The Calm Before The Tunnel

A week from tomorrow begins a ten-week journey of a very new kind. I will leave for Patmos, Greece – which in itself is far from a new journey. But leaving my wife and children for ten weeks not knowing what comes next for our marriage and family is very new – and scary.

It's been three weeks since Emily and I decided on a trial separation and about a year and a half since she first wanted a divorce and we went into lengthy (and high quality) couples therapy. I don't think it's possible for any one person to correctly and completely give the narrative of a marriage and its path – so I won't dig deeply into the how's and why's of where we are, although I imagine some of that will come out in the course of future blog entries. But it is fair to say I have fought for our marriage and family and that if left to Emily, we would likely have been divorced much sooner.

My impulse at this point is to tell the story, and defend myself against all the things the reader (shout out to retired Daily of the University of Washington Publisher, Oren Campbell whose love of "the reader" infected me and so many others)  may think about me and us. I wouldn't want the reader to think I was anything less than a great husband, or that there's some terrible aspect of me that lies hidden. Despite all of our best detective work, it's impossible to see inside someone else's marriage – and so, it's also a fair guess that the me one sees might not be the me that Emily gets. And while it's true that I can get angry at times – and Emily gets to see my anxiety, stress and tender underbelly more than anyone else – I swear, I'm a pretty great husband and an even more devoted father.  There is nothing I wouldn't do for my wife and family – and perhaps I've taken that to a fault.

With that disclaimer firmly in place, I can return to the fact that I have no real clue how I should feel, what I want and especially no clue about what I want my life to look like in the case of a divorce. What I do know is that I won't figure that out here, in Westlake Village, in the thick of our lives – even if "separated" sleeping in two different buildings.

I also don't want my children to fear a divorce. So while Daddy going away for ten weeks to see if it can help Mommy and Daddy get along better isn't the nicest thing, the kids seem less focused on the prospect of divorce and more focused on how long ten weeks feels. I'm okay with that – better the time than their greater security.

What I haven't shared widely is also how depressed I have felt at different moments in the past year and a half. It's a hard thing to catch because I have two superpowers working for me: 

1. I have Bipolar 2 and my very effective medication keeps me pretty functional even when I'm dying inside
2. I am masterful at control of myself and my narrative. If I don't want you to know, I can probably keep from you at least the full extent of what's going on. My friend Alex says I'm able to weave my narrative effectively in many directions – throwing off the people who might want to get a better glimpse inside.

The idea of being in a sterile apartment nearby – even if for three days at a time as Emily and I "nest" during a separation – is so depressing, I can't bear the thought. And realistically, I need to avoid flirting with that level of depression because in the past few months, it has had moments that were worse than at any other time in my life.

Which leads me to Patmos. Among the Pantheon of favorite places in may life, I need an island for this journey. I feel safest and most enriched on islands. I need distance between me and the world. Bali is always my favorite go-to island – a place where I can be nourished, comforted, brought back to life and wrap myself in a blanket of the most gentle aspects of God's world. But that would be the wrong choice. I need clarity more than healing and Bali would be something between a distraction and and a temptation. I cannot slip into that life right now – that was another time in my life, and perhaps may be part of my future. But not now.

No, Patmos – beautiful, spiritual, secluded, peaceful, resplendent blue-and-white Patmos – with its hard furniture and its roughly 2000 kind residents is exactly the right place. I have always wanted to see Patmos off-season and I imagine that when it's cold and without tourists may be when it's at its most interesting. I imagine a slightly more stark and open feeling beauty. I imagine the sense of lots of space in what is really a very small island. And that is just the thing for me.

I'll talk to the kids daily. – maybe twice a day, work of course, do daily yoga and write this blog. I'm sure there will be some grocery shopping, walking around town, working at cafes, becoming famous at the butcher shop (nothing impresses the locals like a tourist who goes to the butcher instead of the supermarket), cruising the island, maybe visiting some of my favorite beaches. I know many of our favorite restaurants and shops will be closed until May. I'll probably cook for myself quite a bit – although spanakopita and tirokopita from the local bakeries are probably still on the menu.

While a trip to Patmos is usually a joyous thing for me – this time it feels like more of a relief and a refuge. Something very new for me and Patmos. 

Yet here at home things have become strangely calm. After the painful decision to separate and the subsequent challenging. negotiations over how – we decided to tell the kids last Saturday afternoon. Then came the inevitable questions and emotions. Not surprisingly, the questions were more Sennen and the emotions were more Ailyn. It was all turbulent and painful. And then a sort of calm descended. The die is cast, the decisions made, the path laid out. There doesn't seem much to fight about, no underlying tension left to have. We don't hate each other – there was been no explosion or unforgivable acts. We continue living life knowing that we're on the clock. The big change is in a week and no one really knows what happens then.

So I grocery shop and cook. Emily works and takes the kids to baseball. We check-in and talk about our days every evening like always. We'll make hamantaschen for Purim and I'll probably turn the ripening bananas into banana bread.  The kids will go to school, we'll work and there will be errands and appointments. Life has all the semblance of normal. Until the car to take me to the airport arrives next Saturday.

What comes next is a mystery. But what has been wonderful is all the people in our lives who have expressed warmth, support, care and concern. I have felt very loved my the people in my life and I think Emily would say the same. So I'll take that love – along with numerous supplies ordered from Amazon – with me across the ocean, down to Athens and across the Aegean to my new temporary home where that love can sustain me in the moments, days and weeks after I exhale.