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Location: Wisconsin, United States

"There is a secret set within each of our hearts...It is simply the desire for life as it was meant to be... Seasons may pass until it surfaces again. And though it seems to taunt us, and may at times cause us great pain, we know when it returns that it is priceless. For if we could recover this desire, unearth it from beneath all other distractions, and embrace it as our deepest treasure, we would discover the secret of our existance." -John Eldredge, The Journey of Desire

Saturday, December 03, 2005

The Missing Ingredient

I feel like I just discovered the cure for some big disease.  I have had a multitude of things occur over the last few weeks. My emotional life had hit a stand still for a while there – now it has taken off again.  I have had very satisfying interactions with Mr. Boyfriend – where the end result was that he honored me and my feelings (men do that!) and yesterday I spent a whole 45 minutes in the Department of Motor Vehicles with the X.

I will save my commentary on Mr. Boyfriend till last, since it’s the best and part of the now and the future.

The X, on the other hand…I woke up one day a few weeks ago, and he just didn’t matter anymore. It was some time after his family threw me over. I was free. He’d call to talk about the kids and I was nice to him. He just didn’t matter at all. It didn’t matter if he was an ass, it didn’t matter if he wasn’t. He attempted to start something in the DMV and I cut it off at the pass with a mildly stated “It sounds like you had a bad day that is just getting worse…you sure you want to go there with me?”  He said a definitive “no”, closed whatever folder he was futzing with, and moved on to other, more pleasant topics.

His life doesn’t sound so great though. He didn’t say much about it, I don’t want to know. At one point his phone rang and I could hear the girlfriend yammering at him. His response? “You’re right”…twice. Phone flipped closed, he has tears in his eyes.  I feel bad, sorta, because she’s upset due to the fact that our son has hockey practice this weekend – and it blows their plans out of the water. But really, too bad. My plans get screwed all the time. Except…it’s kinda my fault. I failed to get him the info soon enough. Did I tell him this? No. I, um, told him it was the coach’s fault. (Gee, I hope that doesn’t come up in discussion with the coach.)

Do I feel sorry for him? What do I feel?

I don’t feel anger. I don’t feel vindicated (much). I’m slightly amused – but not in a mean way, more the way I would be about a brother or male friend whom I continually watch screw up.  Am I attracted to him? I envision him touching me and get the heebie jeebies. Nope. Not attracted to him.

The end conclusion is that he just doesn’t matter. He is a check in the mail. A babysitter every other weekend. A means to an end. A pain in the butt that meddles with my life occasionally. But other then that? He’s nothing.

This morning it dawned on me. The difference between what I feel for Mr. Boyfriend and what I ever felt for the X.  Why no matter how irritated or ticked off or confused I get about Mr. Boyfriend, no matter what happens in the future, I will never feel for him what I feel for the X. Respect. I respect Mr. Boyfriend.

Within a week or two of my marriage, there was violence. In year seven there was a huge, damaging affair. I never respected my X. Not from the very beginning. How can a woman spend 15 years with a man she doesn’t respect? Is this why I don’t see him as a man, but forever as a boy?

Mr. Boyfriend.  He’s a man. He has his flaws. He has his problems. But he’s a man. There is such a tremendous difference between what it feels like to love someone who you respect versus someone you don’t.

So from here on out – it really doesn’t matter what happens with Mr. Boyfriend. I have learned something incredible. I hung on to my marriage and family because it was my whole world. I loved the best that I could. Well, guess what? There’s more. There are emotions and love I haven’t even touched yet.

Hope. I have hope again.

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