New Frontiers

“Just like that?” I asked.

And he nods his head, “Yeah.  I guess I saw it coming, so I was a little prepared for it.  It sucks, man.  There’s a lot of adjusting, a lot of late nights drinking tryin’ to accept it all.”

“Did she have any excuses?  Any good reasons why?”

“No, man.  Just that she wasn’t in love anymore, I guess.  She doesn’t need anyone anymore.  She doesn’t need me.”  He takes another sip from his Corona, and sighs.  “Yeah.”  It was almost like he was accepting it right there.  Announcing that agrees with her decision and choice to have absolute independence.

“That’s a shitty reason for a divorce.  So it’s over?  You don’t think you can fix it?” I take a big gulp, and look carefully at this man.  I can’t even remember his name at this point.  Everyone knows, I’m terrible with names and faces.

“I tried.  I offered counseling, threw up the idea of just ‘separation’—as if that sounds any prettier but at least it isn’t permanent; she said no.  And now all the signs are so visible in retrospect; her refusal to have kids with me, her rushing for me to sell the house, and she was never around, she was always working and shit.”

I force a smile and lift my bottle.  “To new frontiers, then, yeah?” And we tap our drinks together in acknowledgment of the hopelessness of both of our situations.

And that was how I spent my dinner.  Originally, I was going to take my burger and fries from this random pub back to office and spend the last half hour there grinding through some work, but instead I listened to this guy tell me all the details of his unfolding divorce.  And it was depressing (which I suppose explains my immediate decision to blog about it).

Why does that happen?  He told me that he’d done everything he could to salvage their marriage and convince her it was worth it for her to put in half as much work as he was, and that they could turn this disaster into a success story if she’d just try.  But she was stubborn, set in her decision, and had been leaning on ending their relationship for over a year.

He didn’t seem angry about it.  He had feelings that there was another man in the picture and that she wasn’t telling him everything, but he was so focused on just sealing off the divorce, and moving on.

I kept wanting to ask one more question.  It appeared that he’d lost all will to fight on, to continue, and that surrender was the easiest and only option he had left.  That makes sense, considering the energy and effort he’d spent trying to make it work before she delivered the paperwork from her lawyer.

I couldn’t help but feel awful for this man.  Sympathy, they say, is drawn from the Greek word that means to suffer with.  By sympathizing with him, I was suffering with him.  Two beers and counting and with my tolerance for alcohol, I was finding it more than easy

But the one thing that kept running through my mind was, “Why?” Why should we do this?  He seemed like a nice guy.  Chances are, there was more to the collapse of their relationship than he was letting off, but it seemed like he still cared about her and that he really did want things to work out between them.  He’d given his life for her, he’d devoted all his energy and love to her.  And she was so willing to throw that out.

Are people seriously that foolish?  He loves her, and she refused to reciprocate.  Unrequited love, which appears to be the resounding theme of this summer, sucks.

The Ed Sheeran lyric just kept going through my head, too.  “Success is nothing if you have no one left to share it with.”  He’d had an excellent month with his business.  He made a living running a company that did home remodeling and fixing up throughout the area.  He kept going on about how terrible he felt because he had all this money and happiness from the fruits of his labor, and she was so willing to walk out.

He wanted to share that with her, and she was gone.  And he felt selfish using it for himself.  His words, not mine.

It just bothers me because I have no answers for this.  The bartender thought I looked fourteen (rather she agreed with me when I handed her my ID and announced that I just turned 12), and he probably didn’t think I was old at all, so I felt really helpless because I couldn’t offer divorce advice or any words of wisdom.

The one thing I did tell him was that I understood how he felt, to an extent, and that the only feelings left were selfish ones; better me, focus on me, and do me.  Move on.

And we tapped bottles again to that.  To new frontiers.

It really is difficult, I guess, to not be cynical when it comes to relationships.  Everyone’s shown me that all they’re going to do is what makes them happy, and then they’ll worry about the repercussions it has on the other after they’re satisfied (sometimes not, though).

Someone, prove me wrong.  Because, I’m told, I’m supposed to be an optimist.  And I want to believe in love without conditions and that indefinite love is possible, and that it exists.

On that same token, I also wish I was a superhero that could move objects with the power of my mind.  Well, I’m avoiding that bar forever now, because that was depressing as Hell.  It’s a shame because the burger was delicious, and it’s literally a block from my new office.

“To new frontiers.”