from all over the world, designer ones from Miami and sexy booty-baring ones from Brazil. I actually wasn’t that shocked to discover this one was from Old Navy. I immediately remembered the trip to the Eaton Centre when I bought it along with suits for my girls, then 3 and 6, now 10 and 13.

My orange striped bikini was well documented. Framed pictures around my house show its evolution. One with my daughter in a floatie standing in the shallow water of the Bahamas. Another taken by a friend who is a fashion photographer had me in mid air jumping with a joyful look on my face. She even told me once that she sent it to a down friend to cheer her up. It worked.

The last one, framed and currently residing in my daughter’s room, is of the X and I. It was Christmas and we sat with friends on the beach. It was the last vestige of our happiness before our idyllic world fell apart. We’re grinning and hugging.

Earlier this year I took a trip in the hopes of a reconciliation with him. The bikini came along and made an appearance, which surprisingly, was not documented. It only lives in my memory of what I was wearing when I started to face the idea that our 17-year relationship was over and irreparably changed.

It made sense the orange striped string bikini should die now. My marriage is clearly over. The X has begun another life. I am emerging from a dark transition and redefining my life as I see it. I’ll get a new one this summer.