It is five AM in Oxford, England, my last morning here. Bittersweet goodbyes have been exchanged with the new friends I've made, and my things are packed. I'm coming down from the buzz of an all-night bender, staring down the barrel of a nine hour flight back to Chicago with no sleep and no desire to partake in it. The town of Oxfordshire is quiet at night, one of its many charming qualities. The peace tonight, however, leaves me with too much time on my hands to think. I wish with all my willpower to keep the dawn away. This place, and the time I've spent here, have been the only bright spots in my life since the divorce. I'm moving on in a matter of hours, but the grass on the other side of this fence is decidedly brown.
It feels like I've been here for a year. There is no way my perceptions could have changed so much in only five days. It doesn't seem possible. The man who landed here Tuesday at noon might not even recognize the person holding the pen right now. I've spent a week drinking in pubs, making friends with people from all around the world, and shedding the shell of shyness and introversion that have been a constant mantle and companion my entire life. Somewhere between having the locals teach me the rules to cricket (which they did with a groan, since I was the ninth American to bother them with the question that day) and this final evening drinking and laughing under the stars in the center of St. Catherine's college, something about me had changed. I knew this much. I was free now. My soul felt lighter, more full of joy than I had ever known. It had been, quite literally, a life changing event for me.
But reality is about to intrude, and I'm dreading it. Waiting for me at home is a couch for a bed, no home, and the bitter weight around my neck of dealing with my soon to be ex-wife. I find myself hating her more and more each day. I don't entirely understand where the anger comes from, to be perfectly honest. I've accepted the reality that we are better off without each other. Our anniversary came and went while I was here, and I barely marked the passage of the day. It occurred to me somewhere around the second or third day of our journey, as we were drinking pints in the King's Arms pub and writing suggested questions for one of our friends in our abstract books (Question 1: What the hell is she talking about?) I realized that if I had brought "The Plaintiff" with me, as I had originally intended, none of this would have been possible. We would have spent the time together, sitting around in our rooms or wandering through endless shopping centers, wasting the opportunity in mindless consumerism. Or worse, we'd have fallen to bickering as we always seemed to do. Her way of making herself feel equal to me was by tearing me down, typically in front of people I respected. There would have been no taking off for a run in the mornings with my camera, shooting pictures of the interesting nooks and crannies of the town I had come to adore. There would have been only her, and her constant needs for attention, and my bitterness at never being able to supply enough of it.
No, life was better now, I was sure of it. A moment ago I stood at my window, looking out at another of the beautiful sunrises they have in this country, and I thought, "I am alone." But this time something was different. There was no twinge of pain. I don't fear it anymore the way I did for so long. I embrace it. But yet I know I am not out of the woods yet. A moment later, unbidden, the thought of jumping from the balcony and sparing myself the life reset that was waiting for me at home entered my mind. It was banished immediately, but it was the first suicidal thought I've had since I sought help for the depression that was my ex's ultimate gift to me. It was enough to scare me, and remind me of how far I still have to go.
I can make it. I want to make it. Life is too good for me to give up on it now.
So I close this brief interlude to finish packing my things. A plane awaits, and the next chapter of my life lies waiting around the corner.
Note: This was a journal entry dated 7-19-09, modified slightly from it's original form and rewritten to improve the content. I have some interest in someday publishing some elements of this story, paired with the rest of my recollections of this seminal event in my life. Comments and criticism are welcome at adamrogers2@gmail.com.
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