Nomad’s Lives: Defining Our OWN Adventures

Another change, another move. One year in RV Land, and yet, another door opens. Life’s unpredictability is ever so predictable. 

Where to begin? Unfortunately, Julie Andrews, “let’s start at the very beginning.” escapes me, and my beginnings are elusive at best. For, the last decade of life has been a series of beginnings. Yet, what is the ending, and does it matter?

Like we had the artistic ability to make friendship bracelets, so be it. Artistic Nomad’s need not express in art form. (Although it’s super cool!) We express how we feel in words and actions.

Let us begin with my friend, someone who defies friendship, indeed. We are not blood sisters nor besties. We grew up starting in high school with married husbands who were best friends since their high school years. Both married in 1985, and she’s remained married while I divorced ten years ago, remarrying in 2017. While too much detail runs unimportant to those other than my friend and me, suffice it to say, after years of separation, different lives, and varied perspectives, it is clear that some connections are for life, even when unexpected forks in the road.

Tip-toeing through the majority of our relationship, from high school days into adulthood, all the while, me intimidated by her ability to hold her friendships with girlfriends on a level I could never reach, as she remained without a boyfriend throughout high school, her counterpart, that would be me, attached at the hip to long-term boyfriends. Of course, this happens on a daily with most high school girlfriends. We are more profound than that. Please stay with me.

The nomad’s life need not be in motion to describe a nomad’s life. After significant changes in my own life post-divorce, 2012, this statement could not be more realistic. Ruts cling to us if we choose the rut-life. As if I planned to sell a beautiful home last year and move into an RV park, only to continue a so-called nomad life. All the while, my fantastic sister from another mother, her steadiness, secure marriage, two independent and intelligent grown children, with sons-in-law only parents could dream of having…what else matters, right?

Oh, ye, of microscopic perspective. 

When will we stop comparing lives to others? 

How about never? 

Please stop. Stop.

We are no longer in high school. At sixty-something, can we simply learn from each other? Is that not enough? 

Change it’s happening. I couldn’t be more at peace.

Turns out it sure is enough for my sister from another mother. Such different paths, such a connection that defies explanation. 

I’ve pretty much given up on yearning to understand relationships. They are what they are. The healthiest ones are worth every second involved. If one isn’t sure that a connection is beneficial in their sixties, time to let go. My sister from another mother, how we wish we could’ve been where we are today, twenty years ago. My heart breaks for the unattainable “what-ifs,” only to quickly dissolve and absorb into the here and now.

Your nomad life is your OWN. Make no mistake, we are all on our individual paths. Adventure is yours to gain; motion comes in all forms. Find yours, and may your adventures take you far beyond your comfort levels, wherever you are today.

We’ll find each other soon. 💜

The Year of Sixty: We Be Getting Better

Soon approaching my eighth year post-divorce, post-estrangement from my adult children, the inclination to mark these events, while still prevalent, are less marred by a healthier being. Mind you, happily re-married almost three years, the mingling of who I was followed by my personhood today hasn’t exactly been a piece of pie. How I’ve managed to balance the complexities of my former marriage with my current, that’s a post of a different color soon-to-come.

The year of sixty, there is much to celebrate. Years of poor, thoughtless decisions, insecurities and a never ending desperate longing for validation, I’m still here, better than ever.

Less fear of speaking my truth. Notwithstanding the overused phrases of Oprah and Co., we ALL need to learn to speak our truths. This is not a mere sound bite by any means. It is a practice, learned and persistent, a deliberate choice, to become healthier during our most painful times. Well, during those painful episodes, a good day may occur by simply getting out of bed for an hour. Just as one may slowly dissipate into the abyss of their own rabbit hole, so is the similar amount of time to see amongst the tangled hedges.

Coming out of a long-term marriage, the realties of what caused such anguish, coupled with the humbling look at self, takes years. YEARS. Please do not rush your journey. You’re getting to where you need to be. You’re on your way, in your own due time.

