Cry Me a River

I sat down to write this morning already knowing the title of today's entry. As I absorb, on yet a deeper level, the end of my marriage, all the little hardships of my unexpectedly unmarried daily life (and some of these are very little) have been sparking multiple rounds of copious bawling grief.

But there is more to the last few days than crying. There is also the garden, bearing string beans and dill and kale and basil, squash of two varieties, and, as of yesterday, the first ripening tomatoes. And there is the kitchen at J~'s, freshly painted and looking fabulous, if I do say so myself. There is the run I took last night, reminding me of the power this thirty-six-year-old sometimes overfed body still contains: six miles with a sprint finish, and no urge to stop, not even on the long, steep, uphill in the last two miles.

On the work-front, there is my teaching: two weeks left and going very well; my students producing excellent work, and for the most part, seeming to enjoy it. And waiting in the wings: a long-time client with a list of projects for me to help promote her new book, and just last week, a magazine design and illustration assignment arriving via email from an old and beloved design school professor.

And of course there is J~ and this seemingly bottomless falling in love.

Best of all, there is the great wave of energy I feel after the tears subside, after I've let go just a little bit more of A~ and the dream I had of him and I. This is when I see most clearly that my new, unexpectedly unmarried life is alive and full of potential and exactly what I want in the wake of my divorce. If crying is what it takes to get there, than crying is what I'll do.