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A lot has changed in the last year. And yet, somehow, life is still the same.
The one thing that doesn't change is my tendency to over-share as a form of therapy (much to the dismay of my three ex-husbands).So, let's get on with it.
I became a grandmother this year. I won't relay the long version of the story in which I struggled with multiple emotions surrounding it. It was a veritable whirlwind. No, a tornado. I don't think I've ever experienced so many contradictory feelings all at once.
I'll just say- all that has passed now, and I feel nothing short of blessed. I've never been a huge fan of that term, "blessed," but I find it appropriate here. My granddaughter is the brightest light in my life.
Although it does still, at least a little bit, cast a shadow of melancholy, of gloom.
It exacerbates my fear of the passage of time, and of change.
I developed arthritis in both shoulders this year. It definitely puts a kink in my kayaking hobby. Getting old is a bitch. Otherwise, my health is fine. As long as we don't count the 20 pounds I've added to my frame.
I still haven't sold the farm yet, although I am always tempted to. Just sell, buy an RV, and spend what days I have left on the road. Fortunately, I still possess a shred of practicality.
I'm still gigging every weekend and still marketing/graphic designing for A Family for ME. I still (mostly) love those two jobs.
I sang at the Apollo in Harlem this year. Last month I competed in the theater's longest running show- Amateur Night at the Apollo. I made the top three the first night, went to the semi-finals the following week, but then didn't qualify for finals. Deservedly so, as the folks there were insanely talented. I honestly didn't expect to make it that far anyway. I just wanted to be able to say I had done it. Cross that off the bucket list.
Which brings me to the meat of this blog.
The second time I went to NYC for the semi-finals, I went by myself. Drove to, through, and home from NYC, alone. Competed in one of the most stressful competitions I've ever done, alone.
Experiencing all of that with zero support made me feel like I had gained something; some power, or strength, or liberation.
But it was also the catalyst for the end of my relationship. Which, after becoming a grandmother, will probably be this year's most monumental change. Unfortunately. Or fortunately. I'm not sure. I'm still too sad to determine that.
The hurt that came from going to NYC alone was the last straw, the cherry on top of the cake (or insert whatever other metaphor here)...
Once again I'll spare you the long version of the story and simply say-
I asked for change.
It was met with resistance.
And then with silence.
Just, nothing.
It was over.
I tried to hold onto it, but the door was opened, and instead of standing, staying, he chose to walk through it. For the second time in our lives.
I want to blame him, and I do. But I blame myself almost as much for allowing it to happen again. Sadly, stupidly, sometimes we need to learn the same lesson more than once.
And it forces me to once again consider all the men I have loved in my life. There have been so many that it's almost absurd. Is that a blessing or a curse, to have known love so many times with so many different people?
I've done this, been here, so many times, that it should be old hat by now. I'm a fucking pro at breaking up. I am the poster child for failed relationships.
I'll try to spend this grieving time "healthy healing..."
Which is just my way of telling myself-
Don't jump into something else.
Resist the need for attention and human touch (after being starved of it for so long).
Don't make bad decisions.
Don't do stupid shit.
Spend some time on the water. Spend some time alone. Cuddle the dog. Talk to a friend.
Pour another glass of Bailey's. Smoke another pack of Marlboros. Eat junk food.
Choose a vice that's not another human.
Take a few Benadryl so you can sleep. Wash them down with the Bailey's.
Or sing.
Just fucking sing.