The Fire Inside

I've had this great experience of "going deep" in conversations with friends in the past couple of years. Perhaps it is because I have been exhaling precious breaths to flair up the embers inside me in order to make a roaring fire, and I've used my friends for the oxygen I couldn't provide. But I suppose that I was giving away some oxygen too.

I seem to be on a Tracy Chapman kick these days - her new and old music are providing the drumbeat for my heart, creating a rhythm for the flames to dance by. She has a song that details the burning desires of a relationship. It is called Smoke and Ashes, and is, of course, simply brilliant. "I thought it was true love, the way we complimented each other; but my right is your wrong and when you're right then I'm left with nothing. Your light and your heat have all been spent... leaving only smoke and ashes." And in her last stanza, she sums up the entire relationship: "But now I know for certain since you've gone away, it was just a smoldering fire that I mistook for a blaze."

It's cold outside and I have the great fortune of having a gas furnace that looks like a roaring chimney fire (without the work, ashes or smell on my clothes). The kids like to set up pillows on the floor and we lay down with our feet in front of the fire, turn our heads and hypnotize ourselves with the blue and red flames. Yesterday we snuggled close together and stared at it. There is certain comfort in that - knowing that I am snuggled close with the most precious people in my life, in a warm house and safe. My mind was safe because I was present. Their little minds were enthralled with the fire and the closeness of all of us. (They love those moments with their mom when she's simply present and aware of them wholeheartedly and not running around fixing dinner, cleaning up or worrying). The fire warmed us, but it was a reminder of what is inside of me. The fire that is blazing inside me. The light and the heat inside.

Paige likes to talk about her daddy's girlfriend. Early on, it really bothered me, but after some stories I realized that this woman is a nice woman and is probably in love with Paige and Tony (it's not a difficult thing to do), and I also realized that I sympathize with her in a lot of ways. My, oh my, how in love I was with her boyfriend at one point. Yet I mistook his fire for a blaze, you know? And he's okay - just a little lost, and I pray for light on his path all the time. And I sincerely hope that this one works out - not for him, but for her and Paige and Tony because nobody deserves to be hurt, and my kids certainly do not deserve to go through losing another loved one in their lives. I suppose I could be made out to be the unstable one, the one to blame for the loss of the marriage, and I have accepted that too. What I realized in these deep conversations with my friends is that we all live by whatever truths we surmise to help us get by.

Last night, the main theme of Grey's Anatomy was you need to believe "whatever helps you sleep at night", forging forward in the aftermath of tragedy or mistakes. A divorce is a tragedy, for certain. Yet, in some ways, a marriage that is built on faulty foundation is a tragedy too - regardless of whether or not the partners stay together for 50 years or split. I've learned that recently. And I notice now that the fire that was inside me when I was first married was going out - slowly, but surely. My writing was gone; my goofiness (crossing my eyes, dancing the YMCA in front of strangers)was gone; my ability to speak openly and honestly was gone; the sweater of my own skin fit too loosely; and my self-esteem wasn't even near the fire. In the past couple years, I've emerged newer. One of my closest friends said that when she met me I was gregarious and happy and confident, yet by the end of my marriage she didn't even know who I was anymore, and some of that was because I was never around and when I was, I was still never around - that I wore worry on my face like the lipstick I used to throw across my eyebrows to make people laugh at me.

My fire was nearly out.

My defense mechanism these past few months has been to see the truth of me, the truth of life, and defining what I think is true of him. I may be defining him in a completely dismissive and incorrect way, but believing that his fire is gone, cold and dusty, helps me sleep at night.

And that's good because I need the energy sleep provides to help me fan the fire inside.