I’ve devoted more keystrokes than, really, anyone can count writing about relationships on this blog. I go on and on from my perspective, maybe even to the point of losing readers because they’re ready for a new topic. People have left comments based on their experiences, and I read and consider each of them. Everyone takes their own personal relationship experiences and offers up precious nuggets of wisdom, inspiration, and lessons learned—good and bad—all in the name of “getting it right” or finding “the one.” And when you really think about it, “the one” for all of us is different. Finally “getting there” and “getting it right” more than likely happens over and over as we move through the various stages of our lives. We take the life lessons learned from our own experiences and those of others who can relate to what we’ve been through. Perhaps the best lessons to study are the ones from people who see things from a different vantage point. Those who are in the same game, but on the opposite side of the court.

Everything about divorce is ugly and sad. If forced to find one positive of divorce, I guess at this point I could say “meeting people who have been through it, too.” Sharing similar experiences makes us feel like we’re not the only ones in the bitter awfulness of life post-divorce, because most times, it seems like we are. This is a city where 55 percent of the adult population is divorced. But if that’s the case, why does it seem like couples and families are in every tiny crevice and corner? So when you meet others who are also walking the very long and complex path of shame that is divorce, you feel just a little better. Like you have some breathing room again.

Most interesting is when the “leaver” meets “the one who was left.” Here you are, sharing stories of something you have in common but from two entirely different perspectives. For brief moments, you can see what your ex might have felt or is feeling now. You possibly gain empathy you might otherwise never have. You hear things you don’t want to hear, but need to hear. I’ve used this blog to sort out many of my feelings, often times devising (without intention) a list of what I want in a mate based on what I’ve learned about myself through the many messes I’ve made. And here and there, I’ve met people in “real life” and in “blog land” who have helped me with that list whether they know it or not. I stumbled upon some useful information from a recently divorced real life friend who also blogs. This person has a different vantage point from almost every angle, but even so, when I was reading his words “that’s it!” came to mind again and again…… so here it is…. Today’s lesson.

I believe that when it comes to relationships that there’s a little kid in each one of us. While this little guy or gal might not be what initially attracts the other person, often times it’s this persona that maintains and ultimately sustains a relationship. As we become more vulnerable in a relationship this little kid grows up. For me, this little guy has several names but I’ll simply refer to him as Mr. X, short for X-Factor because for relationships to last I believe they need an X Factor. While some claim the X Factor in a relationship is typically big, such as shared interests, faith, core values, chemistry etc… I think these items fall into the "must haves" category for couples - things that they ought to have in common before entering into a relationship – those things that become the foundation of a relationship. I think Mr. X might be the glue that keeps these things at the forefront - those things that reminds us why we're in the relationship in the first place. While relationships all have routines it’s up to Mr. X to make sure that the relationship is not merely a routine in and of itself. Mr. X is the guy or gal in us that relays how important the other person is without providing those big ticket items - you know, the occasional $500 dinner at an overpriced chop house, the new car keys in a Christmas stocking, the $1000 set of golf clubs when the recipient is just learning to golf, the expensive coach bag - the list goes on and on. In most cases these are traits of Mr. Big, as in Mr. "I haven’t paid you much attention lately so I’m going to make it up in one fell swoop" or Mr. "look what I can do". More about him later.

So who exactly is Mr. X then? Mr. X is all about the little things. Those things that make us want to go home. Those things that make us feel safe. Those things that make us feel loved. Those things that make us stick! Without the little things we might lose sight of the big things. So what exactly are these little things? They will most likely vary depending on who you are in a relationship with because the little things are not about "me" they are about "you" - and ultimately "we". At the very least they are very big because of what they accomplish. At the very most they are very small because they require little or no effort. We do these things because we want to and because we need to. Mr. X wants the other person to feel needed.

