Agreeable Fiction

Green cup, blue cup.

2008 has been the year of the good old-fashioned cosmic whooping. It has whooped my ass. And each cosmic spanking has come with one message. Just one: Let go. Let it be.

"Jesse is an idiot," I say. "How can he not love us? It's one thing to not love me. How could he leave Jonah?"

Let go.

"Jesse doesn't deserve Jonah's love. If Jonah only knew the main reason why Jesse left," I retort.

That's okay. Let it be.

"How can Jesse be okay with things and be his normal, unmovable, cheerful self? If I give in and be nice to him, then it's like he's won."

So fucking what? Just worry about you.

This is difficult work for me, this letting go. I'm a holder-on-er. I hold onto things. I hold onto hopes, dreams. I hold on for dear life, lately, it seems. If life were a rope and my hand were grasping it, my mind and eyes could logically look at it and make my fingers pry open and release the rope. Not so, now.

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This past Friday, I asked Jesse to take Jonah and me out to dinner to help relieve my cabin fever from a week of being snowed in and with little human contact. I longed for adult company, and Jesse is good for that. His cousin, David, was with us. I was in a friendly mood, conversation flowed, we all had a great time. On the way home, Jonah seemed unusually content. Maybe it was my imagination, but I wondered if it was because we were all together. At one point on the drive home, I jokingly rubbed Jesse's bald head -- one of my old habits of endearment -- and Jesse reflexively reached over and kissed me. Now it was my turn to wonder about David, our backseat observer. Did he think that was odd? Did he and Jesse talk about it later? Did David say, "Dude, what the hell are you doing? Look what you're giving up?" I'd like to imagine he did. Sigh.

From there, we took a detour to view some neighborhood holiday lights. And again, Jesse absentmindedly placed his hand on my knee. I let it rest there just long enough. With the slightest, almost imperceptible knee twitch -- my way of saying, "Um, okay, what are you doing?" -- he pulled his hand away and I sensed a shift in his demeanor. Maybe Jesse is also dealing with his own version of letting go, which is odd to me, given that he seems to have a supernatural gift for not knowing how to hold on.

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The next day during Jonah's bathtime, we were playing with some plastic containers that he uses to scoop up water. Each small cube has two holes in the bottom to allow water to trickle through. I filled one bright green cup with water and held it high in front of Jonah's face, so that he could see this little trick. He immediately stuck his hand under the water's flow and tried to grasp it.

Try as he might, he couldn't, of course. This frustrated him, but he still regarded this phenomenon with wonder. Then he got an idea: he tried to catch the stream with another cup, a blue one:

The problem was, that cup also had two holes in the bottom, so the captured water just trickled on through. At one point, Jonah just accepted this fact and happily moved on.

At the risk of pointing out this painfully obvious parallel, I know I've got to do the same. Maybe I won't do it happily, but I know I've got to keep letting go. Maybe this blog is my blue cup, my way of capturing what I do not understand and try to make sense of it. It's dawned on me long before this that humans are the only species that has to analyze and make sense of things. Look how far that's gotten us. In the end, the chain of events are not affected by one's analyzing. They flow on and on, with or without us.

Just let go.

I know that Jesse and I have a love for one another. I do know that he loves Jonah. I just know that he's incapable of loving how I need him to love me. I need, I want, more in a man. There will probably still be the accidental pecks, a misplaced hand on the knee, hugs that linger a bit too long. And, I'm sure there will be miscommunication, misunderstandings, misgivings. That's okay, too.

I hope I can take a cue from Jonah, and in the end, just enjoy the sensation of this life, this river, flowing over me. There's no stopping it, and who would want to? Even with all the what if's and why's, life -- with all its grace, its pain, its love -- is too beautiful to contain.

  Listening to: Tender Blind Spot by Peter Mulvey.

The art of renewal.

There have been big changes since my last post. The biggest? Jesse moved out almost two weeks ago. I don't have all the words I want or need to talk about it, but I will tell you two small stories. And maybe they say it best.

For a very long time now, I have been eyeing a large print at a favorite local furniture store. It was hanging on the back wall, and while I'm not normally drawn to Asian prints, this drew me like a magnet the first time I saw it. On closer inspection, I noticed a tag with the translation: Renew yourself.

I've long felt I've been in need of renewal. Of redemption. Of re-focusing.

