Are we having fun yet?
A story about divorce and sobriety and committing to lowering the wall around my heart to let others in.
Hi Midlifers:
How is your weekend? Mine has actually been quite lovely as I continue to make myself say “yes” to opportunities to connect. Even when I’m not so sure and my inner troll just wants to be at home alone with those walls she’s put up to keep others out firmly intact.
On Friday night, I walked over to my friends’ — a couple I have known since high school — to sit on their back patio and watch the Knicks game. I mean, mostly we gabbed, but every once in a while I did look over at the TV to check the score. I stayed until half time and then announced it was way past my bedtime and walked the five-minute stroll home to find my stressed-out son on the couch watching the game. When I woke up and saw the final score, I wondered if he had survived that stressful, last-minute win. He’s a passionate sports fan and his other teams — the Mets and the Giants — don’t always make it easy to keep his cool. His mental health really needs to Knicks to pull through.
On Saturday afternoon, I found myself back at the beach I kind of swore I’d never return to when I moved further south to a house a few blocks from another beach. I started going to that dead-to-me beach after my divorce got me ejected from the club where I’d raised my children and had so many fond memories. It was also kind of bougie — where beach boys would set up your chairs and umbrellas and you had a big locker where you’d keep all your other beach-day accoutrements. After the divorce, I followed my youngest kids’ friends’ moms (I called them the “Little Mommies”) to the public beach next door where I had to schlep all my chairs and umbrellas and boogie boards like a sherpa navigating a Himalayan mountain pass.
Mostly, it was me and my youngest kid sitting in that new circle of friends and without a more intact family around me, I felt untethered. Like a kite floating above the sand in the clear August sky.
And also, don’t get me started on the parking situation there. Unlike the fancy, tennis-whites-wearing club next door, the public beach parking lot would be full by 10 a.m. and then you’d have to try to get into the overflow lot a few blocks west to schlep your stuff even further (in fairness, there were lockers I could have availed myself of but for some reason never did).
Finally, when my kids were young, my in-laws would usually be down to the beach early to play tennis and would set up a line of chairs and umbrellas down along the water. I could just show up with my bag full of towels and cooler packed with sandwiches and juice boxes and unload for the day spent talking to my then-husband’s family and it was very pleasant (mostly).
Post-divorce, I usually hoped someone’s husband came down early to surf or drink coffee and nab some real estate close to the water so we could all keep our eyes on our boys who spent most of the day in the water on their boogie boards. I’d sit with all my mom friends and talk about what was going on in town and with our kids and put sunscreen on cheeks and shoulders and at the end of the day, our friend Susan would invariably pull some yummy homemade margaritas out of her cooler to share with all of us.
Since I moved south four years ago, I kind of lost touch with a lot of the girls, which often happens when lives start moving in different directions. You move out of a neighborhood or change jobs and — even though you swear it won’t happen — you start seeing each other less and less.
My son, however, has not had that experience. Even though my youngest kid has lived out of the town he grew up in for four years, he’s still close to his hometown posse. He gets together with them for poker nights and golfing and even went on a European adventure with (almost) the whole crew not long ago.
On Saturday, he was driving back to our old town to pre-game at one of the boys’ houses in the afternoon before heading down to the Parker House, the current Jersey Shore hot spot. His mood was pretty buoyant as he prepped to leave and, as such, suggested I reach out to his friend’s mom to see if she would like me to swing by and keep her company. “You can have mocktails,” he suggested.
It turns out, that friend was instead heading to that public beach I swore I’d never return to for a meetup with that OG mommy crew to play mahjong and did I want to come? I considered all the facts: Did I have a beach badge? No. Did I have a parking pass? No. Did I know how to play mahjong? No.
I thought about what traffic would look like in the middle of a beautiful Saturday in June. And I had some quick flashbacks about the parking.
And then I texted back, “I’d love to.”
It turns out, the 20-minute drive had minimal traffic and I found a front-row parking spot in the overflow lot. I’d done a lap around the block to look for street parking and the streets were still full at 2 p.m. But when I drove back past the lot, a car was pulling out of a prime spot and despite needing a permit to park there, I decided to take my chances. “I’m too old for this shit,” I thought and pulled into the spot.
One of my girls met me at the steps with a badge I could show to get in and she led me a table under the awning where I spent the next couple of hours watching the OG crew play mahjong and catching up. Oh, it was so good and easy. This gang was such a safe and welcoming place to land after my divorce 15 (!!) years ago and it felt so comfortable to sit with them for a few hours. I even had my first (heavily coached) mahjong win after one of the girls had to leave.
