This time last year, I was a mere 4 months into documenting my bucket list journey. The school year was barrelling toward me faster than a toddler tanked on fruit punch and frosted Pop Tarts. So I was trying to cram in last-minute adventures in order to check more bucket list boxes before being forced back into the habit of early wake-ups and brushing my hair with intent. But I still looked upon my goal with a calm positivity. I had 2/3 of a year to accomplish all that I wanted.
Dipping into the same pot of positivity, I also figured this would be a sufficient amount of time to find myself a potential life partner. My vision: meet a man so completely captivated with my wit and ability to trip over my own bare feet while simply standing at the stove over a pan of cheesy scrambled eggs, that by the time my milestone birthday rolled around, he would have planned out a surprise birthday weekend escape to the coast where we'd sip red wine, cuddle in matching demogorgon pajama pants, and watch rerun episodes of Parks and Rec.
I'm just a Leslie Knope looking for her Ben Wyatt.
Instead, I had my heart stomped on by a guy with a recurring role in my dating life, tried getting back on the horse again after a 2-month hiatus, and only ended up with scenarios that can only be described as "failure to launch". I gave one gentleman credit during my morning therapy sesh. We gave dating a solid go. The romance part didn't so much work out for us, but we regularly turn to the other for book recommendations and humor of the sacrilegious sort. It's like we're providing evidence to the conjecture that men and women really can just be friends.
Following along the timeline as my 40th approached came the post-divorce milestones that for which you think you're prepared. But you end up having to grow yourself past the tiny emotional setbacks that occur because of them. For starters, my ex-husband announced on the eve of the big vacation we took for our daughter's 10th birthday that he and his then-fiancée were expecting a baby. He had taken the high road by calling and telling me directly rather than me find out through the social media grapevine. I offered my congratulations and made sure that all parties were healthy.
Yes, we could probably give classes on how to be effective co-parents after divorce.
And yes, the answer to your question is, "Of course I cried!" Not because I was jealous or wished we were back together. There is a reason we chose to split over forcing something to work that no longer did. But when your former life partner actually moves on with their life, emotions bubble up without your permission. You call your bestie in the midst of your tears to talk through it, and then you realize that everything is actually great because your ex's new life is good for your child and you choose to love that new baby comin' no matter what.
(You know what. Go ahead and inquire for our rates on co-parenting classes. Inflation is completely fucking up my grocery budget, and I'm not willing to go back to my college diet of microwave mac and cheese.)
Other post-divorce milestones happened as the timer counted down to my birthday. They bought a big house. Traded in for a nicer car. My ex's own 40th birthday weekend escape to the coast. Then there was the wedding. Yup. Endured short emotional setbacks each time. And each time, I grew myself a little more. If emotional growth actually added height to one's frame, I'd have to duck through door frames.
Their wedding was a biggie, though. I reached into my meager teacher's salary and rented myself a tiny cabin in the mountains of North Carolina. I promised myself wine and pajama pants, much like in my birthday escape fantasy. But the wine was shared at a vineyard with strangers, and the PJ pants, sadly, were not in demogorgon print. The cold rain of December kept me off the hiking trails, so I had to resort to throwing my yoga mat between the limited space of the gas stove and the recliner. All these healthy acts worked, and I came back ready to move forward with hope and happiness. We consistently choose to do everything for the benefit of our families.
Now I'm 4 months past my 40th birthday, realizing how great it is to be on other turn around the sun and just how fleeting our time here really is. But forget the sentimental fluff for a sec and come sit down for another laugh because dating after 40 is a riot. Frustrating, for sure. But also hilarious. I mean, who wouldn't want jump on the chance to date a man whose first dating profile pic is of him down to his skivvies with a woman tattooed across his abdomen? Oh, and by the way, the woman is naked with her tits-to-waist ratio being somewhere around 18-wheeler-to-Micromachine? Or the guy who claims he wants a woman who is after a "real man--not some watered down pussy version" where he's flexing his 'roid-grown biceps in all his pics? And how could I forget the guy who swiped on me who happens to be my BEST FRIEND'S EX-HUSBAND?
*laugh and left swipe*
I've endured yet another couple of "failure to launch" scenarios, my favorite one being the Frenchman who dipped when I needed to cancel our 3rd date. Not exactly a story in itself for having to cancel. I was just sick with strep throat and impetigo merely a week after our first two dates. But when I brought up rescheduling, he basically said my illness was the Universe's way of saying we weren't a good match. I didn't realize curable bacterial infections of our childhood were guaranteed relationship killers.
Are you laughing? Because I sure as hell laugh when I tell it. Clearly Frenchie wasn't going to be the one to hold my hair back when I barfed up my first plateful of snails.
As for the celebrating of my 40th sans man, I was completely spoiled for my birthday by the jokers who choose to love me. They took me to Epcot, Austin, and my favorite music venue in Athens. My students bought me enough dark chocolate to replenish my stash through the end of the school year. And since leaving my 30s, I put heirloom seeds into my garden rotation. I completed my 17th year of my career. I started writing a book. I even drove 2,000+ miles on an unforgettable road trip with my daughter just so we could swim in Lake Michigan. A lot of this wonderful stuff happened because I'm single. There was no one to stop me from buying all the seeds I wanted.
But I won't lie. It's hard to come home some days without a partner to wrap me in a giant hug at the door and offer, "Why don't you go burn off that angry energy by blowing dandelion seeds into the shitty neighbor's yard? I'll grill up some chicken wings." And everything would be ok because we'd swap the next night, giggling as we listen through the fence slats as the neighbor curses their brand new patch of weeds. Of course, there would be wine. And our PJ pants wouldn't even have to match. We can save that for the weekend escape to the coast for my 50th.
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