sometimes fear is all there is. fear that the new life is too fragile or somehow unsustainable. fear that dirty dishes, unfolded piles of laundry, a messy office and a ransacked closet mean the ex is right: households suffer under my watch. i find myself joking, is it any wonder i can’t keep a husband?
it’s the thing that gives us momentum, right? that search for happiness. it’s what helps us change our lives. so we did it. we changed our lives. to the extreme. and then it takes us months and months to dare ask, are you happy? it’s a fair but dangerous question.
it’s not a glamorous process. i’ve never been a graceful girl. i’m clumsy and awkward, and there’s a homeliness about how i navigate the world. but something interesting is happening: i can see that it’s its own kind of advantage. people who are afraid for others to see them stumble usually don’t attempt anything tricky. tricky is my middle name. and it has been tricky — lots of tricky things in rapid succession. so says dorothy: ‘people come and go so quickly here.’