Now That I'm Forty...


Born in New York and now going to die in New York. Someday.

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Now That I'm Forty...

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Wednesday, January 14, 2004

I Hadn't Even Reached New York Yet When...
...my latest train story occured. I take the NE Corridor NJ rail back from work to Penn Station. A fellow who sounded and looked somewhat like George Zimmer had gotten on in NJ somewhere. (I was busy reading a comicbook at the time to notice where he got on. Yes, it had Wolverine in it. *gasp*)

Anyway, he was speaking too loudly for a voice so deep. He preceded to strike up a conversation with a woman I couldn't see, but she responded loudly enough for me to hear her too. Turns out he had a son just married, who lived in New York on the Eastside, in the Seventies. They were meeting to watch a game for which he had "Season Tickets" (whatever that means). Somehow--and believe me, I'd like to know how--he brought the subject up of marriage. He was just signing the papers for his divorce. Then she told him she was doing the exact same thing. !!! Love American Style?? Maybe not. But he DID ask her, "How many years young are you?" (Smooth Daddy!) She had just turned...wait for it...

FORTY.

They could be knocking boots as I write this blog, but that's not my point.

In his commiseration to their mutual plight, he pointed out that over sixty percent of all marriages end in divorce in America. A totally true statistic which I used earlier today with one of my clients. Then he said that 55 percent of all second marriages do the same.

So I'm back again to my position. What is the use?? Who needs this kind of abandonment and destroyed trust? This kind of shipwreck from which you spend the rest of your life coping?

I have two dear friends who are into their second marriages. (Boys, if you're ready this, keep your anonomity (sp?)) One seems to have gotten past the his first, but the other one is still wrangling in the court system maybe it's been eight to ten years after the fact. And he HATES her.


UUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhhh. This is something that he has to bear until either he or she dies. That could be another fifty years. Can you imagine?

So is it any wonder why I'm not even trying to hear anything about hooking up? In my last relationship, I said the words. I envisioned marriage. I wasn't scared. Even the disagreements we had didn't scare me off or traumatize me. I was stepping up and being a man about it. I thought I'd finally figured it out after so long. I even thought the trying was worth the risk. If there was failure in the end, at least there was an attempt, and some form of happiness along the way. The reward outweighed the risk.

Well, I can't even explain to you what happened. The disagreements got more frequent. She seemed unhappy at most of my efforts. She was not vicious about it, but she had used the word "miserable" to describe her state of mind. I had run out of tricks.

Then she went off to pursue something for her future. We kept in touch. And while she was gone, I took this opportunity to come to NYC. NYC wasn't exactly in her plans. It was an obstacle to her own plans, in fact. She struggled with trying to make it fit, but I think she realized it won't. We're still friendly, but we don't seem to be planning for our future together anymore. Or at least, I'm not.

I fell so easily out of the relationship. Like I'm teflon. And I can't help but think, This Is How I Am. I start, I maintain, then I falter, and I leave. Sometimes I run. This time, I just trundled away. I ambled away.

You'd think I'd be depressed about this, but I gotta tell ya. It is quite an easy state of mind to not so desperately need someone. I don't mean to isolate myself from humanity and blog forever from my safe little cubicle in Harlem. Recall my treatise on "Return Of The King" and the power of friendship that overwhelmed me. Being here in this apartment now is because I have friends who I care for deeply, who really showed me the value of relationship with deeds and not just idea or talk.

But the whole "I need a wife to make me complete" thing? This to me is an alien concept. I'd like to blame it on being raised by a single mom who was emotionally bereft herself. That'd be convenient. Add in some bad examples and maybe a touch of insanity in the family genetic code. Whatever it takes not to beat myself up for Where and Who I Am.

But for now, again, I'm happy. Couldn't the world use one more happy person and one less struggling divorcee'? If so, then hey, I'm doing my part.

Me at 1/14/2004 09:57:00 PM