Author Archives: janaremy@gmail.com

a toast to a new life

getting my feet wet, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

From a kind friend…

Caminante, son tus huellas el camino y nada mas;
Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino, y al volver la vista atras
se ve la senda que nunca se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino sino estelas en la mar.
~Antonio Machado

Translation:
Pilgrim, the path is your tracks
And nothing more.
Pilgrim, there is no path
The path is made by walking.
By walking you make a path
And turning, you look back
At a way you will never tread again
Pilgrim, there is no road
Only wakes in the sea.

Just what I needed to hear right now….

xoxo Monday

This morning was a tough one–I had a wonderful day with the kids yesterday, so returning to my solitary life was hard. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, so I indulged in some time sitting on the sunporch petting a purry kitty. Letting myself just be where I am right now. (oh my, I’m sounding awfully new-agey)…

But then I packed up and got myself out the door and on to work. As I was driving, I noticed at nearly every intersection there was a mass of rose bushes. I was simply enjoying this–the textures and colors of the roses as I waited for lights to turn green–when it hit me. Duh. I landed in the City of Roses for this month of transition. And all of a sudden I felt as if the universe had just picked me up and given me a huge bear hug and sloppy wet kiss on the cheek.

(PS: This story that I wrote quite awhile ago when I was active in the LDS church, explains why roses are so important to me)

a soft landing

I feel like the universe has offered me a soft landing space from the trauma of the past 2 weeks, in the home of a new friend in a new city for me to explore. Here are a few images from my current life…

Sunlight and spectacular gardens all around the space where I’m working:

An enclosed garden porch, perfect for relaxing/reading/contemplating:

Oh, and just-so-coincidentally, one wall of that porch is outfitted with climbing holds:

And the bedroom where I’m sleeping more soundly than I have in a very long time (note: there’s a gorgeous print to the right of the bed called “Persephone” that I find particularly charming):

Other little serendipities include a persimmon tree, two cozy kitties who are keeping me company, nearby train tracks, morning light through tall windows, a new evening hangout cafe, and the comfort of knowing that I’m getting my work done despite the emotional drain of the divorce.

What not to say…

Ok, here’s a bit of a pet peeve coming…

What John told me after he said he was leaving me, was something like this:

“But you’re still attractive. I’m sure you can find someone else.”

Ahem.

Since then several people have said a similar variant of the same thing to me. I know it’s well-intentioned. It’s a kind of hopeful twist on the awfulness of being left behind. But it still really feels awful to hear (and, quite frankly, the last thing I want in my life right now is “someone else” to be attached to).

Have any of the rest of you been told this by a spouse or a lover who’s leaving, or by friends who were trying to cheer you up after you’ve been ditched? If so, how did it make you feel? And are there any other things that people have said to you in the divorce process that have particularly grated on your nerves?

UPDATE: One more thought: I wonder if anyone says the “you’re still attractive” line to men? Or is that a gendered thing that’s only said to women? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this…

Seeking Security

In talking to a friend last night, I realized a few things about my personal and professional trajectory the past decade…

It was about a decade ago that John and I first had significant marriage problems. At that point we’d been married for 7 years and as John was climbing the corporate ladder, he seemed increasingly frustrated with having married so young. We had two small children at home and John was the breadwinner while I was a stay-at-home-Mom. I was literally tied to our home given that John took our only car to work everyday and we didn’t live near anywhere that I could walk to to catch a bus or shop. My entire world revolved around supporting him and caring for the kids. So when things got a bit rocky with John, I was completely dependent and vulnerable. I’d never had any jobs that paid much more than minimum wage. I had a science degree but no lab experience to turn that degree into a marketable skill. I had no savings of my own, no retirement money, nothing.

It was just about then that some things started to change in our family. We had to buy a second car so I could drive the kids to school, which gave me a huge increase in autonomy. I started taking classes at a local community college. I began to think seriously about applying to graduate school.

While I can’t say for sure that my aims for advanced education were motivated by the fear that John and I would eventually split up, I think I can say that I knew I needed more security “just in case.” I opened a Roth IRA and began depositing money into it each month. I stopped thinking so much like Martha Stewart and took on Laurel Ulrich as my role model instead–thinking that even if it took me twice as long as anyone else to finish my graduate degree, at least I would have it eventually. I began thinking far more pragmatically about money and my future. Once I was in graduate school I began applying (perhaps rather ruthlessly) for as much funding as possible. I wanted to ensure that I didn’t end up finishing my PhD with a significant amount of debt, knowing that that would only increase my dependence rather than decrease it.

So maybe it’s no surprise that when I initially revealed to a friend that John was leaving me, one of the first things I said was how glad I was that I had a job! It’s so empowering to know that I won’t be financially dependent on John for child support, health insurance, or alimony. For the first time ever, my income is larger than John’s. I still feel quite vulnerable in today’s economy–and I know it won’t be easy to support the kids on my salary. But I think I knew, perhaps even subconsciously, that I never wanted to be in that same awkward and dependent position again as I was when I first feared that we would split up. It’s undoubtedly what’s kept me so aggressively focused on my educational and professional goals these past few years.

A friend mentioned to me that when we feel powerless over the romantic aspect of our lives, we often try to take control of the financial part–because that’s one thing we can do when the rest is out of control. That makes a lot of sense to me. And I’m so glad that I did this so I’m not left in a financially vulnerable position now.

beyond the rainbow

A huge part of me is tempted not to blog right now. My emotions are so mutable–it seems that if I write about what I’m feeling at this moment, in another few minutes I’ll feel radically different…

As I sat in front of our rainbow bookshelves this morning and passed my eyes over each title, I said good-bye to our home and what it’s been to us for all of these years. By the time I return to our place, the books will be separated and sorted. And I doubt that I’ll ever have the desire to have rainbow bookshelves again.

