The Hypocrite’s Journey

The wind began blowing wildly last night and hasn't stopped since. This warm wind is confusing to a Los Angelino who knows warm winds to be dry and coming from the East – the winds that chap skin and help wildfires spread. This wind bangs shutters and door screens, threatens the planters and urns that adorn homes and businesses and stirs up the dust of the road work around the town square making Skala life surprisingly sandy. But these warm winds remain moist – because how could they not? Patmos and most of Greece except for upper Thrace is surrounded by water. There is no desert from which to draw dry winds as there is at home. 

Luckily the winds blew past my front door and not towards it, allowing me to keep it open and enjoy my sea view while doing this morning's yoga. There's nothing quite as nice as using a small island in the background as my dristi – or focal point – when doing balancing postures.

Not surprisingly, being in Greece is very helpful to understanding Greek Mythology. To see the world as the Ancient Greeks knew it, gives the stories more context. Their world was not one of the vast expanses of the Pacific, or even Atlantic oceans. Mountains were really only so tall. And given how littered the Aegean is with islands – some incredible small – it's easy to understand how their world could be full of hard to reach, mystical places with monsters, creatures and magical beings hiding in caves or behind rocks. Looking out at the Aegean, stirred up by powerful gales, it's easy to understand how the winds could be controlled by the Anemoi – the four gods of wind – who in turn often reported to Zeus or Poseidon as they controlled lightening and the seas respectively. If I had to guess, the wind today would be Eurus, the hot East wind who often disturbs ships at sea. Today would but a rough day to be out on a boat. 

The Ancient Greek myths often involved heroes like Heracles, Jason and Odysseus who leave their homes, take on perilous tasks along a lengthy journey and come back transformed – able to see the world with new eyes. In most cases, the hero who was chosen and favored by the gods is also at some point punished for his hubris, taken down a peg and made to suffer along the way. 

We are all the heroes of our own story. Each day we live our narratives and most of us try to do our best. Like the Greek heroes, we are flawed. Sometimes we receive grace and get by while other times we struggle or feel punished. Sometimes we summon the courage to fight, escape or kill the monsters and scary creatures who would harm or trick us. And other times, we are ensnared or feel as defeated as Sisyphus who was sentenced to push a boulder up a hill for all time. Unlike so many of our epic stories – particularly movies – today, Greek Mythology took pleasure in pointing out that heroes are not always treated fairly, their endings are not always happy and that they are flawed.

I am the hero of my own odyssey and I too am flawed. It would be easy to give my narrative without exposing my weaknesses and wrongdoings – but in order to get the job done here, I have to deal with those too.  Before I do, don't get me wrong – without wanting to be conceited, I think I'm a pretty awesome husband and father. I cannot imagine what more I could do for Emily beyond become invisible and only appear when she wants me, like a genie or a character from Bewitched. 

But I am now facing the terrible issue of hypocrisy. Over the past year and a half, I have relentlessly argued that Emily and I made vows to one another. We both wrote beautiful vows for our wedding and laid out a roadmap, a North Star or a trail of breadcrumbs precisely to help us in rough moments. We used phrases like, "in tough times…" and "When things aren't going so well…"  We recognized that life and marriage face challenges and hard times – that vows are not just about how you feel on the very happy day when you're saying them, but are a contract that covers the dark and unhappy times. When I re-read our vows today, I think we did a great job. We actually addressed the issues we now face.

On several occasions, I suggested to Emily that she re-read our vows to one another to find the roadmap we left ourselves. In therapy, Emily was dismissive of my discussion of vows as somehow naive or irrelevant. At one point, I read excerpts of her vows to her during therapy. I don't think she liked that. 

I was not shy about telling Emily that her choices were selfish. That wanting a divorce simply because she doesn't feel like being married is not being a good mother. That she was taking from the kids to achieve nothing she could articulate. One of the critical questions that I don't think Emily has ever answered is what is she headed toward in her life? Getting divorced might make more sense if it was in the service of moving toward a life she wants, but doesn't have. But she can only say that divorce is about relieving herself of what she no longer wants  - which is largely to show up for, and be committed to another adult human being. I think that logic works when you're Tina Turner leaving Ike or even when you're fighting about money or infidelity – some situation where basic trust and decency are broken and perhaps irreparable. My cousin Laureen divorced a man who turned into a crazy, sociopathic monster after they had kids. I have never seen a more justified divorce and I happily rounded up my college friends to help her move furniture and appliances into a storage bin as part of her plan to escape – which couldn't come soon enough in my book. I watched man literally pushed their toddler down the stairs and laugh. Game over.

But that isn't me and Emily. We have no big issues, there has been no irreparable damage, no unforgivable act. Just the simple question of "do I feel like it?" 

