The Beginning of Something Else

On June 1, 2007 I found out my husband and partner of almost two decades had been unfaithful to me since before our marriage, and had been having intercourse with prostitutes for 3 1/2 years. This is what happened next.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Safety in numbers.

Woke up this morning feeling sad. As I drove along the 101 freeway, I realized that I'm sad because I am aware that we are all alone. We sometimes delude ourselves into thinking we find that connection, and sometimes allow that connection to give us the feeling that we're tied to something in this world. But when it comes down to it, nobody is responsible for my happiness, for my joy of spirit, for my safety in this world except me. But that leaves me fundamentally alone in a way that I'd begun to believe wasn't necessary. I'd always pictured myself as separate from the world. Desireable but untouchable. Compassionate but unattainable. Loving yet removed. And then I forgot. And then I gave myself. And I rested my spirit, my joy, my faith in someone elses care. And that felt good. So good. So special. There was no trust deeper, no love stronger. From this ultimate surrender came the ultimate freedom. And made possible the ultimate betrayal. To crush faith. The faith of the faithless. A mighty act.

So out of all this comes truth. That somehow I can be responsible for my own joy, my own happiness, my own being in the world. And out of that truth comes maybe a more ultimate freedom. But it's not the childlike, joyful freedom I felt before. Instead it's tinged with sadness about the other truth. That we are all alone. Safety in numbers is an illusion. The real safety is in solitude. But the thing is, safety is not the winning game. Risk is the winning game. Which takes me back where I was before. Do I risk believing in something that is fundamentally untrue? Risk believing that I can give all of my heart, my faith, open my self to someone else without coming face to face with the pain of that truth?

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