I was having dinner with two visiting nurse managers when I heard the crack. We were at Chijmes, a French abbey in the middle of the city renovated into one of my favorite Singapore dining venues - whose beautiful courtyard and cloisters are now lines with elegant restaurants of all varieties. I was doing nothing but biting into a bacon bit in my salad when it happened – and then it dawned on me that it was my own tooth. My dental record had hitherto been spotless – never a cavity or any kind of problem. In fact, I had been to the dental clinic at Raffles Hospital, Singapore's fanciest private hospital, just the week before and got a clean bill of oral health. So, how was there a piece of tooth 30 in my salad?
Naturally, I spit it out into my napkin – a shockingly large jagged piece of tooth and found myself shocked and dumbfounded about what to do in this situation. Do I run to the bathroom? Minimize the situation and continue on with the business dinner as if I hadn't just spit a piece of tooth out of my mouth? Try to find an emergency dentist? Was it okay to eat or was I setting myself up for an infection?
"Oh, don't worry about it," Betty a nurse manager from Sacramento told me. "You're fine! Make a dentist appointment tomorrow – these things happen. These days, they can even make you a new tooth!"
Betty was around 50 and worked for what was then one of the largest healthcare systems in the Western United States. She had benefits to the hilt and a nice, solid income. I was 28, lived off my commissions as a foreign nurse recruiter and had no health insurance that applied in Singapore. I relied on the fact that Singaporean medicine is very reasonably priced. But I had no idea what would be required from the dentist and how much a Singaporean tooth might cost.
In my moment of confusion and worry, Betty's well-meaning words sounded blasé.
Sometimes I think of that moment when I talk to people about divorce. For the most part, supportive friends and family talk about divorce as if it's a choice with mostly emotional consequences. I hear wonderful things like, I should do what makes me happy, I deserve better, my happiness will benefit my kids – so don't worry so much about them, they'll be fine. I appreciate and value all these things.
Divorce is - or should be – first and foremost a consideration of emotions, commitments, well-being, and personal thriving. Untangling our heartstrings is the hard work and what we want to guide us.
The price tag of divorce certainly involves the heartache.
I'm not sure if it's me, the people in my circle, my socio-economic bracket or just that it's abjectly gauche, but we rarely talk about the financial, material price tag. Maybe it's that Emily and I are lucky enough that if we divorced, we're not going to end up in dire straits. Money won't even be tight in any real sense. So, focusing on the emotional and life directional aspects makes more sense.
At the same time, I can't ignore that divorce has real financial consequences – especially for my kids. Two homes cost more than one. Not only that, the domestic life of a family has economies of scale. Two households aren't just the cost of one divided up. In simple ways, it means handsoap for seven sinks instead of four, electricity enough to air condition two domiciles, more insurance. However, current real estate market conditions aren't in our favor. A simple, inelegant two-bedroom apartment in our area rents for more than our monthly mortgage payment. Our house has appreciated tremendously in value – but so has everything around us. The price of real estate in our area is insane. Interest rates are rising. Money is inflated. We live a nice life with our combined incomes and one house with substantial equity in it and a three percent interest rate. Two overheads will mean less expendable income and choices and trade-offs we have been lucky enough not to really face for most of our child-raising years.
For my parents' generation, the formula for divorce seemed fairly simple - unless a couple had the means to simply buy another another home, either the husband moved into a smaller place and the wife and kids kept the house, or they sold the house and each got something they could each afford with the equity.
Of course we could do that too – but in aggregate it would be a giant financial loss. Selling a house we bought at a great price, have made good money on, and for which have very reasonable monthly payments in favor of two smaller domiciles likely at a much higher cost per-square-foot, interest rate and combines property tax – it's a significant loss in net worth.
Not to say that staying in a marriage for fear of diverting from a healthy financial strategy is the right decision. But wouldn't I be lying if I said it doesn't matter?
Sure, there are choices Emily and I could make that would make big differences. Our annual international family vacations are pricey. We have an au pair – maybe that goes (although there will still be child care costs). I might be forced to drop my Whole Foods, Erewhon and Gelson's shopping. We could live (but I'm still not going to Vons). I could downgrade cars and still be a happy person. Emily gets rent money from a share of a commercial property she inherited. There are options and strategies.
Still, the financial, material costs aren't the only things factored into the price tag. What about personal thriving? Emily has leaned for some time toward divorce as her path to thriving. If she gets rid of the constraints and obligations of marriage, she can be free to be her authentic self. Fantastic.
What about me? Where is my thriving?
Emily's vision for a divorce is us living near each other, being a child-rearing team. I am there, supportive and accessible – we have a new friendship that could even be warm and close. We work together well on raising our children. Maybe we swap in and out of the house because that would be most stable for the kids and has some obvious financial advantages. In my opinion, she's smartly trying to throw out the bathwater and keep the baby – getting rid of the obligations of marriage and any responsibility to me, while keeping the support, dedication and loyalty she likes. Maybe I date – but I'm still hers in all the ways that matter most to her.
For me, that means having the reciprocal deal to the one Emily wants – keeping all the work and obligations while releasing the expectation of care, love and loyalty. If my marriage doesn't have these things today – and nothing substantially changes being divorced – why not maximize the kids' stability and our finances by staying married? In this scenario, it's just a matter of expectations.
If I get divorced, shouldn't I end up better off in some way? Shouldn't the price paid buy me something?
