I Got a Blister!

A blister! From raking those stupid leaves! And you know what really pisses me off? Most of those stupid leaves were from my neighbor's oak tree! Stupid, annoying neighbor and his stupid, annoying oak tree!

I hate the yardwork part of being a homeowner. OK, the mowing I don't mind so much. I honestly kind of enjoy it. Raking leaves...not so much. I'm putting a leaf blower on my Christmas list!

Sick Day...Not Part of the New Plan

So I'm home sick today. Normally, I wouldn't take a sick day because I hate to feel like I'm missing something at work, but seeing as I am done for the term (have I mentioned that I begin a month-long vacation on the 1st?), I felt OK about leaving work at noon. Of course, now that I'm home, I'm thinking of all the things I should be doing here; so I'm trying to get to where I feel like going out and raking leaves. Ahhh...the joys of home ownership!

I bought this house back in the summer. After the big break-up, I moved into a great apartment, but when they put a notice under my door that they were about to raise my rent, it occurred to me that I could probably have a house payment that didn't run me any more than my rent. So without any real thought about the matter (no number-crunching, no credit checks, no nothing), I went online and started browsing the local listings. I found this house within 15 minutes. From the pictures, you could tell that it was well cared for and loved by whomever lived here. On a whim, I clicked the "e-mail for more info" button, and 2 months later I was moving in. When I signed the contract, I had a very brief "oh shit" moment, but once I closed, I never looked back. It is the perfect house for me, and when I leave, I will miss it.

It's 70-some-odd years old. There are 3 bedrooms and only 1 1/2 baths, but then I'm only one person. The interior doors are all original, and they are still fitted with their original glass doorknobs. The floors creak like crazy, but that's just part of the house's charm. The best part: the kitchen has a double oven! Granted, I don't cook or bake much, but when I do, how great is that double oven?!

This beautiful little house has turned me into a complete neat freak. If you had seen my apartment, you would never believe that, but it's true. I don't leave dishes lying around the kitchen. I don't leave clothes piled on furniture in my bedroom. I don't leave mail stacked on the counter. I don't even leave my remote control out on the coffee table! I am a reformed slob. I think it's because this house is mine. I didn't have pride in my apartments or even in Burt's house because they weren't mine. But this place is mine, and I want to care for it and love it as much as the people who lived here before me did.

Yes, I will miss it when I leave, whenever that may be.

The New Plan

What the Seattle trip taught me was that, at 20-11 years old, my life isn't over. There are still plenty of great adventures to be had. Yes, I'm a little behind. Yes, it's true that I wasted a lot of good years. Yes, my focus was a little...well...out of focus for a while. But that doesn't mean that I can't live it up now. My dreams aren't dead; they've just been sidetracked. I did something uncharacteristically carefree and spontaneous when I decided to go to Seattle (or at least as spontaneous as something can be when it requires a flight reservation). I took a chance. I spent a little money and flew across the country, and I ended up finding myself.

So now I'm trying to find myself a new place in the world. OK, here's the part that would make my mother have a stroke if I divulged my plans to her...I am absolutely ready to quit my job at a moment's notice and pick up and move if the opportunity presents itself. Yes, I know...the whole opportunity-presenting-itself thing hardly seems spontaneous. Spontaneous is quitting a job and moving even if the opportunity hasn't presented itself, but let's not get TOTALLY carried away here. But whereas before my search only took me as far as D.C. (where my sister lives) and was only a half-hearted, wistful notion, my new search is wide open. I'll go anywhere. I'll do anything. Well, I'll go anywhere but Arkansas or Kansas. Or either of the Dakotas. And I'll do anything so long as its within the federal system so I don't have to take another bar exam. (Now I'm really ruining my new-found rep for being spontaneous.) The point is, I'm going to actually work toward accomplishing those goals I set for myself in college. I'm going to make every effort to get out of this rut that I've been in for too many years.

Maybe things won't work out. Maybe I'll discover that I'm "here" for a reason. Maybe I'll find that God has some plan for me "here." But then maybe I'll find everything that I've ever dreamed of...

Thank you, Seattle!

"Here" is probably not as bad as it seems to me. I mean, if you grew up "here," you probably think it's a pretty swell place. If you went to college "here," this place probably holds a lot of fond memories for you. If you came "here" from a foreign country and know nothing of the United States except "here," well, then you simply wouldn't know any better. But I'm not from "here," I didn't go to school "here," and I'm not an immigrant or a status-challenged alien. So for me, "here" is hell.

