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Awkwardly Amorous: The Pattern

It’s Wednesday. . . that middle of the road day. That’s the hump of the week we are all trying to make it over. My birthday is October 24, 1984, meaning I was born on a Wednesday. I live my life on the cusp of everything: the zodiac sign (Libra/Scorpio), being born to the child of a pastor and the child of an atheist simultaneously, Meyers Brigg (INFJ/ENFJ) and various other examples that have proven over a lifetime to me that I’m a balanced person. I’m one who likes to see all sides of things. I like patterns. So this Wednesday I have a story about patterns.

Life is a lot like a crochet pattern. You find yourself working on several pieces that don’t make sense.  You don’t know how they are all going to fit together until you sit triumphantly assembling the whole. The last year of my life has been spent working on the pattern of what my life was going to be after this divorce. See, what they don’t tell you about divorce. The reason why it is so difficult to overcome is that you’re dealing with two strangers: your former spouse, and your new self. I have been steadily working on the pattern for this past year, and now it is finally starting to take shape. The new me is beginning to make sense, and she is beautiful.

As I made my way home from work yesterday, I thought of how I had withdrawn over the last year. I kept a simple routine for the most part of home/work/home, and didn’t go out much. “It’s time,” I thought, “to get out there again. In the real world.” Thinking of this, I called a friend who has been with me through it all: the split, the tears, the court, the horror. He has a new love in his life. Love has not been kind to either of us in times past. I wonder if this could be because we live our lives in the kind of naked honesty that is almost unbearable for those who are not pure of heart in the same way.

As luck would have it, they are going to dinner that very night. Instead of us playing schedule tag for weeks, I make the left to the highway instead of the right to home.  We are laughing over drinks and old memories in no time.

Looking at the two of them in the restaurant, they are so perfectly in love. Not in the newly infatuated nauseating way.  In the way of comfy sweaters and cups of tea on a rainy day. This is a love that keeps you warm and dry while the storm wages war outside your window. They are together in the way that invites people in instead of making them feel left out. They’re the couple you see in the grocery store or the mall and they’re having so much fun together.  You can’t help but want to join them in their fun.

Sitting there a year later, thinking about the end of my relationship, and witnessing the beginning of his is the completion of the pattern. It all is coming together, and I’m beginning to understand why I had to take some of the shapes I took over these long, lonely months. I’ll never forget this year. The year I prayed for death but refused to die. The year despite my falling apart I managed to come magically together. That’s the pattern of my life. Could love be the next piece? Anything can happen on a Wednesday.

Until next time,


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