I always wanted a ring. It didn't have to be fancy. It didn't have to have diamonds or cost a fortune. I just wanted the symbolic gift of something I could hold in my hand.

I did get a ring, once. My first ex proposed with a ring he'd bought on my credit card. Since I paid for the thing, I kept it, even after we split up. It'll make a nice memento for my daughter one day.

But I never got a ring from my second ex. I'd asked, too. Nothing. I wonder why that is. Did he fear the commitment a ring symbolized? Did a ring carry less meaning and thus was often forgotten?

I gave my ex a ring for his birthday last year. I'm not sure why I did; it clearly meant more to me than to him, but they say that the best gifts are those that come from the heart. It was a silver worry ring with an endless braid running around it.

He seemed to enjoy it. He wore it that weekend at a fishing trip, making sure to place his hand in the light to attempt drawing attention. When people didn't really notice, he made sure they did and proudly (and charmingly shyly) mentioned I'd given it to him.

But he didn't wear the ring all the time. His job involves a lot of dirt, and he'd take the ring off to keep it both clean and safe so that he didn't accidentally lose it.

Murphy's law. Sure enough...

"I can't find the ring you gave me," he mentioned this weekend. He'd looked everywhere. He didn't look frantic as he shared the news, though, just a little puzzled.

I have to admit that I was hurt. I guess that ring meant more to me than I realized. I did want to be married one day. I did want someone to commit to me forever. I did want someone to care about me that much that the person would take the steps to be a solid couple.

I wanted the Cinderella story. What I got was everyday real life. Oh well.

"It'll turn up somewhere," I said.

I remember the exact moment I realized that things might not work out with my husband.

We had been married a couple of years. His job had moved us away from our family and friends, but we were back in town for his friend's wedding. The trip corresponded with my birthday and I was excited to celebrate it with all our old pals.

My husband and I had an agreement that he would get to spend a bunch of time with his friends and I would spend a bunch of time with mine. His friends preferred video games and drinking beer while my friends liked going out dancing and enjoying the nightlife. It's not that our friends didn't intermingle, but it was definitely a situation where the guys hung out with the guys, and the girls hung out with the girls.

The morning of my birthday my husband took off with his friends. He was gone all day long. I didn't have anyone to spend time with during the day because all my friends were at work so when I asked him to carve some time out of his day for me, he got really defensive.

"You said I could hang out with my friends as much as I wanted!" he argued.

Yes, I had encouraged him to spend time with his friends during the vacation, but I guess I figured that maybe my birthday might be cause for some time together. I didn't even care if he had invited me along with whatever they were all doing that day. I just didn't want to sit alone on my birthday.

Silly me.

Late that night he came back to the hotel with his friends and a cake from a grocery store bakery. They all stood around me and sang "Happy Birthday" in a way that tipped me off that all these guys knew I was mad at my husband, and they all thought I was a typical hysterical female. Have you ever heard "Happy Birthday" sung by five very unenthusiastic men who wanted to be somewhere else? It's not pretty.

Money, the image that money brings, meant a lot to Jake. I couldn't get a bookshelf or a pair of shoes without checking in first - I would have gotten a look, a comment, a day of silence. A plane ticket to see a friend for the weekend, that was out of the question. We didn't have the money to spend it recklessly.

The thing was, we did have the money. And when Jake wanted something, he would get it. He was an impulse furniture buyer. He bought a $300 humidor on whim.

He thought that, because he made more than I did, financial decisions should be his. He was uncomfortable with feeling this way, he tried to pretend he didn't, but he did.

I have mixed feelings about money. If there's not a cushion in my bank account, I get nervous. My cat might need surgery again. My car might fall apart. I want to be prepared. And, for the most part, I don't spend a lot. I don't like shopping. I don't have expensive taste in anything.

But I want to see my friends, and I'm willing to throw down for a plane ticket to do so. If I have the freedom and ability to travel, I want to do so — I might not be able to later. If that means carrying some debt around for a couple of months, so be it. I don't want to be irresponsible, but I also don't want to give everything up. So I try to balance.

