Mostly Good

I'm mostly good. Well. Happy. Content.

Mostly.

I was a bridesmaid in my brother's wedding this past weekend in an afflent suburb of Houston, Texas. It was lovely. I am quite happy with his choice of bride, my new sister-in-law. I think they are a wonderful match.

I am overjoyed they are starting their new life together and at the same time overwhelmed with saddness. They have purchased a house and I got to tour it. It's freshly painted, and filled gifts and new furniture as well as furniture from my grandmother's home. It was when I saw her things in their new home that I began to cry. Fortunately, neither my brother or his then bride-to-be were around and they did not have to wittness my little breakdown. My father quietly handed me a hankercheif with which to dry my tears and then hugged me tightly.

I'm shocked at all the emotions swimming around just under the surface. I suppose I'm guilty of seeing the fin of the emotion and neglecting to recognize the shark waiting for the smell of blood. Also, I suppose still in denial.

I'm not good with grief. I don't mourn very well. I tend to box it up and put it on a shelf in the elaborate closet-like structure of my mind. Unlike most women, I don't know how to deal with my emotions. I'm often not sure what it is that I am feeling. The nuances tend to catch me off guard and thus I may stumble toward something or someone thinking that it is love when it is really just lust. Alternatively, I may label something lust when it has the potential to be oh-so-much-more.

There is a constant internal war going on between the need for security and independence. As this post reflects I'm all lover the place right now. I may try to clarify and refine at a later point but right now, in this moment, I need to get some things out.

My divorce became final in January. Five plus years of marriage boils down to a piece of paper. It's not even signed by the judge. It's been stamped with his name and initialed by his clerk.

I've been dating someone for a few months now. He's wonderful. He's younger than I am. By eight years. He's not even 30 yet. Yikes. Is it going somewhere? I have no idea. I do love him for who he is and for what he has given to me. He's restored my faith in relationships. He's easy to be with, peaceful, the calming influence in my life right now. He's shown me that I'm capable of opening my heart to someone again. I realized not too long ago that I've let him in and that's a bit scary for me. I thank God for him. He represents independence.

I met someone this weekend. There was quite a spark there. He lives far away from me and he is also in a relationship. Will anything ever come of it? I don't know if I want it to. There is nothing there but a spark and the idea of something different. He's very much like my family and he represents security.

I feel like I'm living in Robert Frost's poem....

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;


Only, unlike the author, I've not chosen my path. In reality I don't have to choose between one person and the other because it's not even an option. However, I feel as though, soon, I'll have to choose which path to take and I feel completely unprepared to make that decision. The pull for security is equally strong with the pull for independence.