The last time we were in the store, the print was still there, and I bought it. Just like that. And now it's hanging over my mantle. It is big and bold, and one of the first things I see each day. But what I particularly love about it is the visual representation of this message. I love how the first character resembles a person, twisted up and chaotic. Then, the point of decision when one realizes, yes, it is time for renewal. It almost seems as if there are parentheses around that point, that dot. Because the time of this decision needs space and room and thought. And finally, the result: a graceful and serene arc of renewal. So lovely.

Of course, this picture makes it seem so effortless. But, it is not. Though I know this decision to split with Jesse is truly for the best, I struggle each day to starve the negative and feed the authenticity (see below post). I tell myself, 'Stop playing the victim. Own your role in this decision with dignity.' It doesn't help that I'm lonely. I am cherishing my time with Jonah, but I crave adult companionship. I know this is a season, and when Jonah is older and yearning to adventure forth, I know I'll wish I'd had more dedicated time with him, just as I'm getting right now. Really, what a gift. Can I recognize it as such? I am blessed.

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Parallelling this change at home, my sweet town got a drastic change: snow! It's not unusual to get one or two modest snowfalls each winter, but we've been hit with one of the worst winter storms in decades, and it's brought life as I know it to a halt. Lost internet connection (my oxygen, gasp!), limited freedom, limited availability at work.

This wonderland is beautiful. So white, still, and quiet. It's my white space, my parentheses. Renewal is change, and it seems right that my external surroundings are reflecting my internal landscape right now.

I've been unable to work because of limited internet connectivity, yet I reached two very important milestones yesterday and today. Yesterday, I learned that my team reached and even surpassed a major project goal, two weeks before our deadline. This is big, important news and goes a long way to secure my role as a team leader and manager. Today, I learned that as a result of this and my other work, I am getting a promotion and a raise. I can't even begin to express how needed this news is. On the two days where I have felt as if things are completely out of my hands -- where I've had to just let go already -- my prior efforts have culminated and paid off. This is the job I have struggled to keep, and now I feel secure. That I can offer Jonah and me a secure living, and a secure life, for awhile. I have taken many deep breaths today.

Renewal, release, relinquishment. They all go hand and hand. But they can't be held onto tightly. Instead, I lay in the snow, staring up at them, laughing and sighing and breathing as they swirl and fall like snowflakes around me.

Listening to: My Heart With You by The Rescues. (Song starts at 1:30.) My lullaby for Jonah, who is with his grandparents tonight. Sleep well, little man.

Feeding what's real.

This weekend, I got a gift. It wasn't a gift I'd ask for but it's one that I need: Jesse announced he's moving out. This news wasn't exactly a shock. I knew it was coming and in some ways, as maddening as it really is, I respect him for making the first move. I have felt so repressed, so fake, stifled and caged with Jesse. Just a day before Jesse's announcement, I fought back tears on the playground with Jonah, desperate for a change.

I took the news really hard yesterday. Not at all anything I'm proud of. Too many words that I regret were said. I wanted to act out of integrity, handle this situation as an adult. I waited with Jonah for Jesse to return, and four hours later when he came home, I exploded and ended up throwing him out. Nice, I know. To his credit, he did come back. We talked things through. It was a mixture of being pissed and angry, then sad and apologetic. It was like a crash course in the grief cycle. I resent you but I love you and get out but how can we make this work?

Needless to say, I couldn't sleep last night. Jesse slept like a baby, and Jonah, well, he slept like a baby. But I tossed and turned. And it did occur to me in the wee hours of the morning that Jesse's leaving is a gift. An opportunity to rediscover myself as a mom, as a woman.

I took a personal day today to 'regroup,' and I talked with a friend. She also told me to snag this baby and run with it. Jesse is a good dad and he'll continue to be. But he can be overbearing to live with. His theories, his quirks! Who needs them? Jesse isn't meant for commitment. It's so easy to resent him for not wanting a family, but I certainly don't want him here if he's not commited.

Such a thick soup of emotions. My heart is both heavy and light.

My friend Karen recently wrote about feeding the right emotion. I've decided to not feed the pissed-offness, but to feed the authentic part of me that wants to handle this transition in our relationship with respect and integrity. I want to FINALLY participate in this relationship in a real way.

I know living alone, working and single-mothering Jonah won't be easy. Life has been so hard the past couple of years and I'm so ready for easy. But apparently, it's not time for easy. But sometimes I feel that living alone, doing my job, being Jonah's mom will be the easiest thing in the world.

I've got to write here to keep myself on track, as a way to starve the pissed-off. And feed what's real. To start by really loving myself. And that's something I haven't done in a very long time.

Listening to: If I Don't Believe In Love by Dido.