Liar Liar...

The last thing I am is a liar. I am probably the straightest-straight talker I know. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I'm unashamed of who I am. I have always believed that to lie is to deny yourself and others of yourself. I abhor lies. They make me feel riddled with guilt. Guilt that sloshes around in my soul like sour milk.

Yet here I am - - ex-wife in waiting - - having discovered that the life I was leading for many many years wasn't authentic at all. It wasn't me. Was I a liar? Did the non-liar actually lie to herself for so long and so well that she became what she despises the most? Now, let me say what I know you are thinking....Yes - I think that there are degrees of lying. When I really contemplate what I did, I know that my pain came from a place of wanting, of doing good, of being righteous. It was not lying out of deception, even though the end result was hurt and shock. I lied to protect myself and to protect my family.

That said, my life has completely changed. But lies still exist and seem to be more obvious and, dare I say it, necessary. There are just some actions and thoughts that I can't divulge to people, or to my family, mostly for fear of judgment or unnecessary repercussions. The price I pay is the guilt. The guilt is always the same, if not worse when lies are blatant. I risk hurting others with my lies but there are just some things that I'd like to keep to myself right now. If you see my previous post about the importance of things, some of my lies protect these precious "things" - - They are self-serving but they also heal me. Maybe it's not the way others would heal themselves, but it's working for me right now.

I feel as if I've sailed..

"over a year, in and out of weeks and through a day..." and ended up right back where I started. The irony is not lost on me at all.

I am not so sure that my wild rumpus over the years was really so wild as it was just plain wildly emotional. I embodied every emotion - every wild thing, except that I was never Max. I was never that child who could get lost in moment of blissful fantasy. So that's where I am right now.

I have been lucky over the last few months to reconnect with life long and dear friends, people who knew me when I was actually a real child. They've shared stories with me, told me about me, things that I've long forgotten. The essence of me. And the remarkable thing, the thing that I had forgotten is that I was a great kid - a lovable and friendly child who was happy and seemed to make people happy. For years I only saw myself through the eyes of the miserable and judgmental people around me. I simply began to believe them.

Hearing these endearing stories of my past has helped me find myself again. It feels right. It's like coming back home.

I've Got Everything.

I found out this week that the soon to be ex would like me to pay him half of value of our 2nd car, the car that I use. My car. I assure you, it is not a very valuable car - a small, economy vehicle. At first I was deeply disturbed by this request. It was just another "thing" in our life that I didn't lay claim too. On the surface, it appears that most of our "things" are not mine at all, but his. Paid for with his money. As a stay at home mom, I did not contribute in a measurable way. I didn't have a personal saving account, or my own credit card. I didn't buy gifts or household items with money I personally worked for. These things were basically on loan. This latest request for my car clearly reinforced the notion that I possessed little value in that previous life. I had not even earned my way towards a Honda Civic. This situation got me thinking this week...

All these "things" can be replaced. The car, the pots and pans, dishes and glasses, sofa, TV, etc.. They are just things. What is really of value to me right now which can not be taken from me are the new "things" I have discovered in myself and my life: wonderful people, intense passion and inner peace. When I really stop and think about what makes me feel the happiest, it is these things that top my list. Having confidence in myself to take the risk and get out there and be with people, to flaunt my passions, and to sit unworried about my future are the real things. The right things. The irreplaceable things.

So, car or no car, dishes, plates, Tivo, whatever it is that this divorce might take, it's the person I'm becoming with the life I'm living that can never ever be taken. I've got everything.

The Bags I Carry

This morning, as I schlepped outside and loaded up my car for the day ahead I stopped and took notice of the fact that there were four bags I was carrying. One for work (a canvas tote). One for my internship (backpack). One for the lawyer's office (serious black leather with manila folders). And then one for the kids after school activities (sports bag).

It is as plain as the nose on my face. I have baggage.

Physical baggage, emotional baggage, etc.. This girl's got it. But maybe my baggage is a good thing. I have these clearly defined places where things now go in my life. Nothing overflows from one bag to the other. I don't just have the one huge bag (like the momma diaper bag from years past) that contains everything and nothing at the same time. There are boundaries and limits to my bags. I carry them only when I need too - like today, going from one place to another. I can easily leave one behind for another. I have control. That, my friends, is a good thing.

I've been a bit oversensitive about the word "baggage". What nearly single almost 40 year old woman isn't? I guess I realized, as I packed up that car, that everyone has baggage. I always had it - In my past life, I just shoved everything into one giant life bag that was too flippin' heavy for me to carry and too messy to find anything significant. But the real measure, (I now see), is not if I have baggage, but how I carry it.

Mallomars on the Mind

Let's face it. If an Oreo had a cookie cousin, a rich, upper-class, distinguished cousin, it would be the Mallomar. There is just something so amazingly perfect about a mallomar, that I am actually able to stop eating them after two. Chocolate. Marshmallow. Graham cracker. Mmmmm...They are perfect. Just perfect.

So this is what is on my mind today. I should be blogging about my stalled divorce/separation/marriage (this IS a first post, after all). Or the fact that there's probably a jar of salsa in the fridge the soon-to-be-ex bought a year ago which we will end up fighting for custody of. Or maybe, I should blog about the fact, that my (new) life is as ridiculous as I could have ever imagined it to be. But the truth is, today, I woke and thought about the fact that it's been a while since I've had a Mallomar. I love Mallomars. And, you know what? Maybe that thought is perfect, too.