Often times Mr. Big is mistaken by Mr. X - usually in the "courting" phase of a relationship, when everything is fresh and new. If and when this is the case the "little things", whatever they might be, eventually become scarce and might disappear altogether. This is when Mr. Big steps into the picture and takes over. When he’s around there’s not much room for Mr. X because Mr. Big is self-serving and unaware. Mr. Big is a hero. Mr. X is a servant. Mr. Big is sorry. Mr. X is unconditional. Mr. Big is great when things are bad. Mr. X is great when things are good. Mr. Big is reactive. Mr. X is Proactive. Mr. Big keeps score. Mr. X is selfless. Mr. Big does things because he can. Mr. X does things because he should. Which one are you? Which one is your partner? "You used to do this", "You used to do that" are phrases we've all heard and or said at some point in our lives. Although there is no exact science to this, there might be signs in the early stages of a relationship. Signs that might indicate who you and your partner really are. Mr. X is emotionally healthy while Mr. Big is overconfident but might need saving. Mr. X is a listener while Mr. Big is full of himself. Mr. X tends to be vulnerable and genuine while Mr. Big tends to flatter and might prefer to be mysterious. Mr. X knows what he isn’t. Mr. Big knows what he wants. Mr. X shows everyone respect while Mr. Big tends to be rude to insignificant others. Truth be told, we all have a little bit of Mr. X and Mr. Big in us. With regards to relationships, to minimize the latter it’s important that we stand firm and not compromise on our true wants and desires - the "big" things that Mr. X glues together. Furthermore, we must be self-aware. Not just of what we need but what we can provide. We need to understand our desires as well as our limitations. If we enter a relationship thinking we can conquer our demons or because we think we can change the person we’re with we will inevitably be conquered by our own pride – the ultimate folly of Mr. Big.

As for me, I’ve been both. In my failure of failures I was Mr. X at the beginning - or so I thought. When everything is new it's hard to tell. But at the time we met I needed saving. I was unaware and I figured I could conquer anything. While my partner was emotionally healthy she thought she could change who I was. Perhaps we didn’t really know who each other were. Perhaps we bottled this up for fear of failing. In the end neither of us were who we thought we were - or what we really wanted. Aside from sharing the same faith we had very little in common. So we did what many couples often do. We settled. Instead of experiencing marital bliss we both wondered what we were doing there, albeit separately. This was when Mr. Big reared his ugly head and was here to stay. I figured I was dealt a hand but like poker, you can’t ask for a new set of cards if you don’t like yours so divorce wasn’t an option for me. So as Mr. Big often does, I tried to overcompensate. I retreated so far back into that proverbial cave that I didn't recognize myself. Instead of making small, but steady deposits in the love trust, all my payments were late and I eventually accrued a large amount of love debt – we both did. Notwithstanding the single shared interest, our faith, we didn’t have enough glue to stay together – probably because there wasn’t much to glue together in the first place. Perhaps our faith wasn’t strong enough. I don’t know. What I do know is that I am not the person I was in my marriage. I look different. I act different. I am different. I am happy. That person settled for something in lieu of someone. That something was a marriage and that someone was a love mate, a soul mate, Mrs. X. As for Mrs. X, I don't know who she is, but I know who she isn't! But more importantly, I know who I am and who I'm not, making it easier for Mr. X to reach his potential and keep Mr. Big at bay

As an adult, this phrase makes me think of family trips to New Mexico—four kids in the back of the van desperately trying to find something to entertain us long after coloring books and the I Spy and Rock, Paper, Scissors games lost their luster.

As a mom, ‘are we there yet’ makes me think of my own kids who start asking the question just as we leave the city limits en route to their nana’s lake house. I feel a sense of frustration when they ask because I can relate. I, too, want to be there sipping wine on the deck while their grandparents royally entertain them. Instead I’m fighting traffic on a Friday afternoon just to get to the highway that takes us there. Their stash of goldfish and Barbies last them an hour tops. And that’s when the ‘are we there yets’ begin.

As a divorced, single working mother at age 36, ‘are we there yet’ takes on a new meaning. I’m not a bored kid in the back seat asking the question just because. I’m asking because I. Want. To. Know. Now, please.

