dariaphoebe: (redhead)
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." It wasn't the first time I'd played over those words in my head. Now, though, I sat looking off at 'Road Closed' signs while waiting for a red light. My subfreezing bike ride back up the hill would be about a third longer now. The bridge was no longer there to cross: it had been imploded a week before.

Earlier in the evening, we sat on the same couch we did so many other Mondays over the past 18 months. He'd heard many stories of our relationship, ups and downs. This night was a bit different, though. After a brief exchange of pleasantries -- we hadn't seen him since before the holidays -- I offered a simple summary:

"We're getting divorced."

I could offer no anger, hate or pain. There was no reason to. My reality and the possible outcomes had been on the table right along, just as it had in my first marriage. I didn't expect the path forward from that moment to be easy, but the route to that point wasn't, either. The process of making myself whole involves further self-discovery, steps typically long past for people my age. And so the divergence.

I pushed on into the cold for the second half of my ride, knowing that in spite of the inclement conditions I faced, the road ahead was entirely within my capability.

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dariaphoebe

May 2017

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