Breaking News

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Ernest Hemingway said that or something like it, or at least that's what the internet claims.

And for a long time that's what I did here. This was fun and this was journaling my life but this was therapy, too. It's hard to explain but the sitting down and bleeding is where it's really at with writing; I write all day long some days, content marketing pieces and catalog blurbs and other people's bios, without feeling like I've written anything at all.

It's the emotional release. The letting the blood of your feelings drip onto (what is now virtual) paper, like how medieval physicians drained bad humors through blood letting. It doesn't actually help at all, but it allows me to feel like I've done something and relieves me of a few ounces of emotion.

The surprising part about this particular medium is that other people stop to look at the wound, and often share the scar they have from a similar one, or a story about how they're bandaged up in the same way right now, or sometimes they just say, "Well, you do bleed beautifully, though," or they email me and tell me their innermost fears and secrets and dreams and I think, "Oh my god, me too, me too, and we'll be okay."

Hemingway needed some of that in his own life probably.

And then, as with all good things, it got complicated. The blog got popular. Work nudged me to do it under my own name. Local people began recognizing me from my newspaper column. The kids got older. The stories I wanted to tell weren't always my own.

So I slipped into the funny girl role, my mask online and off, when I can muster the energy to show up at all. Just a little louder, a little sillier, a little "no, not at me, look over there" instead. The autopilot, non-authentic, neutral while over-the-top, less conflicted or confrontational me with a hint of self-deprecating darkness.

Boring as fuck. Sorry about her.

There's this thing about motherhood -- womanhood? -- life? I don't know since I'm all of those things. But this thing where you're constantly giving stuff up for the sake of others. Little things like the last cookie and big things like small dreams. I'm down with that, that's the work and that's the job, but there's a realization that I've given up my voice and some of my part in my own story and I don't really know that it's a necessary sacrifice.

So. Breaking news. I'm a human being. A seriously flawed one, from the evidence I've been gathering. I guess the fear is that my children or reputation will somehow be tarnished if I'm honest about the extent of that (let's pretend we don't have years where I've already revealed it for the sake of this conversation, okay?) or maybe no one will love me.

That's pretty dumb though. So I'm going to just get that out of the way now -- I suck at all kinds of stuff. Even more lately. Like, you'd think I'd just get better and better at everything but that's not the case at all. I mean, I don't think I've played it off like I'm the non-prison version of Martha Stewart or anything and I think I admit that I suck often enough for you to believe it, but I just want a full on disclaimer from this point on that anything I say or do should not reflect badly on anyone else.

Unless I specifically tell you that person is at fault/to be blamed. Then you do it without question because whose friend are you anyway?

Anyway. That was a long and convoluted intro to announce the separation of my marriage. And writing about it right now is a dick move because I haven't even told some of our closest friends and don't know which family members know.

I am unable to communicate, really. But I need to bleed. Please don't take it personally. I probably would, but I'm asking you not to.

After 19 years of being together, I am working on finding a new way in the world. It is utterly, hilariously, horrifically, exhaustingly, chaotically, mathematically impossible in a way that makes me laugh, cry, shrug, shriek, sob, scheme and sigh all day long. From SWAT teams showing up next door at 2am, to frozen pizzas melting onto the oven heating element, to flu and pink eye and co-pays and failed job interviews, learning the pool pump and investigating the water heater and remembering trash day and wondering how grills work. The other night I had a headache and stayed awake until 3am wondering if the cats would start eating me before the kids woke up if I died overnight.

I challenge the children to rap battles and dance offs in the kitchen and then go cry on the bathroom rug while praying to a God I'm really reluctant to believe in. I help with homework I don't understand at the exact same time I'm sending out my constantly revised resume, while the frozen pizza is melting onto the oven element. I burn all the food, all the time. I have way too many cats and I could not live without them. I bought myself gummy bears the other night and lost a crown on the third one in. I also lost 10 pounds, which should be great but my clothes don't fit and motherfuckers keep telling me to eat a sandwich.

Don't tell people to eat a sandwich, maybe just make them a sandwich.

My personal mantra went from "You are strong. You are smart. You are sweet" (all things I don't quite believe) to "Just keep swimming" to "You're not dying" (and sometimes that fact makes me mad).

I mourn my marriage and fear my future.

AND IT'S FINE. I'M FINE.

That's the crazy part. I have literally no reason to have any hope at all, and I'm still dumb enough to do it. It's amazing.

I'm so human and that's so wonderful, even in the moments I wish it would stop.  Life is an incredible mess, and I mean incredible in the good sense of the word. It's fine. It really is.

One day it will be.

So. That's where we are right now. I don't know where we're going. There's an excellent chance we might burn the house down while trying to get there. People may starve along the way. I could end up homeless, which would be an exciting plot twist as long as I had wifi. Our journey will be more Oregon Trail and less Eat. Pray. Love.

Eat. Pray. Love was some bullshit anyway.

But I might need to bleed all over the place while we work this out and I need the world to know that I need you right now even if I'm still laughing too loudly sometimes. Thank you in advance for loving me anyway.

Lean In

I had the longest day today. I had to be at the studio to train someone. Then I had to be at a lunch meeting for (gasp!) a new social media marketing job. Then I had to coach that Odyssey of the Mind Team. Then I had to go back to work at the studio because we had a visiting teacher who is a big deal, and we needed help checking people into the class.

It was exhausting and chaotic. One of my friends from teacher training asked if I was going to take the visiting teacher's class and I said I was so freaking tired that I truly didn't think I could. She said it would be good for me. I wanted to point out that 90 minutes of hot power yoga on an empty stomach in an exhausted, dehydrated person might really not be a good idea but instead I said I would lie down the entire time if I wanted to and no one better say anything and she agreed that would work. She gets me.

But once I was on my mat, I gave it my all. Our teacher was Sid McNairy who looks more like a football player than a yoga teacher and he filled the room, both physically and with his presence. It was so nice to just get lost in the sweaty, real, grounded, physical practice. Sure, my vision got a bit wavy at one point and I checked the thermostat and its clock a few times (I shouldn't be allowed to practice in that corner of the room. It got up to 96 degrees if you're curious) but I kept going. Until sweat was running into my eyes and blinding me and every bit of me was trembling.

We got into half pigeon near the end, which is a hip opening pose with one shin parallel to the front of the mat, and the other straight out behind, folding forward over the front knee and breathing into the comfortable discomfort, as they like to call it. He wandered over to the ipod to turn it on and then this gigantic, powerful man began to softly sing "Lean on Me" and invited us to join him. Slowly and softly at first, probably feeling a little unsure about singing during yoga class, people joined in. Not long after, I think most of the 66 students were singing along.

It was so lovely. Probably like church if church were full of sweaty, half naked, trembling people who take the lord's name in vain during chair pose (fucking chair pose).

Church should totally be more like that, by the way.

Anyway, as I sat there with my forehead resting on my arms, I was overcome with emotion. I thought of the friends on either side of me, and those that I've made through yoga, and my "real life" friends, and my family, and I also thought a lot about you guys. About how many people I have to lean on. Shit. If that's not lucky, what is? What more can you really even ask for? I've spent so long feeling alone and not only am I NOT alone, I never was alone. I just didn't realize what was available.

I saw a friend today and she asked how I was and I told her I needed a hug. Not because she would expect a hug or I felt like I had to give a hug...because I needed a hug. And it felt really good, to literally lean on someone for a moment.

I have people to lean on. I need them.

Thank you for being so giving of yourselves through your comments and even just your presence.

Thank you for letting me lean on you.