I graduated from college at 21. I was engaged and on my way to gainful employment. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Go to college, get married, get a job, have kids, and live your life. I knew I wasn’t “there” yet but I knew I wasn’t far off. Less than four years later, I realized I wasn’t anywhere at all except for divorced at 25, jobless (I had to quit my job when I moved), and homeless (I lived with a friend while looking for work.) I had a car that ran only on a good day and about $5,000 to my name. Dear God, I thought, please don’t let me be “there” yet.

Certainly I’ve made mistakes in my life but one trait I can proudly claim is determination. When I’m down, I get back up. I was determined to fix this mistake. Within a month of moving to the “big city” I found a job at an ad agency that eventually led me to a (so far) decade-long career as a magazine editor. I got an apartment and a new car. I reunited with an old college boyfriend, and the sparks were still there. His once-annoying big-city charms were now enticing. He was well-connected socially, funny, easy-going, and didn’t hold my big mistake against me. Within two years we were engaged and married within three. At that point I had graduated from college, married, had three different types of jobs, divorced, been unemployed and homeless, moved three times, engaged, and remarried all within six years. I just wanted to get “there.” I wanted it so bad that I didn’t even think about the best path to take, just the fastest.

The early 2000s – the dot.com days. Software companies. Money. Stock options. Everyone my age was feverishly chasing all of them. About the time we came back from our honeymoon, our peers were buying their first homes and having their first babies. These weren’t modest homes, and nor were the nurseries inside of them. Bridal showers, baby showers, holiday gatherings – everywhere I turned it seemed like scenes from a luxury magazine were jumping straight of the page right in front of me. I never knew anyone who actually bought jewelry from Tiffany for their significant other, much less a diamond necklace for their daughter on her first birthday. Hiring an interior designer was the norm. Luxury SUVs with big red bows on top were standard Christmas gifts. Talk about stock options and annual salaries wasn’t considered taboo at all. An evening out was an automatic $200 to $300 tab. Once the babies started arriving, all the moms quit their jobs and stayed at home. A new level of competition began. Just how many activities can you enroll your child in before the age of 2? Then, of course, there was the birthday party one-ups. From the custom invitations to the cake (never, ever grocery store birthday cake or risk public stoning), to the pricey goodie bags (did I mention wine and catering for the adults?), you were only as good as your kid’s last party.

I’m as guilty as sin for playing along. I participated in every indulgence and I actually got a bit of a high off of doing it well. All the sudden it mattered very much which chargers I used with which plates, what ‘twist’ I could do with champagne that hadn’t been done yet, and making sure my house was always (yes always) in show form. I spent time mentally preparing my next gathering – catered or should I work for days prior? (Catered). Bartender? (yes). Acoustic guitar player for mood music (worth pricing). Babysitter to keep kids corralled upstairs? (Most certainly).  If I wasn’t busy planning a party, then I was planning my next home improvement project. I couldn’t rest until I had granite. I dreamt about window treatments I really couldn’t afford. I wanted to overhaul the pool we barely even used. I just wanted, wanted, wanted…….

Because if I had it all, I would be “there.”

Our first house was maybe 2,000 square feet, if that. It was built in the 1970s, but updated. We worked our fingers to the painting walls, ceilings, and cabinets. We proudly displayed our wedding gifts and experienced our first furniture purchases as husband and wife. It was in a rather run-down part of the city, and it wasn’t near what are friends had but we didn’t really care. We were just so damn proud to have a house and be out of apartment life. I remember being shocked at the price of wallpaper for the kitchen which was about $800. Today I wouldn’t consider using wallpaper, and I’ve bought fixtures for sinks that cost more than that. My how things – we – change.

But we still weren’t “there.” I had more catching up to do. Some of my friends were working on baby No. 2. Eight months into the marriage, much after my insistence upon it, I was pregnant with our first daughter. I look back now and realize that number should be more like 18 months into our marriage. We were barely used to each other, much less a baby. I was definitely more ready for this than he was. So here we are, a family of three. Were we “there” yet? Nope.