There is a pall that hangs over "here." You can tell that, at some point in its history, it was a magical place swelling with money and culture and activity. It was a railroad town, then a steel town. The downtown "here" was lined with glorious department stores and grand hotels and beautifully gilded theaters. This was probably one of the places to be at some point in time. But the railroad has gone the way of the dodo, and the steel mills have been abandoned and loom on the edge of town like shadowy ghosts. The department stores are now neatly configured in a suburban shopping mall, the old hotels have been turned into office spaces and seedy apartments, and the theaters have fallen into disrepair as they have been put out of business by stadium-seat multiplexes. Once-bustling streets are now busy only on the lunch hour. Once-remarkable facades are now pocked with empty show windows and graffiti.

It's all very depressing, and it seems to mock my life. It's as if "here" is laughing at me..."You belong here -- your dreams are as dead as this town!" I go through these periods when I feel sorry for myself and wallow in the nothingness of my goals. But then, when I come back around, I think, "You did this! You made this bed!" And I start to wonder...can't I unmake it?

I recently went to Seattle for a long weekend. A friend of mine asked me to go. Actually, she wanted me to meet a guy who she thought I would really hit it off with, but that's another story. Anyway, when she first asked me to go, I said no. I didn't even think about it; I just said no. There were a million reasons not to go...I shouldn't spend the money, it's a bad time at work, I don't have time, I'd have to miss a home football game (at my alma mater), blah, blah, blah. But then one night, when I was out for one of my too-regular Friday night dinners with my friends and bemoaning the rut into which I had fallen, I decided that I should go. I needed to go. So I went. And I loved it. I loved everything about Seattle...the easy-going pace (although for a life-long east-coaster it was a tad annoying at times), the clean air, the beautiful vistas across Elliott Bay, the food, the people, the fact that there was no smoking anywhere (a minor detail, but a nice feature). So when it came time to leave, I didn't want to. I honestly contemplated not getting on the plane to come back. Obviously, I did. I had to. But it has inspired me to try to take my life back, and I am currently working on my escape plan...

Nothing Worked Out as I Had Planned

OK, so I know what I just said about living your life by a plan you make when you're 18...blah, blah, blah. But there's nothing wrong with looking back at some of the goals you set for yourself when you were 18. So that's what I did after I awoke from my relationship coma, and I realized that my solitary focus on the whole marriage/family thing had led me to forget a lot of the other goals I had set for myself.

I won't even pretend that, at 18, I knew precisely what career goals I wanted to pursue. I didn't. I mean, I had a major (biology), and it sort of followed that I would probably end up going to med school after that, but I never thought, "I will be a doctor." Of course, I also never thought, "I will be the COO of a Fortune 500 company," or "I will be a professor," and I sure as hell never thought, "I will be a lawyer." My career goals were more general: "I will be successful and admired by my peers." (Wow...my goals completely lacked focus!) I imagined that whatever I did, I would have an assistant and a fabulous desk, and my work would have an impact on the world around me. Those were my career goals.

My lifestyle goals were equally simple: I wanted to live in or near a mid-sized city, most likely Pittsburgh (close to family). I wanted to have a tight-knit circle of friends (much like the television show which seemed to define my college years) who I would go to trendy bars and shows and dinner parties with. I wanted to explore museums and eat lunch in a beautiful green park. I wanted to travel on the weekends and learn how to golf. And, of course, somewhere in there would be a husband and 3 incredibly well-mannered and gorgeous children.

None of that happened. I work in a state job which I like but which does not afford me success (at least not in the traditional, measurable sense) or admiration of peers. I have a decidedly unfabulous desk, which I tagged out of surplus; and I do all of my own typing and take all of my own phone calls. And, of course, my work does not really impact the world (which is why you've never heard of me).

Worse yet, I live in a very small, dying city (45,000) in one of the more economically and culturally depressed states in the country. There are no trendy bars, no Broadway shows, no dinner parties, no museums, and no beautiful green parks in which to eat my lunch. I rarely travel, and I still don't know how to play golf.

Why is this my lot in life? My dear, haven't you been paying attention? It's because of the tunnel vision. Believe me, had I not been so focused on trying to maintain that relationship, I would have left this town four years ago and moved off to some (at least semi) fabulous city, like Washington, D.C., or Chicago, or even Lexington. But no, I'm here...

