I awoke to peace. No groundskeepers doing last minute projects before the prime tourist season. No cruise ship in the harbor. All that could be heard was the sounds of breeze, birds, roosters and an occasional goat. My bedroom was filled with light and air. I had no place to be, no errands and even the yoga ahead was slow, stretchy Yin. Out the window on one side was the sea and on the other, Hora and the monastery. It's hard to imagine a more relaxed Sunday which to awake.
After a few minutes of quiet bliss, a gnawing feeling began and it didn't take long to figure it out. A week from tonight I leave Patmos. While that in itself is sad in a sense, what really bothers me is the road ahead. Patmos has been this incredible safe space for me – keeping me sheltered and nurtured. Not only is it far away and removed from my daily life and tensions with Emily – but it's physically separate from the world and wrapped in beauty. Ironically, this little island has afforded me tremendous space. Stepping on that ferry means leaving the protection of Patmos and facing my life again. And not in little pieces – but in a giant flood.
I land in Los Angeles on a Tuesday afternoon and that next weekend are the kids' birthday parties – which are never a relaxed, easy time with Emily. There's her tremendous anxiety leading up to the parties – with all the lists and tasks followed immediately by her strict expectations of how we need to appear and what each person should be feeling. If a kid is not happy or excited enough or I am not feeling the birthday joy there will be a price later. I actually find birthday and special occasions some of the most stressful with Emily and her family who place a lot of weight on them – and want them curated with particular feelings and presentation.
In his 1998 Dress To Kill standup routine, Eddie Izzard discussed Pol Pot of Cambodia:
Pol Pot killed 1.7 million people. We can't even deal with that! You know, we think if somebody kills someone, that's murder, you go to prison. You kill 10 people, you go to Texas, they hit you with a brick, that's what they do. 20 people, you go to a hospital, they look through a small window at you forever. And over that, we can't deal with it, you know? Someone's killed 100,000 people. We're almost going, "Well done! You killed 100,000 people? You must get up very early in the morning. I can't even get down the gym! Your diary must look odd: “Get up in the morning, death, death, death, death, death, death, death – lunch- death, death, death -afternoon tea – death, death, death – quick shower…"
So I suppose we're glad that Pol Pot's under house arrest… you know, 1.7 million people. At least he – we know where he is – under house arrest! Just don't go in that fucking house, you know?
That's kind of how I feel about leaving this island. Everything's fine – just don't step onto that ferry!
But why the deep-seated dread? Emily certainly is not Pol Pot – and that's something I would absolutely testify to in court. We have our issues – but even if we get divorced, I don't expect it to be the divorce from hell. I began asking myself where this feeling is coming from.
I mentioned in a previous post that I have been reading Love In The Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez this trip. Marquez is one of the innovators of magic realism which inserts a little magic into otherwise ordinary situations. Characters react to something magical or almost impossible as if it were perfectly natural. Coming home to Emily wanting to continue our marriage and being ready to invest in what would make it fulfilling for us both would be such a magical event.
I feel compelled to assume that whatever I want – including the terms of a divorce – Emily will moderately to severely oppose me. I also try to remember assumptions are dangerous. I have to make room for her to meet me somewhere – for there to be common ground and cooperation, even if I deem it unlikely. I have to go forward prepared for anything, certain about nothing, nimble as can be and able to resist both hurt and temptation. No small feat.
Perhaps the hardest – and where the real dread lies – is steeling myself against rejection and hurt. Not that it's new – Emily wanting the divorce is old hat. No matter – it still will hurt at some level and no amount of preparation makes those feelings vanish entirely. Maybe I could use a little magic realism that way. Facing choices that will affect and at least initially hurt my children will be difficult too. Why would I want to go back to these?
Every now and then in life, we reach a point we can't see beyond. The next phase is too difficult to extrapolate – maybe too far beyond our known experiences. I was able to imagine marriage. Not only had I witnessed it among numerous people growing up but I could imagine building partnership within a loving relationship. I think marriage fantasies are very common. I've never had a divorce fantasy. Sure, there are the moments when I could imagine calling it quits – but not the life beyond "I quit!" Actually developing a completely new unexpected phase of life is hard to envision – though this time on Patmos has helped me begin to do so.
Still, I have no clue what the first week back will look and feel like. Or the week after that, or the one after that. Usually, I return from a trip fairly certain on the routine to which I'll be returning and the set of events ahead. Will I walk in and we go back to life as usual – at least for some period of time? That's actually not at all outside of what I would expect from Emily who likes to save emotional content for particular moments when she feels the timing is good or she's ready. She often expects that life should have a certain presentation or sense of normalcy until the moment the emotional bomb is ignited. It's a very controlled approach – which unnerves me completely – and I somewhat suspect it here. I hate waiting for the other shoe to drop – it's kind of like how a Bond villain doesn't just shoot people dead on sight but instead has elaborate speeches and processes before they finally drop their victim in the shark tank.
Starting over and blank slates can be both exciting and scary. We call it a new lease on life when we want to spin it positively and starting all over again when we feel negatively about it. No matter what, the human propensity is to cling to the evil we know rather than march into the unknown. Not all the Hebrews left Egypt when Moses led them out. Birds don't always fly out of their cages when opened and set free. There is security and comfort in taking on the familiar with all its challenges than rolling the dice on the unpredictability of what comes next. Of course that feeling of security assumes that the known has a certain constancy that may or may not actually exist. Change comes in many forms to many people and places. We don't really know how anything will go – it just sometimes feels more like we do.
I'm no special exception. With all of its possibilities for new and better things, the unknown is scary. I'm sure there will be pain before there's healing. I don't want to go through pain. I don't want my kids to go through pain. Moreover, I find a certain bitterness in Emily destroying a life that was built so carefully, with love, dedication and hard work. I invested myself completely in our marriage and life. I didn't need different or more. In the end, it doesn't matter and it doesn't mean sticking with it is the right choice. Nonetheless, it's a painful loss if that's how things go and it will take a lot of letting go to clear the resentment.
I realize no amount of writing and thinking changes the basic facts. I have to go, Emily will present however she does, and something will be different. Change is already upon us – coming here began it.
Maybe it's really the way The Oracle in the Matrix movies summed it up:
Because you didn't come here to make the choice, you've already made it. You're here to try to understand *why* you made it. I thought you'd have figured that out by now.
Possibly. However, so long as I stay on this island, I haven't hit Save. The draft remains fluid – nothing comes to pass. Can't I just stay surrounded by blue water and plates of eggplant while keeping the future at bay? The clock and calendar say "no".
Then there's only one thing to do – enjoy my next week. Make it count. Breathe in the air, feast my eyes on the blue, enjoy all the many varieties of eggplant dishes. Keep my heart open. Acknowledge the anxiety and trepidation. And when the time comes, – which it will faster than I'd like – step boldly onto the ferry because the future is mine however it works out. Besides, at some point, the ferry will bring me back – without this set of problems to resolve and I can enjoy Patmos in another, hopefully more lighthearted way.
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