That old, small house was, well, old and small. Our daughter was barely six months old when we upgraded to the “right side of the tracks.” The house was typical for the area – looked like the others in the neighborhood, two story, a nice yard, good schools. It was by far the nicest home either of us had lived in. I sensed it; we were almost “there.” As our careers progressed and our bank accounts grew, we once again decided we needed more – of everything. We updated the house as much as possible, had daughter No. 2, and then decided we hadn’t found our “dream home” yet.

And “there” it was. It was in a highly coveted neighborhood and we sunk much of our savings into making it perfect. I had two daughters—what I always wanted. By the end of year three in the house, it seemed like life was idyllic. We had promising careers, two healthy children, plenty of friends, a beautiful home, and photo albums full of trips and memories. I think we were “there.”

Then it happened. It all fell apart. A tiny thread in the fabric of our life story, pulled little by little as the years went on. It was if one day, that little thread who begged for attention and pleaded to be mended decided that it would show us what happens when you ignore a fine piece of cloth like that. It unravels, so much so that you can’t put it back together. You can try to weave it back in and patch it up so that no one notices, but they do. And if they don’t, then you will. It’s ruined. And it can’t be fixed. So it’s thrown away. But you still can’t stop thinking about it, and you can’t help but feel envious of the people who have managed to tend to their warm, comfortable sweaters—mindful to keep every single thread in place so they never know what it’s like to have to throw it away.

So here I am. 36, going on 37. Single mom. Alone. Living in a home I hope every day I can continue to afford. I have my health, a great career, a wonderful family, and two beautiful daughters who truly are my entire life. I look at the future, and I’m gripped with fear. Finances consume my most every thought. I know money isn’t everything, but when you have no one to lean on, it’s a lot. Just about the time I bought my home, the housing market collapsed. The banking/loan market crashed. Hell, the market in general crashed. The layoffs started. Even teachers are getting laid off. Everywhere I turn I hear talk of another Depression. I pull into my drive way at night and look around – I don’t know anyone. I love my new house and I love my new community, but I am isolated. Many of my friends were all connected to my marriage. It’s as if I never had them at all. Most days I’m fine, but the days when I’m not are almost crippling. Not only am I not “there,” I’m not sure I ever will be.

My oldest daughter rarely, if ever, talks about the divorce. She has remained, amazingly, strong through this. She has withstood the move to a new town and school as if nothing happened. However, on the rare occasions that her father and I are together, she immediately launches in to questions. Why are you divorced? Why can’t we live together anymore? I miss us all being a family. I feel like my heart is being ripped, literally, from my chest. Although I am the adult and I know far, far more about why this happened and how eventually it will all be OK, all I can see in that moment is her. All I can feel is her pain. All I want to do is shout “Nevermind! I take it all back!” My youngest daughter will not sleep in her bed. She will only sleep with me. I have never let my kids sleep anywhere but their own beds, but I can relate to her fears. This is a strange house. It doesn’t look, feel, or even smell the same. In my king-size bed, she still curls right up beside me and moves along with me through the night. I miss my evenings where I’m free to watch television until I fall asleep. I go to bed when she goes to bed, for the most part. I don’t want her to lose any of her much-needed sleep to suit my schedule. My guilt lets her stay there. I don’t want her to be scared. After all, if she’s scared, it’s my fault.

Every night I vow to work more on the house so that the girls can come home to a finished product – home. Problem is, nights are also filled with homework, dinner, tales of the day, playtime, bath time, reading, bed time, and often work. I fall in bed exhausted mad at myself for not accomplishing more. I crave a routine. I want to come home and cook dinner for the kids, eat around the table, get them to bed at a decent hour, and then have some time for myself. I want their dad to get them on a predictable schedule so I know far ahead which days and weekends I can plan something for myself, even if it’s just a nap or a pay per view. I want to get back to having a budget. These last few months have been sheer chaos, selling and buying a home, living in hotels, eating out. Everything is spinning out of control. Certainly I’m not “there” yet. Please don’t let this be all “there” is.