We’ll find each other soon. 💜

Hello, Voice

Hello, it’s me, voice. Nice to talk and share with you today. 

I spent a good number of years zipping my mouth. If I sensed any sort of confrontation or defensiveness from anyone, mostly from the people closest to me, out came “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you”, usually followed by whatever I needed to do to make peace: acquiescence, my safety blanket, never failed me. Though I failed myself by stifling my voice. 

Using one’s voice takes guts. It’s scary. One isn’t quite sure how others will react.

• Maybe I’ll be rejected if I speak my truth.
• Maybe what I have to say isn’t that significant.
• Maybe if I talk too much about what I think, I’ll be perceived as selfish or uncaring. 

Today, I combat fear of voice simply by actually exercising it. Gotta exercise, gotta practice. Less fearful of how other’s perceive me, I’ve discovered when I speak up these days, it’s not the end of life as once upon a time I knew. 

Most of my years married, my voice wasn’t often used proactively. Note to self and others: If one can’t speak up in a marriage, one should probably hold off on that marriage license. Over the years, self-confidence was stunted as my voice fell into an arena of limitations. I don’t fault my ex for this, only that our marriage perpetuated what had already been for years. I allowed those limitations. It’s what I knew at the time. As he became less interested in my voice, so did I become less interested in voicing my opinion as well. If you do the math, there’s uneven sum of parts, which left a majority of our marriage with one dominant voice over the other.  

Interestingly enough, blogging is a great healing force. Voice is created in many ways. Mine happens to be in the form of writing. Perhaps your voice is used with the most conviction through music, painting, lawn bowling, tap dancing, miniature golf or yoga. Whatever avenue chosen, keep voicing whatever important to you. Express. Take a chance and speak. Have little fear, your voice is near. I, for one, am listening. 

We’ll find each other soon. ❤

 

Happy Anniversary To Us

Societal accolades run high for long-term marriages. We love to celebrate years and years of holy matrimony. Though there’s a lot more to marriage than sheer longevity, hats off to you brethren who have hung in there for twenty-five years or more.  For those who chose the path of divorce after a long-term marriage, hats off as well, for making a choice to (hopefully) better yourselves, better your lives.  Many of you are not quitters. Divorce is a choice and I’m quite certain it took everything you had to make one of the most significant decisions in your life. Brava to you. No one knows your story, your marriage or divorce more than you. I commend marriage. I understand divorce.

Today marks what would’ve been 31 years married. Thirty-one. That’s sixteen years longer than my parents’ marriage. I’d say that’s a pretty good run. I’ve spent a great deal of time over the last four years since my divorce, thinking about marriage. I believe in marriage and interestingly, not a proponent of divorce. (Said the divorced middle-aged woman) I wish my marriage would’ve been one of those I admire so. Not so much for the amount of years, but for the evolution of what it might have looked like growing old together. 

Here’s the thing. It’s a big one. One can’t grow together as a couple until and unless both individuals are willing to look at themselves first. An ongoing process, the evolution of long-term marriages are most rewarding when both understand the value of themselves before valuing the other. Too often, I valued him before myself. I wasn’t a fully developed person in the sense of my beliefs and values when I married. Never fully occurred to delve into certain questions. Oh,  I questioned. I didn’t take the time to figure out an answer or two. Or one hundred. Or a thousand. Questions become redundant when one hasn’t come to their own conclusions. There is very little insight to behold.

It’s taken me years and counting to become the whole being I am. I’m less apt to defend myself or state the reasons I chose to divorce, to justify my decisions. While I don’t celebrate June 29th like I used to, it remains an important anniversary, one to be recognized and acknowledged. Our marriage was and IS part of us. He’s the father of my two daughters. He gave me the opportunity to return to college. He supported me financially and took great care of our family. Happy Anniversary to us. May we grow and evolve to be better versions of ourselves than who we used to be.