landlocked

I'm not sure quite what possessed me to google my ex husband tonight. Seriously, all I wanted to do was put away my summer clothes, revel in the change of seasons and the promise of a new Jewish year, start putting a dent in the pile of work that is looming over me this week, and go the heck to bed before midnight.

You see, I was married briefly while I was in law school. For less than a year, and it seems so crazy now. I don't go around advertising this fact about myself, but neither am I ashamed of it, and occasionally it will come up in conversation. People usually seem surprised and mildly disturbed by it. The question I always get from them is, "are you still in touch?" And I get the sense that it would make them feel better about the fact that I'm divorced if my ex husband and I were buddies or something.

Well, sorry, folks, my ex husband and I are not buddies. My sisters and childhood best friend are still facebook friends with him (which I am not super happy about, but I try to reserve my "defriend my ex, you bitch"es for dire situations).  My last contact with my ex husband was when I e-mailed him this past summer to let him know that my rabbi would be contacting him so that I could finally obtain a Jewish divorce from him. And this is the extent of my existing relationship with a person I once promised in front of all my friends and family to spend my life with.

After googling my ex, I could not help but marvel at the irony.  The results were jarring, and I instantly remembered back to living in the midwestern city where I attended law school and he taught at the local highschool.  He claimed to be teaching because it was the easiest way to get three months off every year.  He at times seemed rather ambitionless and was quite happy for me to be the breadwinner, as it was looking like things would turn out.  We talked about where we would move after I graduated.  I mentioned Atlanta, where my sister lived.  He didn't want to move to Atlanta because there was not enough water - no place to put a boat.

Six years later, I live in Atlanta.  He lives on a boat.  Oh, and he went to law school and is working at a law firm now.

There is something meaningful about destiny within this set of facts, but I'm not sure what.  Perhaps it's just that the different pages that we were on then have become so clear fast forwarding through a few chapters of our -- separate -- lives.  Even if, in an ironic twist, he ended up on the same law-firm-associate page as me.    And I can learn a little about the essence of me by looking back at myself with him, and at him now, and me now.

He is such an important part of my past, if a difficult part.  I wish him and his wife nothing but the best.  But not even a little do I want to reconnect with my ex husband, to say "hi, what's up, nice BOAT" or anything.  That ship, pardon the bad pun, has sailed.

And I don't think being in each other's lives--with the reminder of that painful time, the reminder of the person that I was, who I did not like very much, the inevitable "what ifs" that drift into my consciousness regardless of  my unequivocal lack of regret over the fact that that relationship ended--would do either of us any good.

I used to say to people that the proximity of the ocean comforted me for some reason, as if I could somehow swim away if things got dicey.  But knowing he goes to sleep in a harbor every night, I have never felt safer to be landlocked.

(aside: "safer" is used in an emotional sense, and is not intended to reflect poorly on my ex husband)

Recently, I discovered that another ex, the ex boyfriend that I was getting over during my first six months of rules, was moving out of Atlanta.  Mind you, I discovered this in a somewhat bizarre manner--a very close friend of mine with whom I had become distant because she was *dating* him informed me that we could be friends again because he broke up with her due to his impending move.  She advised me of this approximately two hours after I had exclaimed in lighthearted frustration to my paralegal over this very situation, "why doesn't he just MOVE!"

I am ashamed to admit this, but learning of this ex's move marked a turning point for me - G-d had finally thrown me a little bone, just enough to remind me that the acute situational anxiety I felt I had been experiencing from every possible angle was ephemeral.  I suddenly felt faith; I regained motivation to rebuild my life and myself.  With just this little symbolic push, I finally came up for air after months of drowning in addiction to drama and depression and dissatisfaction and torment--

and by and large, I have been dry ever since.

Safe and dry, but it has not been without effort.  As the alcoholic who cannot even have a sip, whose friends greet the very vision of her holding a wine glass with looks of pure terror, I know how important it is for me to stay far away from the shore.

And it is for this reason, despite my affinity for the ocean, that landlocked I shall remain.