You were 7 and I was 6 when we met near the jungle gym. After becoming bandmates in high school and enjoying a brief twinkle of local stardom, we became men and did man things, one of which was each finding someone we loved enough to marry. I have proof that both of us were happy then. The photos from our weddings show us laughing, smiling, greeting friends and relatives, eating cake, smoking cigars and dancing.
It was impossible to imagine, in the face of all that merriment, that one day our respective unions would begin to crack, the crack would become a fissure and the fissure would become a total collapse. Everyone reads the grim divorce statistics. Our mothers and fathers had marriages that failed. But that wouldn’t happen to us. We were bright, we were young and most of all, we were sure of our brides.
There was no one else in the world for me back then but my love. We were partners, friends, lovers, and when life was full of death, job loss, car wrecks and money struggles, we stuck together. Sometimes I’d watch her while she slept and think, “I don’t know what I would do if I had to live without you.” We made a pact that we’d both die together, in our sleep, at the same time, arms folded across chests, so neither of us would have to face the world without the other.
I saw it coming before she did. The money ran low; then it ran out; then every month was a struggle. Both of us knuckled down and worked harder. We also both sought and found therapy, but neither of us had therapists who were geniuses, and nothing really changed. What I choose to focus on now is the memory of when things were wonderful, and they were wonderful for a good 12 years.
So now you tell me you are going to a mediator to work out the details of your divorce, and I feel what it must have been like for you when I told you my seemingly unshakable marriage to a wonderful woman — who is still wonderful — was over. Now I have an idea what all our mutual friends went through watching us fall apart. “Oh, man — can’t you work it out?” The answer is, No, you can’t — no one else lives with your spouse, and no one else has any idea how often you fight, stew or go to bed lonely. Both you and I hung in there until it was spoiled milk, and there isn’t a thing you can do with spoiled milk except dump it down the drain.
Now I’m going to tell you what your life will be like when you pack your stuff and move out of the house. For me, that came in 2012.
At first it will be a huge relief. You’ll have no idea until it actually happens what it’s like to live a life with no one to argue with, and brother, it is sweet. You’ll wonder why you didn’t do this before — just go away by yourself for a while, get back in touch with your essence. You’ll forget that you didn’t do it because you didn’t even have money to buy a banana, forget a man-cave — and you also, like me, took your marriage vows seriously. For now, though, sweet relief.
But soon, there by yourself, the fact that a good part of your life is over and you’re just scraping by will greet you every day; that despite your obvious skills and smarts and ambition, you failed to make your 20s and 30s and 40s into some kind of mighty empire. You’ll discover the world isn’t necessarily rushing to greet older divorced men. You’ll see other guys around your new town, guys who have either divorced or never married, and they in turn will recognize you, noting that you have no one next to you as you shop, get your car fixed, play gigs with your band or visit coffee shops.
These guys have semi-old faces and bodies, and you’ll soon realize with a great shock that you have a semi-old face and body, too. You won’t be in any kind of emotional shape to meet a woman to share your breakfast and your bed right away, either — single available women who don’t have serious emotional problems or substance issues aren’t looking for recently divorced dudes. But even if you had a sweet car, a swank crib and some spending cash, it’d still be rough going. Here’s why.
It was impossible to imagine, in the face of all that merriment, that one day our respective unions would begin to crack, the crack would become a fissure and the fissure would become a total collapse. Everyone reads the grim divorce statistics. Our mothers and fathers had marriages that failed. But that wouldn’t happen to us. We were bright, we were young and most of all, we were sure of our brides.
There was no one else in the world for me back then but my love. We were partners, friends, lovers, and when life was full of death, job loss, car wrecks and money struggles, we stuck together. Sometimes I’d watch her while she slept and think, “I don’t know what I would do if I had to live without you.” We made a pact that we’d both die together, in our sleep, at the same time, arms folded across chests, so neither of us would have to face the world without the other.I saw it coming before she did. The money ran low; then it ran out; then every month was a struggle. Both of us knuckled down and worked harder. We also both sought and found therapy, but neither of us had therapists who were geniuses, and nothing really changed. What I choose to focus on now is the memory of when things were wonderful, and they were wonderful for a good 12 years.
So now you tell me you are going to a mediator to work out the details of your divorce, and I feel what it must have been like for you when I told you my seemingly unshakable marriage to a wonderful woman — who is still wonderful — was over. Now I have an idea what all our mutual friends went through watching us fall apart. “Oh, man — can’t you work it out?” The answer is, No, you can’t — no one else lives with your spouse, and no one else has any idea how often you fight, stew or go to bed lonely. Both you and I hung in there until it was spoiled milk, and there isn’t a thing you can do with spoiled milk except dump it down the drain.
Now I’m going to tell you what your life will be like when you pack your stuff and move out of the house. For me, that came in 2012.
At first it will be a huge relief. You’ll have no idea until it actually happens what it’s like to live a life with no one to argue with, and brother, it is sweet. You’ll wonder why you didn’t do this before — just go away by yourself for a while, get back in touch with your essence. You’ll forget that you didn’t do it because you didn’t even have money to buy a banana, forget a man-cave — and you also, like me, took your marriage vows seriously. For now, though, sweet relief.
But soon, there by yourself, the fact that a good part of your life is over and you’re just scraping by will greet you every day; that despite your obvious skills and smarts and ambition, you failed to make your 20s and 30s and 40s into some kind of mighty empire. You’ll discover the world isn’t necessarily rushing to greet older divorced men. You’ll see other guys around your new town, guys who have either divorced or never married, and they in turn will recognize you, noting that you have no one next to you as you shop, get your car fixed, play gigs with your band or visit coffee shops.
These guys have semi-old faces and bodies, and you’ll soon realize with a great shock that you have a semi-old face and body, too. You won’t be in any kind of emotional shape to meet a woman to share your breakfast and your bed right away, either — single available women who don’t have serious emotional problems or substance issues aren’t looking for recently divorced dudes. But even if you had a sweet car, a swank crib and some spending cash, it’d still be rough going. Here’s why.
by Josh Max, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Tim Lahan