Emily has recently come to define integrity as being true to her feelings. Which of course leads to the conundrum of "if I don't feel like being present for my partner, or I don't feel like being thoughtful – then doing so makes me inauthentic, which is yucky and bad – and I lack integrity." In a sort of literal way, I suppose that's true. 

I was raised to believe that integrity is acting consistent with what you say you'll do –  and doing the right thing even when it's hard or not convenient. So, marriage is an act of integrity because OF COURSE you're not going to want to show up, or put someone else's feelings first, or deal with their annoying shit. Because we all have it and our spouses are all annoying bitches from time to time if not regularly. It's not anyone's fault – we're all humans and we have needs. Inevitably even the people you're closest to are going to have needs that become a weight. Add kids, the weight of caring for them and their inexhaustible needs  - and being a responsible spouse with children is hard work.

The love and the depth is in the act of showing up anyway. 

In the pantheon of models and special people I had growing up, my grandfather (the only one I ever knew) always stands first as the model of integrity. My Grandpa had a solid list of virtues, but his commitment, responsibility and loyalty underpinned an overall integrity that defined him. When I think about how I'm doing as a husband, father and man, I run it by his voice that lives in the back of my mind. When my Bubbee died at only 67 years old, she and my Grandpa were one year away from their 50th wedding anniversary. However, to my shock, my mom revealed to me that my grandparents not only separated at one point, but that several years before I was born, she actually got a call (at work, no less) telling her they were getting divorced. Obviously, that never came to pass and the situation resolved after only a few weeks. But apparently, even the unthinkable wasn't unfathomable. 

Not long before our wedding, Emily's grandparents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. Celebrated may be a strong word because when Emily and I called to wish them a happy anniversary, I said to her grandmother that it's such an amazing thing to have been married for 60 years to which she said "Well, I don't know about that…." Candor came easily to her. Being two very damaged Holocaust survivors, joy was never on the menu – though their bond was strong, however fraught their relationship seemed to be at times. 

All of this to say that somehow, "I don't feel like it anymore" and integrity as a measure of being consistent with one's feelings felt completely selfish to me. Abandoning commitment and promises in the face of a partner who has faithfully kept ALL of his promises even as he's been run through his paces, felt like an unforgivably narcissistic and capricious act. And moreover, she had never really shown up for me in so many ways, while I unwaveringly showed up for her. Moreover, to take away the family unit and life that our kids have always known and from which they derive so much security – for simply "not feeling it" seemed feckless. And I self-righteously tore into all of Emily's vulnerabilities and doubts – challenging her morality, maturity and values.

I still feel no differently. Emily later told me with rage that what I said made her question everything – which I shouldn't have done to her. But I was satisfied because that's exactly what I felt she needed to do – especially before destroying a family. 

But in the end, I'm the one who opened the door to this separation. Sure, she would have been happy to have it for quite some time beforehand. But it was her last broken promise – that familiar situation when a feeling and a promise collided and as so many times before, the feeling won – that I broke down and needed relief. I was so overwhelmed and ground down that I told her, "It's time I save myself." And that meant not just a separation, but getting away – getting myself together and seeking clarity. I knew instantly where I would go too. Of all possible places, it had to be Patmos.

And here I am, at a much later stage of a tumultuous journey, having fought valiantly, but facing my hubris. Just by being willing to do the trial separation, I wavered from my moral position. But then, if I run it by Grandpa, apparently a separation can happen and you can stay true to what you believe. But what of the new considerations? What does it mean if Emily and I don't repair? What if I stop fighting an exhausting battle? What if I acquiesce to the divorce? Or worse, what if when this is over, I don't want the marriage anymore? What would that mean for me, my morals and my integrity? What would Grandpa say then?

In my fatigue, would I be a bad father to stop fighting for what I still think would be best for my kids? Or more dauntingly, if I decided to join Emily's game and decide what I want for me – and if that isn't my marriage – am I not also breaking my vows and living at the expense of my children?

In short, would I be a hypocrite? 

My parents have both assured me that I've done everything I can do and that my kids need a happy father to have a good life. And that the kids are adaptable and will be fine whatever I choose. It sounds nice and I want to believe that. It may in fact, be true. But there is no knowing the path not chosen – no knowing if another path could have worked out better. What if I'm wrong? What if my parents are wrong? What if Grandpa's wrong?! (I don't think he is).

More importantly, was I wrong to say what I did to Emily if in the end, I also choose to be happy in another way, pursuing another life? How am I to judge me? And how, one day, will I present myself to my children? Because I meant every word of those vows and I would far prefer to honor them today. Does the situation release me from them? Am I qualified to release myself? If I believe my definition of integrity is better than Emily's, but if I make a similar choice, then do I still have integrity when it's over? Or do I end up like Prometheus – on a hill with an eagle eating my liver out of my body daily? And if I do, do I get any of Grandpa's cigars to enjoy during the waiting hours?