Learning to Walk Again

For the past couple of days, this has been in constant repeat in my head:

It’s not just the song, but also the absurdist video that Foo Fighters is known for.  It’s become almost a metaphor of what this past couple of months has felt like.

My household now consists of two divorced sisters negotiating a future without significant others and a little four-year old boy with a goofy, smart-ass personality.

It’s been a year since my sister moved in, and she’s achieved a degree (her Associates), maintained a healthy diet and exercise regimen (which makes her doctor who’s been tracking her diabetes immensely happy), started her senior year at the local university, got back on track with finally paying off her bad debts incurred from her bad marriage and divorce, is happily active in a non-Catholic church, and is overall learning how to be herself again, “learning to walk again,” so to speak.

It’s been over a year and a half since the now-ExHubby and I separated, and the divorce was finalized a couple of weeks [errata: NOT YEARS]  ago.  (After all the heartache and drama preceding the separation, the final divorce decree actually feels oddly anti-climactic — which I believe is a good feeling. ) Two weeks later (that is, yesterday), I completed the first draft of my first long fiction in-a-long-time, a novella about angels, death, and redemption.  I started it on July 29, and I wrote the last word on September 29 at 1am, listening to the Foo Fighters on YouTube over and over again.

Rediscovering what it mean to be single and what it means to be a serious fiction writer has felt a lot like rediscovering what it means to be me again.  Again, “learning to walk again” keeps going through my head, as I negotiate this new life.

It’s different, but so far it feels pretty good.

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