I’ve been letting this precious blog falter a little, and I miss it. The explanation is that I feel myself caught up in a blur of busyness and of sheer exhaustion, joy and heartbreak, and as a result I have drawn inside myself a bit. I’ve picked up a nasty old habit, and have been sneaking cigarettes in the dark after Sami has gone to sleep. I am watching a lot of movies, which I rarely do. Instead of writing, I am being more passive, ingesting nicotine and movies, observing it all and trying not to judge myself too harshly. I am being compassionate with the one inside me who does not want to face life in all its technicolor craziness.

Nights are the worst. I can go through the day and it is all pretty much OK and then after Sami goes to bed, there is this lonely hole inside me that seems like it yawns open forever. There was a part of me that hung on desperately to some shreds of hope that my marriage might have a chance of resurrecting itself. We have been caught in the gray area so long between divorce and reconciliation. That tiny hope, irrational as it may have been, was emotionally sustaining me somehow. But in the last week I had some grim confirmation that saving our relationship is just not possible. I say that, but who knows until the divorce papers are signed and final? For now, I cannot bear to march in that direction, however inevitable it may be. I read a sample separation agreement last week and almost had a panic attack. The finality of it, the legalese, the ugly black-and-whiteness of it. I cannot stand to see it out there so starkly. So I am withdrawing into my defenses.

It is odd to feel like I need to “be strong” for Sami. I tell myself that he is too young to understand my tears, that they might frighten him. I don’t know how to explain my suffering to him, so I hold it in and I smile and I pretend, and who knows if he is even buying it. I know I am doing a disservice to both of us, but it is the best I can do for now. I hold it all in so long and so hard that when I finally have time for myself, I cannot even cry. I just sit on the front steps of my house and smoke cigarettes, half-enjoying, half-hating the sting of smoke in my throat. Shutting down inside. Numbin gout. Wishing I could just let myself breathe my breath as it is. Trusting that I will let go of this crutch when I am ready.

I saw a rather ridiculous movie the other night called Evan Almighty. It’s this silly story about a congressman who gets called to be the next Noah and build an ark. But there was a scene that stood out for me, when Morgan Freeman, who played God in the film, was talking about how when we pray for patience, we don’t get patience– we get opportunities to be patient. When we pray for courage, we aren’t just granted courage, we are granted opportunities to be courageous. Those two lines were just what I needed to hear.

I am scared to death to finish my memoir. Yet the goddamned thing won’t leave me alone. So I decided to take the NaNoWriMo challenge to get a manuscript together. If I continue to be scarce this month, it is because I am working on that challenge, and I am so excited for Bella and everyone else who is doing the blog equivalent. It is quite extraordinary to imagine that by the end of this month I could finally have a book, rough but whole.

So I gather up this life, all the ick and all the amazing extraordinary everyday sacred moments, and I look for opportunities to live my dreams and my values. Even when I want to run away and hide in a haze of smoke, I know there is learning in that, too. I practice, in the midst of setbacks large and small, disappointments, major screw-ups, and loss. I practice for Sami and for me. I practice because I know there is no other way through. Not for me. Not anymore.