In the stillness of remembering
I had so much worth keeping and so much worth leaving
I was on the phone with my ex-husband, Alexander, while I wandered the aisles of a grocery store in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. We were on good terms. Both of us sad and nostalgic over the implosion of our marriage.
“We had so many plans.”
“I know.”
“We really messed up.”
“I know, I am so sorry.”
But we both had new relationships and we were making new plans. I was living on a sailing catamaran that I’d purchased with a chunk of my divorce settlement, desperate to do something different than what was expected of me. I fancied myself a renaissance woman, a bohemian explorer, good with ropes, comfortable in a bikini. (I was exactly one of those four things.) I did not know where Alexander was. I tried to respect his right to move on in any way he saw fit. I asked him very few personal questions. That conversation was heavy and tearful. I was in the market because I was tasked with purchasing groceries to last five people six days. I had never shopped for more than a single meal before. How long does a tomato stay fresh? I still don’t know.
But my goal in calling Alexander that day was not to belabor what we should have done differently. We both knew what we should have done differently and we were both too proud to admit the whole truth to each other. And I do not like talking about sad things. I wanted Alexander’s blessing to do something, for my personal fulfillment, that might cause him harm. I tried to shift the conversation to lighter topics before revealing my motivation.