At the Edge of the World

I have come home in anxious pursuit of unlocking my mailbox to find that letter – that letter from the Los Angeles County Courthouse confirming my freedom, proof that my divorce is final. I have done this every single day for the past two and a half years. I have yet to receive that letter but I know that day will come. I know the day will come that I am no longer addressed as Mrs. (insert married last name), and my past mistakes can truly become just that – a part of my past.

Everyone jokes that a celebration is in order once I do obtain that piece of paper but I don’t find it a joking matter at all – I most definitely intend on celebrating in a very grand way. Ever heard of a divorce party? Well, it’s a thing and it will be a thing in my life – hopefully very soon.

I mull over the last two and a half years since deciding to end my marriage and that repetitive saying that, “life is crazy” doesn’t even begin to describe the roller coaster ride I have been subjected to. Life is downright insane! Life is a bitch as my mother liked to say. I’m a fucking survivor and I have to hold on to the hope and the belief that there will come a day where the fight, the struggle, the need to survive isn’t so necessary anymore. In the meantime, I’ll hang on to enjoyable memories that make my heart go pitter-pat and meaningful distractions that remind me of life’s greater pleasures.

I have been forever young, basking in the wondrous delight of indestructible spirits and I have inhaled the recycled air of last breaths, sharing space and time with destructive disease. I have spent lingering nights tasting the cool, crisp earth of immortal youth and reveling in its naïve sheen and I’ve laid next to death’s inevitable, unbiased truth, shivering in its finality. I have danced in the dim candlelight, made time stand still for an entire song and I have shed endless tears to a single repetitive chorus, red, swollen eyes shielded by a culmination of metal and plastic. I have soundly slept on winter’s sand at the edge of the world without the anticipation of another sunrise and I have wished to peacefully fall into a permanent sleep, one where my mortality calmly meets with a world I am unsure even exists.


I Would Walk Five Hundred Miles

I’d swim a river or two just to get to the next one,” the local bartender candidly proclaimed, referring to his desire to experience his next all-consuming love. We had gone from talking about his precious husky he had to lay to rest awhile back to the perilous yet worthy richness of having someone to love and to be loved.

His words were like coming up for air after deep sea diving; they were refreshing and unexpected. I often find myself alone in these sentiments save for a few close friends, mostly female. To hear a grown man state his urgency and longing to be in the arms of the next person he is meant to love made me feel a little less alone in this mind of mine that all too often feels like a desert.

Experience has hardened my edges a bit, creating a slightly cynical faith in humankind. I like to believe there is more good than evil, more polite than rude, more intelligent than dumb, more open minds than closed ones and while we’re at it, more liberal than conservative. Unfortunately, I often find myself doubting all of the above and then some.

Having unforeseen conversations with complete strangers like the one above considerably reinstates my, admittedly idealistic convictions. Being wealthy has nothing to do with bank accounts but with the amount of people we consistently give of ourselves to, the ones we love. Love truly does make the world go ‘round. Without it, life would solely be a bitch as the old adage goes. I believe that everyone – man, woman and child not only wants to love and to be loved but inherently needs this. I endeavor to believe that, in the end, we would all swim a river or two to drown ourselves in the revelry of the greatest blessing life has to offer, love.