Monday, December 19, 2011


" But more and more we're suffering
Not nobody, not a thousand beers
Can keep us from feeling so all alone

But you are what you love
And not what loves you back"
- Jenny Lewis 

I rise and fall weekly. In some moments I feel like I've never before felt so much like myself. Like maybe I had to walk in the dark for two years to suddenly discover who I was always supposed to be. In other moments I can't stop wondering how I am supposed to share the most intimate part of myself, my child, with a person who has become nothing more than a stranger. I no longer know his daily habits, his shirt size, or what he listens to as he drives to work. I no longer posses the tiny bits of information that create the web of trust that is required in seamless co-parenting.
Each week we politely meet at a dirty gas station precisely one hour from each of our homes. We make quick conversation and buckle the baby from one car seat to the next. The sadness surrounding the whole routine used to suffocate me. Now I can see that it has muddied my emotions and cut off most of the creative channels in my brain, but it doesn't have the sting that it used to. I've found little ways to cope. I find great comfort in people who too have been gutted. I run, I sleep, I write, I consume, I find ways to glide past the painful parts.