In the corner of my living room, two feet from where I sleep, is the closest thing I have to an alter. My sacred space.

There's a funky mirror my friend made from an old four-pane window. Pictures of my kids. A little card with a cartoon cat that says "See the Humor." Pencil sketch of a head with a tree growing from the hair. The red ceramic heart that came attached to my red ceramic LOVE mug. Vase full of peacock feathers my girls found camping. A framed poem my mom gave me about free spirits. And a card I bought for myself.

It's a Rilke quote, the card. If haven't read Ranier Maria Rilke, hit your local library. Click on Amazon. Go to Powells.com, whatever.

I read the card everyday:

"I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."

I want to interpret, share this AHA moment with you about how I get what he's saying, finally. But those answers are just my answers.

I love having this space for "contemplating." Here is where we are doing it. Living our questions. Without even noticing it, I believe, like Rilke, we'll all live into our answers.

My friend Lori — the coordinator of the Wit program in California, called me after the program's luncheon a few days ago. She told me that the letter I wrote really tied into the afternoon well, and that those in attendance enjoyed it immensely.

Here are the highlights of the letter I submitted — very good things to keep in mind — for me and for everyone:

I remember that my life as it stands is of my choosing, and that I would have it no other way.

Losing yourself while (ironically) trying to find yourself is a very real possibility. It is easy to get wrapped up in "the process" to the point where you forget why you've even set out in the first place.

These are the times when is it absolutely necessary to take a step away from things, close your eyes, breathe and reconnect with your inner self — you know, that thing that gets tucked away in the back of your mind and taken for granted whenever there's some obnoxiously prevalent matter to attend to.

Hold on to your core, to your convictions, your integrity, your humility. Never lose sight of your reasons for doing what you do, and never allow someone to question who you are to the point where you begin to question yourself. Holding on to these principles will at least give you a place to retreat to at the end of the day.

Turns out I had no problems finding my words at all.

There is this hot little Italian named Bertazzoni. She is my friend's new best friend. Cooking. It's a great way to begin a relationship. It's a great way to help heal old wounds.

She cooks. Regularly. And now that her new hot little Italian has arrived, airfreight from the Old Country, she promises mouth watering delicacies that will, as she says, change me forever.

It has lots of knobs. She's still reading the manual, but she doesn't want to rush it. She tells me that she wants to understand exactly what happens and why it happens and how it happens. She can do this with her Bertazzoni.

It's a $12,000 gas stove. But to call it a "stove" is to demean this invaluable 48-inch stainless steel warm, ready to perform piece of artistry. She had a brother in the gas industry so she got the stove for half price, plus shipping and handling from the "Old Country."

I came to her home today to see it.

It moved me. Six burners, and each different dependent on the goal of the chef. One for bringing water to boil almost instantaneously. One for a slow, steady heat that will gradually take your entrée up to the perfect temperature and consistency. One that provides a way to almost double boil.

There is no husband like a Bertozzoni. No man will ever understand our need for the perfect temperature, for the perfect weight and height and stiff endurance in the good times and the bad. No, no man can compete.

Cook.

I am a woman in a very small kitchen with an ancient electric stove that offers little solace for me, but I manage to create my famous enchiladas and lasagna and even the crust less cinnamon and powdered sugar dusted French toast.

I don't have a Bertozzoni. I have a crappy $200 Kenmore, but it will do.

My ex and I went to see a show together recently. We do that. We date, we see each other, and then we each go to our respective homes. We had a great time, too.

While we were at the show, we met a friend of ours — and he had a new girlfriend with him. She couldn't have been more than 20, and he was in his late 30s. More power to him, I say.

The next day, though, my ex and I were discussing how young the girl was and how we felt about people who date younger people. I expressed a little bit of surprise at the difference in ages between our friend and his girlfriend. My ex pointed out there was 10 years' difference between us. Nothing wrong with that.

Then he said, "The problem isn't that people date younger people. The problem is that no one seems to be able to keep a girlfriend. Why is that?"

He was right. Men in our area who divorce do try to find new relationships. None of them stick. They find a woman and a few months later, they're with someone new. They can't seem to find a stable relationship that lasts.

"I admire us, you know," he went on thoughtfully. He said that despite our history, our breakup, and the fact that we don't live together any more, we're mature enough to work at keeping our relationship alive because we love each other.

We talk. We find ways around our differences. We're learning what works and what doesn't. We're each trying to find a way to be a couple, no matter how hard it is sometimes.

Being a couple is work. A relationship isn't a discardable commodity when people have differences. They find solutions if they want to be together. They work out their issues. They talk. They resolve the problems.

There's nothing wrong with playing the field, either. But to me, that just shows someone isn't serious about commitment or hasn't figured out what's important to them.

Now that I have turned in my thesis, I rather miss it.

Yes, I am a masochist.

There is something to be said about the level of discomfort experienced at various times in a person's life — it reminds you that you are in fact, alive.

Honestly, I think it has more to do with the fact that the process of writing, which has helped me to figure out where my niche lies, and what avenue might mead to a fulfilling and stimulating career path. I love theory, research, data and network analysis, and writing.

I am a nerd. Let's move on.

Though this last year has been stressful because of this process, it has helped me learn about myself, and my limits. It has also given me an insight to what it really means to be dedicated to a career that you love — more than for the sake of it paying your rent. I am very grateful to the process, and to the people that helped me navigate through the tough times.

