it was terribly confusing all those years. it was training for not trusting words: i love you. and it was training in paying close attention to my gut. it took me a long time to recognize that it was right about my marriage. now, i don’t waste much time questioning it.
as i started dating, my story became this: “i can’t cook.” i believed it. it was far easier to swallow than this: “i wasn’t good enough for someone, and i’m probably not good enough for you, either.”
even though i’ve been stuck like this for months (nearly 2 years?), i haven’t been willing or able to throw myself back in. i write little bits — a few poems a month, a blog post here and there — but i never have momentum.
it all feels very “high school,” and i really wish i weren’t susceptible to it. however, separation and divorce are trying times. they test everything. everything hurts. i really couldn’t muster a thick skin against just-one-more-thing.
something interesting happened at the halfway point as we made the turn to climb back up out of a deep gorge. i panicked. i realized i had no choice but to conquer the steep hill. one way or another, i had to get up and over it. i remembered something i told jill recently, though she teased that i must be high …
so far, november hasn’t been a month full of poems (though i have been making notes), but it has been a month of clarity and action. i’ll take it.
i’ve said out loud to anyone who’ll hear me that a small part of me believes that loss of my poetry mojo is punishment for leaving my marriage. i recognize how foolish it sounds, but i also know people who think it to be the perfect karma. most of me, of course, knows i’ll get the mojo back, and i’m willing to be patient. well, maybe patient’s not quite the right word.