I am currently in the middle of a divorce.  And we, all of us, are currently in the middle of a global pandemic. I know, our timing was terrible. Divorce during an international pandemic is not nearly as much fun as it sounds.   However, I am safe, healthy, loved and grateful.  But I am also feeling alone in a way that is profound, existential and uncomfortable.  It’s lonely for all of us right now, regardless of our relationship status, but on my bad days I tend to think I’m a little more alone than the rest of you, if only because it makes me feel special.  And I like to feel special.  In fact, I’m kind of special in the way that I need to feel special.  This fact may or may not have something to do with why I’m getting a divorce.

Anyway, for argument’s sake, let’s just all agree that I’m uniquely alone right now.  But here’s the really strange thing—for the most part, I am not lonely.  I am feeling quite whole, complete and, dare I say,  intact.  Do I have bad days?  Of course, absolutely.  Days of grief, sadness and overthinking.  They drop in unannounced like annoying family members, wanting to be entertained and fed and asking why there are no hand towels in the bathroom. I try very hard not to let these days make themselves at home.  I might order them a pizza, let them sleep on the couch, but I try not to let them get too comfortable.  And then there are the days that I am content and satisfied.  (I love the idea of being satisfied as a metric for happiness. It’s not some unachievable expectation, like “do I have everything I want?” or the especially troublesome “do I have everything I deserve?”.  It’s “do I have everything I need?”.  Am I safe?  Am I fed?  Am I sheltered?  Then I am satisfied.  I have enough and I can be at rest in that.) I try to be deeply hospitable to those days–I welcome them and change the sheets for them and treat them to a good meal.  (This, by the way, is what is known as gratitude–knowing you have something good while you actually have it in hand). They remind me that the lonely, sad, despairing days are not permanent squatters.  Those bad days are much more like the weather.  They are a cold front of tumult, change, unrest, passing over my consciousness.  West to East, left to right, the agreed upon dance of all meteorological events is actually not a cha-cha.  It’s more of a conga line, never lingering for very long, but marching across the planet, bringing its foul funk to someone else next week. The wondrous thing is when it rains in Cincinnati and moves on east to Columbus, it doesn’t circle back around to Cincinnati again.  It keeps going, past Columbus, to Zanesville, to wherever is east of  Zanesville. Sadness is kind of like that.  You know those days where you just feel “off”? On those days, I like to think that my soul is the blue sky, and the twister trifecta of “restless, irritable, and discontent” is just a storm system moving through.  I hunker down inside, and like any good Midwesterner,  I wait it out.  And when it passes, I am always greeted by the sun, because the sun actually never left.   Not that there won’t be more bad weather, because there will be.  The world is a complicated place and part of living in it is accepting that with love comes loss.  There is no negotiating out of that part of the deal. And I’ve decided I’m ok with that.  I still think the returns are worth the risk.

A high pressure system moving across Indianapolis will always find its way to me eventually.  But I know that the sky is still blue behind it, underneath it, beyond it.   Pain is a transient.  It will grow bored and move on. And my soul’s little sky will endure and see another season.