I also came to realize that it was not the thesis that had me wrapped as much as it was that I had to deal with the other things in life that monopolized my time.

But that's — unfortunately — what life is about. We all have to learn to deal with everything that our lives encompass, whether we want to or not. It's not always about doing what we love — we have to deal with it all.

I've been thinking about Rob's and my past a lot lately. Dating him was fun.

He was a great comfort, maybe because he presented solutions to my biggest problems. I felt isolated and a bit depressed; he helped strengthen my connection to mutual friends. I was living paycheck to paycheck; he fronted me cash when things got tight. I craved a love connection; he was available, and horny as hell.

Indeed, before dating, in the very beginning, what is now a quagmire was just pure and simple lust.

Rob was in the midst of a rash of one-night stands when we hooked up. I didn't know this, and expected a repeat performance. He complied, but it didn't evolve quickly enough for me.

Rather than building a connection, we just sort of repeated the one-night stand. I tired of meeting for what was only pre-sex drinks. "Whoa," I said, and announced I was done unless we added dinner or a movie to the agenda. He balked, and I figured that was the end of it.

Instead, Rob called a few days later to ask me out to a movie. He was probably just giving me what I wanted so he could get an easy fix. (He says he doesn't remember.)

In any case, I so desperately sought validation then that I took his invitation as a declaration of intention. He heard me, I thought. I had been deemed worthy of attention beyond the bedroom. We started dating.

Of course, dating gave way to marriage, and along the way the sex waned and now we have none at all. What is a confused marriage could have been a cherished memory of a fun fling, no strings attached.

I wonder if my self-love were enough back then, would I not have caved to his too-little, too-late attention, and would I have left it at that?

Somebody made a comment on one of my blog posts yesterday that said, "Faith, can you please make up your mind...Are you in or out of this whole thing? Get a life and move on or stay in the blog and be miserable."

Of course, this comment was meant to be nasty and hurtful, and of course just like every other comment of its kind, it was signed by a "guest." I have a feeling said "guest" is Levi, or his other ex, or one of his other minions. In any case, that doesn't matter. What got me thinking was the subject line of the comment: "Making me dizzy."

Exactly.

I feel dizzy, all the time. I feel like I've been running in circles for the last year and a half. I feel dizzy with stress, dizzy with anger, dizzy with sadness, and dizzy with disappointment.

I don't want any of this.

I would love for things to be normal, for things to be better. I would be overjoyed if Levi would take responsibility as far as his son is concerned. I would love it if we didn't have to go to court. Hey, maybe then I could even get one of those "lives" you speak of!

And I did run circles around that decision. I actually have quite a few issues with the family court system that make me not want to take any part in it.

To start with, I don't agree with pumping my money into a system that doesn't have my best interest in mind. I feel that they actually hope that people won't do the right thing. Why? Because if we all did the right thing, they wouldn't have jobs. If everyone paid their child support there would be no need for child support enforcement. There would be no need for family court judges, family court lawyers, etc.

Getting a settlement is handy. Since Jake owns a company, since the company is lucrative, since we were married for 10 years, and since he's not an asshole, mine is a decent one. More than decent, really. Because giving me what we determined is "my share" all at once would effectively close his company down, our arrangement is spread over the next five years.

This means that I can afford to stay in San Francisco. This means that I have some money to invest against the day the payments stop. This means I don't have to panic about money for the next little bit.

This also means that he and I are tied for the next five years.

I didn't want any money from him when we split. It felt wrong, somehow. It felt icky. I didn't want the tie. I'm rational enough to take it, but we're still in a relationship this way. This necessitates communication. There's a monthly reminder. It's a connection I don't like having.

Sometimes I wonder if the complete and absolute freedom would be worth it. But this money means that I am having a far, far, far easier time of it than other women in the same situation. With all I have to worry about, paying my bills is not, for the moment, one of them. So I feel enormously guilty for the bad feelings I have.

How do I not feel guilty for resenting this? How do I accept this help while hating the ties it makes and keeps?

Where I live, out in Oregon, it's about an hour to the ocean and not much more to get 7,000 feet up Mt. Hood. It's one of the reasons I always say I'm here, but I don't go either of those places very often.

When I do, it's the drive, the getting there, I love as much as the being there. I love the journey at least as much as the destination. The unexpected.

You wind along miles of mountain road, two lanes, nothing but trees and sky, then around some bend, a viewpoint. There it is, everywhere you've been and some of where you're going, rolling peak by peak, as far as you can see.

There's a point in separation, at least in my separation, like that. Miles of winding and climbing, nothing but work and groceries, cooking meals and wiping butts, then vision.

Around some bend, an unexpected overlook, and I can see everything. It's breathtaking.

The whole road and all the steps behind, spread out in the view.

That woman, way back there at the start of the path, the one holding up her exhausted self with the stroller she's pushing. I see her.

So tired she can barely step, and it's close to dinner time and nothing's cooked and she can't spend one more minute alone with two kids in her tiny apartment. It's dinner time and she's pushing a stroller to the coffee shop. She's crying. Wants to lie down on the sidewalk.

She'll be okay. I want to tell her, but I know now she knew then. She'll be okay.

She'll find the rhythm, start getting the kids to school on time, even enjoy being the only grown-up at dinner.

For all the miles of nothing but trees in sight, she'll come round to this overlook.