The Moment of Clarity

For four and a half years, I had let myself continue in a loveless relationship, and for what? Because I felt pressured to live my life according to some plan I had developed as a freshman in college?! When the dust had settled and it was all said and done, I looked back on the last several years and thought, "How could I have been so stupid?" I would've married Burt! I would've married Burt, and right now I would be writing a blog about how unhappy I am in my loveless, sexless marriage. I'm so embarrassed to even admit that, but it's true.

But I'm on the other side now, and I can honestly appreciate how ridiculous that chapter of my life was. Don't get me wrong, it took me a while to get there. Almost immediately after the break-up...OK, IMMEDIATELY after the break-up, I started thinking about how I could find someone new to get my life plan back on track. I even signed up for one of those online dating sites (not that there's anything wrong with that). My stomach would turn every time I thought about my hrmphrmphrm birthday on the horizon, and I vowed that I would find a new "love" soon. But it didn't happen. (Have I mentioned yet that the dating pool in this town is actually more of a puddle than a pool?)

Six months after the break-up, I finally met someone, in a bookstore of all places. He was nice, and he was pretty cute. He gave me his card and asked for my number. We went out for coffee, which turned into dinner, which turned into a second date. He was perfect on paper, but something wasn't clicking. And the weirdest thing occurred to me...I wasn't interested in him, and I wasn't trying to be interested in him. See, always before, I was so focused on "the goal" that I would try to make whomever I happened to be with the perfect fit. That's how I'd ended up losing nearly five years of my life to Burt. But this time was different. I was simply going with the flow. And when it ended six weeks later, that was OK with me. I had finally broken through to the other side!

I could hardly believe my newfound sensibility, but there it was. With a new sense of purpose and clarity, I began to look toward other facets of my life -- career, residence, contributions to society -- and I saw a new problem. Forget the whole marriage-and-family-by-30 plan...my whole life was lagging behind!

The Second (and Final) Break-Up

About three weeks after our incredibly lovely weekend away, Burt began to pull away. He started working later into the evening, and he began spending an extra day on his out-of-town business trips. (No, I know what you're thinking, but at the time I didn't see it.) When he was at home with me, he couldn't look me in the eye. He wouldn't hug me. He would either sleep on the couch or wait until I was asleep before he came to bed. He would mope around the house and seemed nervous all the time.

I begged him to tell me what was going on, but he kept saying, "Let's not talk about it right now." This went on for eight weeks. And for eight weeks, I tried my damnedest to snap him out of whatever was eating him up. I was extra kind to him. I tried to be more affectionate toward him. I tried not to criticize or nag him. Nothing worked. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I begged him to please say it, whatever it was that was on his mind. He said, "I don't think we should get married." There it was.

All at once I felt this surge of emotion: anger, sadness...and relief. One of the first thoughts that popped into my head was, "Nice, asshole! You know, you can't return a wedding dress!" My relationship was ending (again), and THAT was my first thought. I asked him why he had asked me to marry him in the first place, and he said he didn't know. I asked him why we hadn't had sex in three years, and he said he didn't know. I asked him if there was someone else, and he said no. I got up from the bed and said, "I have to find someplace else to live."

That night I didn't sleep. But my thoughts weren't about the end of our relationship; they were about the end of this chapter of my life. My friends were our friends, and so that would be awkward. All the things I had done as one-half of a couple...charity balls, dinner parties, business retreats...now I was the odd woman out. Our weekend trips away; over. Having someone -- anyone -- to share a bed with night after night; no more. And the wedding! I had spent over $1200 already on the wedding! Oh no...I'd have to tell my parents. How do you start that conversation?

The next day I packed a bag and went to my sister's house to hide out while I tried to regroup. As she and I talked about my relationship with Burt, she began to express that she had had concerns all along. Apparently, everyone had. That made me defensive, and I started to think that I wanted Burt back in my life just on principle, to prove my family wrong. But I returned home two days later to find that nothing had changed, and my relationship with Burt was irretrievable. I told my parents. I'll spare you the details of the next few weeks, but it was much like any grieving process.

That was July. By November, I was just beginning to put it all behind me when I discovered that Burt had already met and begun dating another woman before he and I broke up. She was a business acquaintance. The hurt and humiliation re-opened the wound, and the grieving process began again. (I know, I know...I should have seen it from the beginning. But to be honest, it never occurred to me that anyone else in the western world could be interested in Burt. Not even I was attracted to him, and I was going to marry him!)

