I left my neighborhood yesterday on a sunny, warm morning, every fiber of me calling beach! and as we will soon be living inland, I had to listed and head for the ocean. 10 minutes later, I arrived in another world, an ethereal fog. The ocean there but not there, surrounded by mist and the smell of salt. A magic eraser.
Much can be said for the need for self care during the process of separation. My quiet place is mostly about visuals. I have little control over my present surroundings, and so I count the days (forty-seven to go!), and pin, and pine, and plan my new space: light, uncluttered, and full of love and laughter.
Here is some of my inspiration:
The children in this picture are unaware. They are filled with promise. It’s an early spring evening, one of the first warm ones of the year. The air is sweet with the scent of newly opened buds. We are at the playground just a little longer than we should be as evening draws near. They are full of joy, and laughter, and openness.
What they are unaware of, is that in eight short weeks, their life will change forever. They will leave the small, cozy apartment they’ve lived in for the past three years, and board a plane headed several states over, and when they land, it will be into a very different world: a world where they have two separate families.
Six months earlier, during one of those conversations husbands and wives have, I asked their father what kind of a life he wanted for himself, and for us, as a family. His answer sent shockwaves: “I don’t know, but I don’t want it to be with you.” It hung there in the air, the fault lines immediately forming.
I can’t say I was completely surprised. For a long time, something felt wrong, and I just couldn’t put my finger on it. But I always assumed, whatever it was, we would face it and fight it together. That night, I began to realize that what I was trying to hold on to was not there.
What followed was quite surprising: there was, of course, hurt, rejection, and anger. But we still had something together: a strong commitment to the lives of two young boys. Somehow, through all the strong feelings, I decided to focus forward, on creating the life I wanted for me and the boys. And most surprising of all, to put aside strong feelings temporarily, and with the help of a very kind therapist, continue to live with the man who wanted to leave me. To continue to share a home with him for seven months.
To say it’s been an easy journey would be false. Its taken levels of restraint and acceptance I never knew I was capable of. An incredibly supportive and discreet small group of family and friends created the backbone without which this would not have been possible. But as spring fully takes hold in these parts, with five months behind me, and two short ones to follow, optimism is starting to occupy more and more space.
This journal has been an intermittent place for me to chronicle my creative and family life. I’ve always tried to keep it positive (perhaps that is why there are so few posts-it’s hard to positively chronicle unease.) But I’m going to allow myself to chronicle this new journey here. There have been many folks online whose inspiring lives and stories have been a comfort for me in this time, and maybe this story will someday bring comfort to someone else.
There are fifty-seven days left in this leg of the journey. On the other end of those fifty-seven days is a horizon filled with what I hope is endless possibility. There is a community that has already been so surprisingly welcoming, open, and supportive, that their love buoys me on those dark days that do still come.
And there are two boys, filled with joy, and open hearts.
Fickle friend Spring has been slow in coming this year to this northern spot. Only 2 weeks ago, I was grreted by a snowy scene as I waited on a train:
but just days after our first ritual spring feast
(let’s see if you can spot and identify our Passover lamb shank replacement:-)
the sun started poking out, as we readied for another celebration (once again, legos make an appearance, this time supervising prep for the easter bunny)
and just like that, Spring arrived, slowly peeking in…
I needed a little beauty today, so a road trip was in order. And the road brought me to the new(ish) outpost of Terrain. To say that the space is overwhelmingly magical is an understatement. So much lovely and well curated beauty, natural and hand made.
Peace isn’t a word usually associated with two energetic young boys. Cooped up inside, during a northeastern February–literally bouncing off the walls is more like it. (As evidenced by one hole in the drywall, 2 broken doorknobs, and many other more minor casualties around the house…)
Even the 2 year old has taken to greeting me with a snarl, a growl, or a “let’s fight mama!”
Flash forward to today: family yoga class, the boys and me, on three blue mats, in a warm, wood floored room, with a few other (more well behaved) families. Erase from your mind idyllic visions of me and my boys quietly and harmoniously moving through a series of centering and calming poses. There was very little listening, there was a lot of rolling on the floor, and riding mama like a horsey, and throwing a big pile of yoga blocks in the center of the room and building a tower, and other forms of mayhem.
So at the end of class, when my 6 year old raised his hand to answer the question: “what is peace?” I wasn’t prepared to hear his answer, clear and strong, and full of hope: “peace is when there’s no war, and everybody gets along.” And just like that, everything stopped. And there it was, for a fleeting moment, with him in my lap, and his brother leaning against me. Peace. It’s in there.
The past few months have been, how shall I say, challenging. I have been learning a lot about acceptance and understatement. And patience. And most of all, about friendship. The images below are from the homes of two of my inspirational friends, who have nurtured me with food, and tea, and open hearts. Lovely ladies, you are amazing.