But other than a moment of wistfulness, I was okay with leaving. There’s a part of me that’s looking forward to the new experiences that lie ahead, even if there’s occasionally a heavy aching in my ribcage that makes me wish this wasn’t happening. I don’t want John back (given all the hurt he’s sent my way these past few days, I’m quite ready to let him go), but I still feel some longing for what we had as a family, and of the sweetness we had in our home before he was so unhappy.

Separation (or, some big changes ahead for our family)

One of my favorite parts of my garden was my climbing rose. I’d dug this plant out of the flowerbed in our old apartment. The gardeners kept whacking the rose to the ground (it wasn’t part of the landscaping) and it just kept growing back. Whack-grow-whack-grow. Finally one day I took a trowel and dug up as much of its root system as I could, and took it to my garden plot. It thrived and soon became a beast of a bush with runners everywhere. I tied them into a column and trained them over to a post on the other side of a path to form an arch. During the summer that I was sick, it was this rose bush that I thought about most often. It brought such joy to me. I’d decided that when John and I re-married (which we planned to do given that our Mormon temple marriage was so meaning-less to us after leaving the LDS church), I wanted to stand under that arch.

So a few weeks ago when our community garden was slated to be demolished, I left that rose arch as the last thing I dug out. It was so big, I figured there was no way I could extract it from the soil and put it into a pot. Some friends who were helping me with the garden said that they would try to rescue it for me, because they knew how much I loved that plant. They dug away at that thing for well over an hour, we had to cut some of the roots with a hacksaw to get the main plant out. But it seemed well-worth the effort for such a special rose…

When I took pictures in my garden, I nearly always used the macro setting. I liked to get close and see the details and patterns. The veins and textures. To spy small insects. To lose myself in a flower. I never did very well with pictures that showed the entire garden. They were too complicated and messy. The showed the tools and the weeds and the plants that hadn’t been watered well enough. Instead, I made my images close and tight and narrow. I saw what I wanted to see. That’s the PollyAnna in me, I suppose. I have an astute ability to shape the world into something that matches my expectations. While I don’t think that’s always a bad thing–and it’s certainly an excellent coping mechanism that I’ve honed after years of pain and discouragement–I am quickly learning that it has its downside.

All of my plants have stories. If you point to one and ask me about it, I’ll tell you who gave it to me, how long I’ve had it, and lots of other details about its growing habits. I especially love to tell the stories of my roses. It wasn’t until I was watering all of my rosebushes this morning that I realized something I hadn’t thought of before. Not one of them was given to me by John. In fact, I didn’t have any plants from him in my garden. I’m not saying that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that–John is not a garden person and he rarely visited my plot. But I think that’s part of this big picture that’s sort of hitting me between the eyes right now. Our priorities and passions are so different. I’ve seen what I want to see for so long. Made assumptions. Framed stories a particular way. Molded my interactions with my spouse to fit a rosy narrative in my head.

Perhaps its enough to say that I don’t even know if John knew that I wanted to marry under that arch. Perhaps its enough to say that I was so wrapped up in what I saw through the lens of my camera, that I wasn’t aware of what he saw through his–although over time I had noticed that we were no longer pointing our viewfinders in the same direction. Perhaps there really isn’t anything to say now, except that I am sans garden and sans John. He’s chosen to leave our marriage. As of a few days ago we are officially Separated, with plans to divorce.

I don’t think I’ve intentionally killed a plant before, but I’m realizing that I can’t continue watering the climbing rose. However, I don’t actually think it matters. The plant is nearly dead already. It couldn’t stand the shock of being uprooted and transplanted.

Note: I’m closing comments on this post. If you are tempted to discuss my family’s situation on Twitter or Facebook or blogs, please keep in mind that our children also follow their parents online. Please respect our privacy. You may contact me directly at janaremyATgmail.

as far as was needed…

With Kit, Age Seven, At the Beach

We would climb the highest dune,
from there to gaze and come down:
the ocean was performing;
we contributed our climb.

Waves leapfrogged and came
straight out of the storm.
What should our gaze mean?
Kit waited for me to decide.

Standing on such a hill,
what would you tell your child?
That was an absolute vista.
Those waves raced far, and cold.

“How far could you swim, Daddy,
in such a storm?”
“As far as was needed,” I said,
and as I talked, I swam.

~William Stafford

Simple pleasures

IMG_0824, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

With all of the busy-ness of this week, I wanted to record just a few simple pleasures from the past few days…

–walking in the Huntington Gardens in the rain, the vanilla-y smell of heliotrope filling the air

–a spontaneous wine & cheese picnic with friends, after a leisurely soak in the hot tub

–cooking a hearty soup that I used to make way-back-when, sans recipe, letting my memory be my guide

–the loan of a warm soft sweater from a friend, when I’d forgotten my own (it’s actually been sweater-chilly in SoCal this week!)

–hearing Catgirl and GameBoy’s excitement about the SNOW that they’re playing in on their trip to Utah.

–moving through a tasklist of must-do items and checking them off, one-by-one.

–climbing on the rock wall, feeling myself support my entire weight on my own two arms. Knowing my own strength.

dreaming…

Last night’s dreams were the most vivid that I’ve had in a long while. It was one of those times when you know you’re dreaming, but you’re also very immersed in the world and letting it thrill you. I went to my garden and found it untouched, the blue gate still hanging a bit crookedly on its post. The moon was full and I was simply there, greeting each little nook and cranny. It’s similar to the dreams I have after a loved one dies–often I’ll spend a long night with them, saying good-bye.

Then when I went out to greet the myriad of rescued garden plants on my porch, I found the first two roses blooming since the move:

And then there was this bright burst of oranger-than-orange saying “good morning:”

PilgrimSteps

just one step at a time…