I asked my mom this question and her very reasonable response was, "You would be out of a bad marriage. That has to be worth something."
It seems to me that's true if the aftermath is better than the marriage itself. If we're all poorer, I'm living a life I don't want for myself and I'm no freer – how are the kids (who were surprised to learn mommy and daddy weren't getting along) and I better off? Who wins except Emily?
One of the things I've had the most trouble with throughout the past year and eight months is that Emily doesn't seem to know where she's headed – only what she wants to get away from. Despite my many times asking where in life she wants to go that a divorce would enable her to reach – she has only said that she doesn't really know. What she knows that a divorce would be a relief from the pressure, guilt and most importantly, the inauthenticity. She's looking for relief and what happens after the relief will ostensibly unfold or become a later consideration.
The life she wants for me doesn't offer me relief. If anything, it will both literally and figuratively cost more while keeping me tethered and bound. At this point in my life, I don't want to just fall into anything. I'm past life being a series of serendipitous events. I want my choices to move me forward – lead me toward thriving. My job gives me equity in the businesses I manage. I took it with the intention of building some wealth over the next few years. I want the means to live intentionally – make choices for the thriving on my family and myself. I might go to grad school. Maybe I'll airlift llamas into Nepal. Perhaps I'll get that house I love overlooking Sapsilla Beach here in Patmos. Maybe I'll finally write for my primary occupation. I don't have giant material dreams – I want the freedom to pursue fulfillment without it costing anyone else.
In order to exit my marriage, I need reason to believe it will lead to something – and not in five, ten or fifteen years. I would want next year at this time to be better than now. I want to be on a meaningful path.
I understand the idea that "Men make plans and God laughs," and how often things that seem tragic become the catalyst for better, unforeseen things in life. We aren't clairvoyant nor particularly potent in shaping the events around us. At the same time, vision and determination count for something. If Emily's choices have been bringing me grief and will likely force my hand in a direction I have fiercely resisted, then shouldn't I parlay it into an opportunity? Isn't my life worth more than staying in a holding pattern until the kids reach some age that my tether can be released?
Sometimes I wonder if I'm being childish. Am I so used to charting my own course in life and living on my terms that the first time I feel trapped, I'm intolerant? There's honor in sacrifice. I wouldn't be here today if my great-grandparents hadn't made multitudes of sacrifices to get to this country and set the next generations up to thrive. None of them lived lives as vibrant and free as mine. Perhaps it doesn't matter if Emily is right or wrong – or whether my next decade is my best one. I can probably find a way to make it work for me no matter what. I could grow by turning perceived confinement into a new kind of freedom. Maybe like I'm doing with this blog, I could turn my angst and frustrations into something worth reading. Art often spawns from pain and challenge. It could be like yoga where, while staying on one's mat, pushing through the tight and painful places is where the growth and transformation occur. Not everything in life has to go my way for it to be a good life. We don't all get to plot our course when we want to – or in many cases, ever.
I suppose if I cheated or was the one who changed my mind about our marriage, the idea of taking my lumps would feel more tolerable. I would have some penance. I would know I was breaking the deal – and broken promises have price tags. I could do some t'shuvah, searching inward to better myself as I undertook the next phase of life. Hell, I'm doing t'shuvah anyway.
The way things stand, getting divorced, weakening our financial position, living nearby or swapping in and out of the house, trading-off the kids every week or two, waiting for my time with them while I figure out how to occupy the alternate days and weeks in a place where I won't socially fit, maybe living in a lame apartment or townhouse that costs too much…. it's all a bitter pill to swallow after putting everything I have into my marriage faithfully and without reservation for 12 years with far too little reciprocation.
In the end, life isn't fair and seeking equity may be fruitless.
Another part of me pounds his fist down on the table and yells some cheap movie line like, "Not today!"
What happened to turning this unwanted tragedy into an opportunity? Why crawl into a box and wait there until I'm let out? If there's a fight ahead, why not let it be for me to also thrive? Where is my place in the sun? Perhaps the next round of conversations with Emily are negotiating down the price tag of divorce.
I'm not going to abandon my kids. I want as much time with them as I can get. And I need the time I'm not with them to matter. I need wings again – and air in my lungs. Why do all the yoga on the mat if you can't bring the benefits out into the world?
One of the things I like about the concept of three-month blocks of custody is that Emily and I would each only need additional housing half the time. Perhaps we could make use of short-term rentals, or Emily stay with her parents in her "off season"? I could do things like I'm doing now. I got a pretty rad deal for my VERY nice one-bedroom with a view for only 3000 euros for ten weeks! That's the equivalent of $1200 a month in rent – which is a sheer impossibility at home. Even with my rental car at $580 a month (including insurance) – the whole thing is a giant bargain and I'm doing something that contributes to my thriving. Ironically enough, spending my "off-time" in off-season Patmos could reduce the price tag of divorce in multiple ways.
In the end, I don't yet know the end of the story. I don't know what these ten weeks will do for Emily. With almost five weeks ahead, I still don't know exactly what they'll do for me. It also remains unclear what they'll mean to our kids – which in turn may change how either or both of us see things. There are many variables in the calculation of our family's price tag. I have been footing most of the bill in our marriage for a long time. I just know that whatever comes next – salvaging our marriage or navigating a divorce – I can't continue to be the one who pays disproportionately more.