A year later, though, I am safely on the other side. It has now been six years since I first met Burt. I don't suppose I regret the relationship altogether, but I certainly regret that it dragged on as long as it did. We should never have reconciled after the first break-up, which was long overdue. More than that, though, I regret that I found myself in this situation (4 and a half wasted years) because I was so obsessed with a marital plan that I formed when I was eighteen years old. I honestly believed that it was better to be with someone -- even someone I didn't love -- than to be alone and childless.

In the meantime, I had let other facets of my life pass me by. I didn't pursue certain career goals because I was in a relationship with Burt. I didn't pursue certain personal goals because I was in a relationship with Burt. I let old friendships fade away because I was in a relationship with Burt. But I had learned a very important lesson: Happiness and success are not measured in rigid and ridiculous timelines that we set for ourselves as children. Life has to be more flexible than that, or we find ourselves in ugly situations.

OK, so now what?

You Break-Up for a Reason

Burt was absolutely gobsmacked. He started rattling things off about how he had changed his mind -- he did want to marry me, and he did want to have kids. He told me that he loved me. He said he didn't want us to end our relationship. Blood rushed to my head and my ears started ringing. I didn't know what to do. He was finally saying the things I needed him to say to get my life back on track, but at the same time, I knew that it still wasn't right. He was acquiescing because he didn't want to be alone, not because he wanted to be with me.

"No," I said, "this is what we need to do. It's too late. It's just too late." He cried and begged me not to leave. I tried to explain why it was over. I had practiced this speech for weeks, and I felt almost relieved to be finally saying it out loud to him. It was heart-wrenching, but liberating. Tears filled our eyes, and we finally sat silent. I got up to leave, and he followed me to the kitchen. As I took his apartment keys off my keyring, he sunk into a chair and sobbed. As sad as the scene was, I couldn't cry anymore. I just heaved a sigh of relief, gave him a hug, then left.

A few days later, we exchanged "stuff." He asked me to come back, but I said no. For weeks, we exchanged phone calls -- each one ending in tears, but each one ending with me standing my ground. I felt good, and in the meantime, Connor and I were re-connecting over the phone. That was March.

In April, Burt and I decided to try to do the "friends" thing. I took him as my guest to a speech the President was giving at the local University. We hung out casually at the bar where we had met. We talked on the phone regularly. But I knew all along...I was letting myself be drawn back in. Connor and I, in the meantime, had discovered that we really didn't have that much in common. Our phone calls were less and less frequent, and we eventually stopped calling each other altogether.

In May, Burt had a minor out-patient surgery. I offered to take him to the hospital for the procedure and then stayed with him that day to make sure he didn't need anything. That was the day that we unofficially got back together. That is, we didn't ever actually sit down and say, "So, let's give this another try;" it just sort of followed.

From the very beginning, it felt wrong. People break up for a reason. Burt and I broke up for a reason. We simply weren't compatible. We wanted different things in life. And, most importantly, we weren't in love with each other. He felt that it was wrong, too, I could tell. But he had his "plus one" again, and my life plan was back on track, so we muddled through.

I made it clear from the very beginning (or the second beginning) that I would not wait long for a ring. I wanted a commitment from him, and I wanted it soon. He balked at first, but in August we moved into a new house together. And on a cold, crisp night in November, we were engaged.

I should've been happy. I should've been excited. I wasn't. I knew deep down that it was a huge -- HUGE -- mistake. You don't marry someone you aren't in love with! Things won't get better; they can only get worse. As Bill Pullman said in "Sleepless in Seattle," marriage is hard enough without bringing such low expectations into it. Yet I moved on with the charade. I bought a wedding gown and veil. I started planning the reception and picking bridesmaid dresses. I ordered favors for the guests.

In an odd sort of way, Burt and I both accepted our fate. We actually began to grow closer. I tried so hard to be a better girlfriend to him, and he tried to be a better boyfriend to me. We showed more affection for one another, but it never rose to the level of intimacy. We were close friends, but that was the end of it. I had committed to marry Burt, though, and I would follow through with that commitment...and with the commitment I had made to myself to have a family by the time I was 30.

In April, we went out-of-town for a weekend trip. At one point, Burt turned to me, put his hand on my hand, looked into my eyes, and said, "You know, I love our life. I think we have it pretty good. And I love you." I smiled and absorbed his words and said, "I love you, too." I thought to myself, "OK, this is it. This is the turning point, and we can make this work." Just a few weeks later, everything changed.