Up here in these parts, we have all kinds of names for the months we think should be nicer to us than they actually are. Take June, for example. As I may have mentioned at least twice, June is my birthday month. Therefore, it is special and sacred to me. Ergo, the weather must be nice.
Mother Nature, however, has a different idea during this time of year, most years. And so June has become "June-uary." The locals find it funny, until about the third week of the month, when they all start to bemoan their soggy existences, cry, and plot new lives in California which never actually happen.
When I returned from the East Coast Roadtrip Adventure, with my defensiveness mostly gone and my senses returned, I came back to some piss-poor weather. All through May, and into early June, the weather could only be described as nondescript. That is: it was gray, mid-50s to low-60s, and it didn't do much of anything except sit there. For weeks.
Well, fuck you, weather, I thought. I'm throwing myself a goddamn party this year. No, it's not a special birthday in terms of numbers or anything. But it's my first solo birthday in years, so get in line and get behind me because it's gonna be outdoors, yeah, that's right.
Here I was, at a rather inelegant, albeit empowered, place in my personal development. During the 6 months of downtime I gave myself post-divorce - and coming out of that successful 10-day journey up the East Coast, complete with facing my extended family - I had suddenly come to discover that I actually had some real power over my existence. And I could change many things about it, not just The One Big Thing.
As I sat in my house, the one I'd bought with D, there were many quiet moments, where I would just sit in my living room and listen - and I would hear only the electronic drone of Little One's monitor, and perhaps my kitty cleaning herself. And that was all. It was the most pure, most beautiful silence I could have conjured, and it helped me heal. There was no more D crashing through the halls, slamming doors, hitting walls, punching desks, throwing bottles. The black hole that I had so tried to keep from sucking up everything I cared about was no longer the center of gravity in my existence.
The biggest surprise was that I wasn't scared to be alone anymore.
Still, I felt a bit foolish, honestly, about throwing myself a party. I mean, I love cake, and I love presents, and certainly I love having them both in my honor. Another year, I might have thought my party-throwing tacky. Not this year. Hells, no, I was going to have a real party. And D was coming. That's right. I was going to invite that bastard, plus everyone we knew, and they could all see how things had played out. (I also knew that Little One would question why he wasn't there, so I figured, why not just bring him along.) And no, Sally would not be invited. I mean, I'm not a masochist.
So yeah, I still had the chip(s) on my shoulder. I admit it. But I had a lot to prove, mostly to myself, and I still cared a lot about what other people thought of me.
On the day of my party, we had our first sunny day in over four weeks. Four weeks! The temperature quickly rose to 70, and the flowers in the yard raced each other to bloom. And when dozens of people showed up at my house, played in my yard, celebrated my birthday with me, and made me feel like I might just be likable - I know, I know - it felt like the sun had decided to appear just for me, as a sign or something. As in, The sun's back out, so shine, lady, shine.
Okay, I thought. I will. And so began my journey to having a social life. I started to creep out of the quiet cave I'd carved out during the marriage and through the divorce. This birthday party, this crazy idea I'd had where I'd invite people and they would actually show up - that was the first step. Somehow, during my marriage, I'd become convinced that no one would want to hang out with me. Like, ever. So the fact that so many people came to my party was the first chink in that "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I'm gonna eat some worms" armor.
Nobody at the party knew, but the truth was, the fact they'd all just showed up was the biggest present they could have given me. I was starting to make friends again. Like, real friends - not just people I would hang out with at work, but friends.
And D was well-behaved. That was the other present, having him there, and showing everyone - and myself - that we were all better off for the divorce. And hey, if anyone at the party thought that D was NUTS to have let me go, well - I wouldn't argue with them, certainly. But I needed them all to know that I was finally starting to see my way to real happiness. These people cared about me. I was astounded - I had friends.
So by the time August rolled around, I had plenty of people to tell about D's newest hijinks. What a maroon. But we'll get to that soon.
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