Posted on by myblackscrubs

Freedom

I walked out of the courtroom into a grey, cool day in Old Montreal. For some time, I didn’t know what to do with myself. What should I do with my liberty?

Crossing the street I bought myself a croissant at a café, then crossed back to catch the bus. Freedom is standing alone on a street corner, bus pass in hand, laptop and books in a bag on my shoulder, deciding where to eat lunch. I haven’t felt this unencumbered since roaming around Israel like a 20 year old backpacker last July, and before that – I can’t really even remember. Maybe in Thailand, alone for two weeks in 2005, in the middle of medical school? Yeah, probably.

Waiting for the bus I looked at my phone – do I tell them? Who do I call first? Can I keep this to myself just a little longer, keep my peace and quiet, the stillness in my soul? The judge who granted my divorce today also gifted me with a solace and a solitude that I almost forgot how to enjoy. I felt a deep, primal need to hold onto that for just a few minutes. The world could find out soon, but not yet. I needed to pause time, just for a few minutes. Somehow, that helped.

The only one I called was my mom. Everyone else got text messages; some called me and screamed with joy with me, some wrote back expressing their relief and solidarity. Divorce is a journey, a painful and tortuous one, and after two years of disquiet I can finally rest.

The bus picked me up along with a passel of conversational tourists, and together we rode through the streets of Old Montreal, up Saint-Laurent Boulevard, past the sites where concerts and festivals are held every summer, then on past the green expansive slopes of Mount Royal and finally to the metro station. The ride carried me back in time, to when I was a teenager, carefree and loving the adventure of the big city. On Mount Royal, my heart climbed the slopes as it did one December day on my first date with my high school sweetheart. Cote Sainte Catherine metro brought me back to stolen kisses with a different boy as we rode home each day after school. Exiting at Villa Maria metro I climbed the stairs into a drizzly May day, and walked down the street as I used to do at sixteen, minus the blue Walkman blaring AC/DC and Def Leppard in my ears. Reaching my destination, I sat down for lunch and promptly ordered myself a white sangria, followed later by a sandwich and waffle fries.

Free – I am free. Free to read books, free to write this piece, free to drink sangria mid-day at a café in a bustling city. Followed shortly by heading home to my children, my dog, my responsibilities and my laundry – but for now, I am alone, and I am HAPPY!

Posted on by myblackscrubs

The Journey

I walk doggedly through an expanse that seems never-ending. All around me, the pale sands hide quiet, sleeping monsters ready to explode. Alone, I traverse this minefield, picking my steps both with determination and with caution. Alone, yet burdened, my back bent with the weight of all I am fighting for. I look around me, strategize, then go on instinct as the strategy fails me. I yearn to find the path out of this maze, to find my way to a calm space where I can be safe, my children can be safe, my world can feel safe again. I dig deep and push on, tiptoeing at times, but I force my back straight and my shoulders square and pull forth all the strength I have to go on.

I climb a sand dune, reach the top and gaze towards a horizon; in my view I unexpectedly see green. Filled with hope, I throw myself headlong down the slope, rolling chaotically downwards, my hair picking up oceans of sand as I go. Curls flying and arms flailing I reach the flat, brush myself off and try to pull myself together. I remember that things are not always as they seem in the desert, and I recenter myself. Moving forward step by eager step, I reach the area that had been green in my dreams only to find the mirage was just that: illusion. Sighing, I allow myself a few moments of desolation before swallowing the bitterness and once again finding my resolve. I knew it couldn’t have been real; such is life these days. Hope is proffered suddenly on a silver platter then just as rapidly pulled away. I have learned to understand this pattern, and though I may still fling myself headlong into the anticipation of joy, deep down I recognize that deception is more likely.

I try to remind myself, as I pilot my way through this time of my life, that this is only temporary. Though the future may seem distant, it will eventually be my present. These times of insecurity won’t last. The morass of devastation must have a boundary, and once crossed there may be vast fields of contentment. Recognizing the phantasm of an oasis at the bottom of that sand dune only reinforces my excitement for what will one day come, and I push onwards with that tiny spark lighting my way.