I definitely have less money now that I'm divorcing. I have to watch things, especially since I have to guard against the day my settlement payments stop. But I love that I can take a class if I want to and not have to justify it to anyone. I can go on vacation. I can get a bookshelf.

I used to wonder about couples that had been together for years but still kept separate bank accounts. Now, I see the appeal. I don't know how willing I'd be to get back into shared finances. This way, I know exactly where everything is, and my choices about what to do with what I have are mine alone.

As if I didn't have enough going on already, I decided to add more to my plate. Something major.

I've decided to go to school. I've wanted to learn cinematography and film production for quite some time, and now I'm finally going to do it.

I stumbled across the program a few months ago while doing some research on the Internet. Of course, like anything of its kind, it's pretty expensive. However, they had some information on the site pertaining to grants and other sources of financial aid so I decided to go for it, and I applied.

It was a daunting application complete with questions like "Why should we give this money to you?" and "Explain your commitment and desire to be in the film program." The last question was an essay. I did the best that I could — it took me all day — and sent it on it's way. I didn't get my hopes up, though.

So I was shocked when I received the letter that I had been selected for not one, but two grants. They cover the cost of attendance and then some. I'm also taking out a few student loans so that I can spend more time focusing on this.

I enrolled in the accelerated summer program, so that I can start earlier, cram a bunch in, therefore finishing quicker. I always have enjoyed moving fast.

This is going to be great. It's going to give me something to focus on, something more important than Levi and all of his bullshit. There are some fabulous classes that are going to provide me with excellent opportunities for creativity. And I'm going to learn how to do something that I know that I will love doing.

Classes start May 19. I can't tell you how excited I am to finally be doing something good for myself.

Lindsay knows exactly what to do when a friend is getting divorced. She doesn't press. She doesn't pester with questions. She doesn't fill the space with reassurances or aspersions - she allows silence. She allows time. She knows that what's needed is normality.

At the same time, she'll let you that, anytime you need, it, you can call her and she'll drive out and spend the day with you, or the afternoon, or the hour. She'll take you to lunch, she'll go to a movie, she'll just sit with you so you're not alone.

When you move to a new place, she's the one that will spend the first night with you so you're not alone, making the weekend into a party instead of a chore, keeping any of it from being sad. She'll unpack boxes. She'll organize your closet and your kitchen.  

She is, in short, an invaluable friend. 

The other reason to look to Lindsay is that she has a marriage that makes me rethink my certainty that relationships can't last. Years in, she and her husband are still in love, still happy, still right for each other. They make room for each other's lives while still sharing them. They compromise. They talk. They are each other's best friends, and they still make out.  

There are people like this in the world. There are relationships like that out there. This is good to remember. 

"Rake over there!" My ex pointed to a patch about 100 feet from where I'd decided to amuse myself with old leaves. I bristled almost immediately.

"I'll rake where I please," I answered, lifting my chin a little.

It's a backlash effect, a reaction to the way things used to be. There was no reason for me to be upset. My daughter and I had come to the country to have a nice day in the sun with Dad, and we were all in a good mood. My ex hadn't meant for it to sound like an order; he was just telling me which area needed raking the most.

But I can't stand being told what to do. The last eight years of our relationship were full of control and possession, and I'm afraid I wasn't the one running the show.

My ex was extremely controlling. He told me who I could see and when. He would time my outings down to the last minute and explode if I was home late — even when it was just a grocery run or I'd been held up by a slow tractor on the road.

I don't blame him. He operated out of fear of losing control. He knew things were rocky. He loved me, I loved him, but we were so mentally separated from each other that he felt he had no other way to hang onto me.

So he'd rule with an iron fist (thank god not literally) and I would comply to his every wish in the hopes of accomplishing peace and affection. I dropped all my friends. I did what he wanted. I went where he told me. After a while, it became too much trouble to even go out.

For a long time, I lived in fear. He scared me. I felt worn down and beaten. I was tired. I was afraid to leave and needed to leave like the desert needs rain. I thought if I told him I wanted out that he would hurt me.

But I did it and he didn't do it.

Now, we live apart and love together. We're a couple under two roofs. We have our bad times still, but we have good times more often — enough to make it worth it.

