Between Two Worlds
As usual, instead of posting something original and which I 'own', I find myself once again sharing instead something that was sent to me by a friend of mine. I can so relate, and I guess in that sense I also "own" the feelings and thoughts shared herein. Read on, this is nice... :)
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Between Two Worlds
By Kari West
At Pillar Point Lighthouse, south of San Francisco, where the ocean gives way to the land, I stood on the edge of two worlds. That day my thoughts were as restless as the relentless sea pummeling the shore below. I was floundering, torn between the deep attachments of the past and the pressing need to let go of them forever. I was almost ready to give up.
Me, single again? I can't do this! Two months earlier, my husband had suddenly walked out of our marriage. The discovery of multiple affairs going back decades left me breathless. Now, as a single working mother of a teenager, I felt overwhelmed. Sometimes I felt I could make it through, but at other times I just wanted to die.
That particular Sunday afternoon, Eleanor, a woman I knew from church, suggested that we go and pick blackberries at the ocean. So we had driven down the coast and stopped at this bluff to stretch our legs and absorb the view.
I didn't know Eleanor well, but she turned out to be good company. As we gazed down at the ocean she turned to me and said, very deliberately, "The kind of men who sneak around and walk out on marriages are not worth crying over."
So began my friendship with Eleanor. I soon discovered that as a divorced woman herself, she had also stood where I was now - and that she had not only survived, but flourished.
In the months that followed, Eleanor taught me how. "Lighten up. Simplify," she said. I began by getting rid of the heavy furniture I couldn't lift on my own.
"Why hold on to all those knickknacks and holiday ornaments, if they have such heavy memories?" she asked. So I held a garage sale to make room for new memories and traditions. I bought a small house across town and redecorated the black vinyl and beige with colorful floral patterns. Instead of bemoaning that my daughter chose to spend that first Christmas with her father, I took the week off work to travel to Israel.
Slowly, I got my feet wet with all this single stuff. Eleanor was always there for me. She let me have the keys to her house so I could have a quiet place to go when she was at work, and she said I could call her anytime, day or night. I thought of her as my "3 a.m. friend." What a gift she gave me!
I found myself wanting what Eleanor had. That wisdom. That twinkle in the eye that said that life is good and we are here to enjoy it. Just watching her move smoothly, creatively through her life helped. I thought, Maybe one day I'll be where she is.
Although our paths took different directions in the years that followed, Eleanor and I always managed to pick up our friendship where we left off. To this day, I continue to admire how she carries herself with flair through life's ups and downs. She has a way of putting things into perspective.
It is in part because of Eleanor that I have realized one special dream. While I was going through all my emotional turmoil, I hoped that someday I would be able to write about it and so help other women in the same situation. Inspired by watching Eleanor turn a hobby of oil painting into a home business, I left behind a thirty-year career to become a freelance writer.
One day I was at a writer's conference having an article based on my experience reviewed by an editor. In the middle of our session she suddenly broke down and said, "I'm going through this same thing right now!"
She was obviously in distress. I gave her a hug and told her she would get through it; there was a future out there, even though she might not be able to see it at the moment.
Over the next few months, we stayed in touch, and then it occurred to me that she and I would make a perfect writing team. The combination of my weathered experience and her raw pain would enable us to write a book that would mentor other women in similar situations. When I told her my idea over the telephone she was very enthusiastic, and as we said good-bye she added, "I want my twinkle back - the twinkle that I see in your eyes!"
I closed my eyes for a moment as I realized what had happened: I had become for my new friend what my old friend Eleanor had always been for me. Twelve years had passed since that Sunday afternoon when Eleanor and I stopped at the lighthouse. And now I knew what Eleanor must have known as we stood looking down at the ocean pounding at the shore: There is a place where the turbulent sea gives way to firm, dry land. And when you find that place, you become a beacon of hope for others who are still floundering in the waves.
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Between Two Worlds
By Kari West
At Pillar Point Lighthouse, south of San Francisco, where the ocean gives way to the land, I stood on the edge of two worlds. That day my thoughts were as restless as the relentless sea pummeling the shore below. I was floundering, torn between the deep attachments of the past and the pressing need to let go of them forever. I was almost ready to give up.
Me, single again? I can't do this! Two months earlier, my husband had suddenly walked out of our marriage. The discovery of multiple affairs going back decades left me breathless. Now, as a single working mother of a teenager, I felt overwhelmed. Sometimes I felt I could make it through, but at other times I just wanted to die.
That particular Sunday afternoon, Eleanor, a woman I knew from church, suggested that we go and pick blackberries at the ocean. So we had driven down the coast and stopped at this bluff to stretch our legs and absorb the view.
I didn't know Eleanor well, but she turned out to be good company. As we gazed down at the ocean she turned to me and said, very deliberately, "The kind of men who sneak around and walk out on marriages are not worth crying over."
So began my friendship with Eleanor. I soon discovered that as a divorced woman herself, she had also stood where I was now - and that she had not only survived, but flourished.
In the months that followed, Eleanor taught me how. "Lighten up. Simplify," she said. I began by getting rid of the heavy furniture I couldn't lift on my own.
"Why hold on to all those knickknacks and holiday ornaments, if they have such heavy memories?" she asked. So I held a garage sale to make room for new memories and traditions. I bought a small house across town and redecorated the black vinyl and beige with colorful floral patterns. Instead of bemoaning that my daughter chose to spend that first Christmas with her father, I took the week off work to travel to Israel.
Slowly, I got my feet wet with all this single stuff. Eleanor was always there for me. She let me have the keys to her house so I could have a quiet place to go when she was at work, and she said I could call her anytime, day or night. I thought of her as my "3 a.m. friend." What a gift she gave me!
I found myself wanting what Eleanor had. That wisdom. That twinkle in the eye that said that life is good and we are here to enjoy it. Just watching her move smoothly, creatively through her life helped. I thought, Maybe one day I'll be where she is.
Although our paths took different directions in the years that followed, Eleanor and I always managed to pick up our friendship where we left off. To this day, I continue to admire how she carries herself with flair through life's ups and downs. She has a way of putting things into perspective.
It is in part because of Eleanor that I have realized one special dream. While I was going through all my emotional turmoil, I hoped that someday I would be able to write about it and so help other women in the same situation. Inspired by watching Eleanor turn a hobby of oil painting into a home business, I left behind a thirty-year career to become a freelance writer.
One day I was at a writer's conference having an article based on my experience reviewed by an editor. In the middle of our session she suddenly broke down and said, "I'm going through this same thing right now!"
She was obviously in distress. I gave her a hug and told her she would get through it; there was a future out there, even though she might not be able to see it at the moment.
Over the next few months, we stayed in touch, and then it occurred to me that she and I would make a perfect writing team. The combination of my weathered experience and her raw pain would enable us to write a book that would mentor other women in similar situations. When I told her my idea over the telephone she was very enthusiastic, and as we said good-bye she added, "I want my twinkle back - the twinkle that I see in your eyes!"
I closed my eyes for a moment as I realized what had happened: I had become for my new friend what my old friend Eleanor had always been for me. Twelve years had passed since that Sunday afternoon when Eleanor and I stopped at the lighthouse. And now I knew what Eleanor must have known as we stood looking down at the ocean pounding at the shore: There is a place where the turbulent sea gives way to firm, dry land. And when you find that place, you become a beacon of hope for others who are still floundering in the waves.
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posted by shy @ 11:29 PM
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