Both in the life I was supposed to have, and the life I’m living, February 17 was a big day.
I was supposed to be returning from my honeymoon — a honeymoon delayed by 5 years and that we had been saving up for over the last 7 years. It was a milestone: we had finally achieved a time in our life when we could financially afford this big trip. And we had been at our jobs long enough to earn a nice block of vacation time. And we were in love.
What actually happened was I rolled in to a place that was undergoing an intense winter storm season. There was evidence of the disaster everywhere. We had that in common.
I was supposed to arrive home glowing with the bliss of a tropical honeymoon. Instead I arrived “home” by myself, tired and messy.
I was supposed to be celebrating 5 years of marriage. Instead I was “celebrating” 4 months and 1 day of separation.
I was supposed to be exhausted by jet lag. Instead I was exhausted by the relentless trudge of starting over.
I wonder how long it will take to divorce the life I was supposed to have and the life I’m living.