Sometimes, I really miss being married. I miss knowing what’s next. You get up, get kids dropped off, go to work, come home, have dinner, help kids, have some downtime. You know that wherever you go—church, dinner, PTA meetings—you will be among other families similar to yours. You have “an in case of emergency” person. You have a safety net in case of job loss, illness, or tragedy. Although it’s perfectly acceptable and manageable to navigate life alone, it is so incredibly obvious this is a world designed for two. For pairs. Traveling, dining out, going out, staying in…it’s all more enjoyable when you have someone else to share it all with. When you’re married the guesswork of that someone is removed – you have a date no matter what.

I was reminded of how just how alone I truly am about a month ago when I  closed on my home. I have never bought a home on my own. It was a monumental step for me. I’m still nervous about it, mostly because every other word I hear on the news is ‘foreclosure.’ I walked in to the title company and was greeted by a friendly woman who asked if I needed anything to drink while I wait on my husband. I sort of stopped in my tracks and just said, “I don’t have one of those.” I took my seat with the realization that I am now an oddity of sorts—a single female home owner. Previous closings with my former spouse went through my head, and I fought back tears. This was supposed to be a happy and proud moment, but in a way, I felt like a failure. I was anything but “there.”

This week I read a story about a woman my age who suffered a heart attack with no family history, risks, or warnings. The story was written by her husband who has been beside her every step of the way, helping her through recovery and with their children. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if the same thing happened to me. Who would the person who finds me slumped over call? If it happened at home while my kids are upstairs playing, who would ever know? If something bad happens to me, there is no one who will rush to be by my side. There is no one to love me through sickness and in health. There is no ‘til death do we part because we’ve already parted. And although I can blame the parting on both of us, the truth is I saw it through to the finish line. If I die alone, slumped over on the kitchen table….then I guess it’s what I deserve? Right? One of the very few times I felt close to my ex spouse was when we thought our second daughter was a Down’s Syndrome baby. I had an amnio to be sure. I remember lying on the table, reciting the Lord’s Prayer over and over in my mind while they inserted the needle into my stomach. He took my hand and we looked at each other. I was crying, and he was almost crying. I didn’t feel alone at all, no matter what the outcome. Now I must face knowing that no matter what diagnosis I might face in a doctor’s office, it’s just me and me alone to get the news and deal with it.

I look around my new home – new furnishings and décor mixed with things I brought from the old house and life. Every piece is attached to a memory of some sort. I can’t get comfortable no matter how different I try to make it look and feel. I feel more like an escapee instead of a home owner. I thought at this point, after all of the pain and suffering we’ve endured for more than a year now, that I would be well on my way to recovery and contentment. But I feel lost and confused. Thoughts of the future overwhelm me. Can I do this? Have I lost my mind? Shouldn’t I be happier? Shouldn’t I have a better plan than this? Why am I STILL not there yet? How can I have so many things in my life going right, but I end up with everything feeling so wrong? I’ve worked so hard to get “there” and I still can’t get it right!

What does “there” feel like? What’s the secret? When I’m “there” will I know? How will I know? Is it a state of mind or is it something that I physically achieve? Is it a feeling? When I’ve found the right person, then does everything else fall into place or does it only have to do with me? Am I “there” yet and just don’t realize it?

I suppose if I had the answers, then I would no longer have to ask the big question. I know I’m tired of trying to get “there.” I mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted from trying to get “there.” I want it for my kids now even more than I want it for myself. I worry so much about what I’m going to regret in my final moments, whenever those are. Will I regret this decision—not staying? Or would I have regretted not going? Will I know then that I’ve been “there” all along and be peaceful about the choices I made and how I lived myself? Will my daughters be proud of me, or will they feel like I failed them? And then of course, when these thoughts are going through my mind, will there be someone else besides the nurse on duty at my side? Am I even lovable enough after all of this to deserve that?

I wish ‘Are we there yet’ was just a question kids ask from the back seat of the car. As annoying as it is for parents to hear over and over on a long road trip, it’s a lot better than hearing me ask myself the same question over and over every day and at night before I fall asleep. The question reminds me of poor choices and my failures….my shortcomings and disappointments….and it makes me fear what I don’t want to face but just might have to – not only am I not “there” yet, because of myself, I never will be. Or maybe I was already "there" and never knew or appreciated it.