Once, in college, my friend Danielle and I were having a bad couple of days, so we decided to count our blessings. We wrote down everything from "We have legs" to "We know how to say ‘Where is Stresa?' in Italian." It helped. I still have the list.

Getting divorced sucks all around. We all know this. But falling to the absolute bottom of the pit means that, as you climb out, you realize afresh just what you've got. As much time as I've spent over the last year and half curled up in a sad little ball on my couch, as lonely as I've gotten, as hard as it was, there's something to be said for getting that wake up call as to how lucky you are. It's easy to forget, after all.

I have colleagues who planned and organized a two-day birthday party for me, so I wouldn't be alone the weekend my husband moved out.

I have friends like Lindsay, who spent the first weekend in my new apartment with me, mixing drinks and organizing my closet.

I have a family who wants nothing more than to hear updates about how my new-apartment-traumatized cat is curled up in a tragic little ball in the bathtub.

In addition, I've learned that:

I have the ability to move in to a new apartment on a Friday and be completely unpacked by Monday. With some help, yes - but still impressive.

I am capable of negotiating public transportation in another country without getting lost.

I can be completely, unequivocally content in my own company.

My new plan: remember all these things, all the time, so the universe doesn't feel the need to snack me upside the head about it. 
 


I have been holding back on showing everyone this, mostly because I used to be so thoroughly disgusted and humiliated by it. But today, I looked at it, and actually laughed.

That's when I decided to share it. I mean, who here doesn't need a good laugh, right? Here are the highlights:

He created this in October of 2006. I gave birth to our son in December of 2006. Nice guy, huh?

Okay, on with the laughs. For starters, I can't help but find it utterly hysterical, and somewhat pathetic that he chose the name Sexybeast0007. He could have done without the sexy, I will agree with him on the beast part, though. Next, he claims to be 39, yet he was 41 at the time; but then under the question "The best or worst lie I've ever told" he writes: I never lie.

Laugh on.

The fact that he says that he's single, and has brown hair, is notable, too, especially since he's bald — totally bald. Maybe his hair used to be brown? I guess that's up to his "lucky lady" to figure out.

The fact that he fails to mention that he has two children is disgusting.

Under "Why you should get to know me," you will truly understand, once and for all, what a narcissist this man is. In a paragraph of 30 words or less, I think he calls himself sexy and successful at least three times.

If after you've read all of this, and you've decided you have to date him, but you're upset because he calls himself "picky but worth it," have no fear: it appears that he doesn't have any real requirements for a woman...she just has to be between 22 and 35.

What a loser.

I'm bringing this to court with me. (I have the old version, where his picture was still up.) Mostly to prove that he considers himself to be a successful music and film agent, but also because he admits to using recreational drugs.

Yup, sometimes Levi is a giant moron. Laugh on.

While I like solitude, I have issues with silence. I like to have the TV on when I work. I play books on tape when I cook or clean or do dishes. I can do without, but there's an awful lot that goes on in my head and I prefer something else in the background.

In my marriage, silence meant a number of things. Early on, when things were good, silence was companionable — the quiet that came with being comfortable with each other. Later, silence meant we were running out of things to talk about. Eventually, silence meant that there was nothing left to say.

Jake was gone a lot, traveling, and he was gone for long, long periods of time. Silence during these absences came to mean a great deal. At first, we'd talk while he was away. Even if just a quick hello, or goodnight, we tried to connect, somehow, each day.

When we got to the point where days would go by without contact, that meant something. It meant we didn't want to talk. It meant it was better apart. It meant that, without proximity, we were rethinking.

The thing about having been married, you get into a lot of habits. And when that relationship is over, it's difficult not to make assumptions about a new relationship based on learned patterns. Thinking a few days of silence is a sign of trouble is a hard habit to break.

When your relationship is long distance, you don't have the daily check in of real life contact. And while I like the idea of being in a relationship that doesn't need daily assurance, that's secure with its reality, it's difficult not to second-guess when there's a several day stretch.

This is a recent revelation. One of those moments that makes me realize how very far I still have to go before I feel like I'm capable of having a relationship free of neuroses. At the same time, knowing what's behind that second-guessing makes quite a difference.

This time, this relationship, silence gets to mean something different.