That luck continued when I got back to my car in the lot and took a picture of my ticket-free windshield to send to the girls to record my winning streak.
Earlier that day, I’d gone to my favorite recovery meeting where the topic at hand was the first of the 12 steps: "We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable." It’s really all about surrender. That’s how it was for me. It was such a relief to wave the white flag and give up the whole charade. To not have to give up so much brain space to booze. Since then, my life has changed in countless ways.
“The secret is trying to narrow it down to one and let go of the others,” one of the girls said. “Once you commit to one, you’ll see that everything starts to fall into place.”
I thought about that watching my friends pick the pretty tiles up from the bright blue mat and consider their options. Honestly, it is complicated trying to get tiles to align with specific patterns detailed on some card that changes annually. You try to align your 13 tiles to one of the patterns but sometimes you’ve got a few options you can be working toward.
“The secret is trying to narrow it down to one and let go of the others,” one of the girls said. “Once you commit to one, you’ll see that everything starts to fall into place.” And then we made a joke about the mahjong gods as one of the girls used a wooden stick to push a new line of tiles into the center of the mat.
Earlier that morning, I was driving around doing errands when I saw the car ahead of me swerve a little and then had just enough time to notice the small turtle crossing the double yellow lines of the road to also swerve a bit to avoid hitting it.
Right after passing her (clearly, she was a her) there was a stop sign and I had enough time waiting for everyone ahead of me to take a left that I could monitor the turtle’s progress across the second half of the road.
Listen, for as much as I know about turtles’ speed — their alleged snail’s pace (to borrow from another slow-labeled creature) — this turtle was moving at a pretty fast clip. She seemed determined to see her reckless journey through and make it to the other side. Clearly, she had committed to crossing that road, despite Saturday morning traffic.
“What in the world made her think this was a good idea?” I wondered.
Once I passed her, she had a pretty open path to the grassy lawn on the side of the road. I didn’t see any cars coming and there was no curb to navigate, just a straight path into greenery once she got there. I watched, impressed, as the turtle made quick work moving past the center of the lane I’d just driven through, her neck stretched far out of its shell as if pulling herself forward.
And then I saw in the distance an SUV rounding a bend and coming down the lane and thought, “Oh, no.” Like, I didn’t want to watch but also, couldn’t stop looking through my rearview mirror. But the turtle kept moving and then, miraculously, the car drove right over it, with the turtle’s path landing safely between, and not under, any of its tires. As the car came up behind me, I saw the turtle move quickly across the rest of the lane and disappear into the grass.
Am I the turtle in this scenario? Did I leave the safety of a marriage and the warmth of alcohol to try crossing a road in search of a better life? Maybe?
Because, tbh, the marriage was not safe and the booze was slowly killing me. Both were snubbing out the very essence of who I was.
Do I continue to learn how to surrender all these years later and commit to a better life? I do. Again and again. Even though sometimes it takes me a while to figure it out. Even when I’ve had to surrender all my ideas of what that life should look like. Even when lowering the walls I’ve put up to keep people out feels as dangerous as crossing a road in the path of an oncoming SUV. I have felt the crush of those tires on my heart. I know how much that hurts.
And yet, I keep making my way to the other side. I am committed and moving as fast as I can. And, boy, I’ve gotten super lucky along the way. Who knows what’s waiting for me in the grass.
Watching
Widow’s Bay: What the heck? This is scarier than I anticipated. It’s also really fun. I think I recommend. It’s like a cross between a Stephen King book and Parks and Rec (it’s actually co-created by a writer from that show).
Hacks: That series finale? The most perfect episode ever. That final song the series closes out on? And the final pulling away from the Las Vegas Strip, the Bellagio fountain sprays timed perfectly to that song? Absolute perfection. Chills, up and down my arms all 10 times I have now rewatched that final scene. My daughter and I were wrecked when we watched for the first time last weekend.
Reading
The Things We Never Say: I finished listening to Elizabeth Strout’s latest novel. What can I say? She really is so good at capturing the things we never say.
See you next week.🧡
xoAmy
Sundays are so much better for having you in it! I admire and appreciate your candor and humor. Stay well.
I love that you’re making yourself go do things! I’m dying to learn mahjong but need to find patient teachers.
Your turtle story had me captivated. I’m so glad she’s safe! Looking forward to reconnecting in the near future! Always appreciate your sharing.