Let's pretend that everything is fine.

If ever I had an ego, it ceased-to-be in 2025.

Or maybe what I'm actually talking about is self-esteem. 

Could I, in fact, be referring to my sense of self-worth?  

I don't know. Took my last psychology class half-a-lifetime ago, so I'm not really sure. Also, I haven't seen my therapist in a while. Thus, for today, I'm doing my own stunts when it comes to dredging the definitions and depths of these terms.

Holidays and bitter anniversaries have me feeling pretty shitty these days. Why? My wife left me.  A year ago.  Told me she didn't love me any more.  Moved out of our house 30 days later.  Walked away from me, our home, my side of her entire extended family, all of our pets, and every single one of our family photos... to say nothing of the many happy memories contained therein. 

Ghosted. 

All of it.

I'm exhausted from pretending that everything is fine.

She lives with someone else now. Someone she's known for years; they met at the local community theater; according to my daughter.  My ex brought him to the house with her, in her rented U-Haul moving van, the day after our divorce was final, the day they moved into their new house together. He walked in to my house, helped her pack the last of her things like it was the most mundane and normal thing ever, like she and I hadn't been together for 30 years, hadn't conceived and raised a beautiful child together, had never literally tattoo'd our lifelong promises to one another on our ring-fingers together, nor spent thousands and thousands of days and nights together in this place, making this house our Home.

She had her reasons, of course.  I kept a list of them, adding to the inventory each time she proffered a new one during the final weeks of our cohabitation.  They weren't all about her problems with me, nor were they all about her problems with herself.  I was a selfish, self-absorbed asshole only interested in using my time to do my things my way... She was an unhappy aspirational artiste in search of herself, tired of living in my shadow, tired of being the good wife... We were a couple of mid-life empty-nesters left bereft and with nothing left in common.

I didn't want to get divorced.  

But I was the one who first brought it up.  Pleaded with her for weeks to reconcile with me, attend couples therapy with me, work on "our shit" together with me.  But she would not.  Eventually "divorce" became the only option that remained.

In the end we agreed to split-up and file amicably, which we did.  I no longer wished to be married to someone who didn't love me, who didn't want to be married to me.  I think she just wanted out, and the sooner the better. Conveniently, an uncontested divorce petition (with no minor children) takes just 60 days (and a couple hundred bucks) from co-filing to the judge's decree in the Superior Court of Coconino County, Arizona.

So here I sit, a year of melancholy, solitude, of being a ghost in this house, has now passed.  And it really feels like I'm not getting any better at coping with all that I've lost, with all that has changed. Still hate being alone. Still miss her and our life together every day.  Still don't feel like I've moved on (nor am I sure that I want to keep trying to). Still not feeling like the deliberate efforts I've made to learn and grow, to blossom into a "new you" in the last 12 months have been met with any kind of tangible extrinsic affirmation or intrinsic positive reinforcement... in fact, in this moment, it feels like the exact opposite is actually true, like each attempt I've made in the last year to move forward has been met with disappointment. All these experiences have chipped away at the scant scattered remnants of my ego, exsanguinated what little might have remained of my post-divorce self-esteem, and serially diluted the rapidly evaporating solution that was once my sense of self-worth.

So now I just exist.  I have my routines, I walk my pets, find the occasional opportunity to spend time with my friends, ride bikes, ski, read books, listen to music, and do a couple part-time "gig" jobs around town that keep me busier, and my mind occupied, more than it might otherwise be.  

I'm not bored.

But there is no flavor, no seasoning, in this self-serve diet. Because I have no Purpose.  No real reason for doing any of this.  

Sure. I've got my kid. And she is truly wonderful, really amazing.  So proud of who she is, as well as who she's becoming.  I love her quite literally "to the moon and back," always have. More now than ever, in fact.  Our enduring, newly revitalized and now unbuffered relationship is, to me, the silver-lining in all of this. Every moment I get to spend with her is a gift that fills me with joy, albeit fleetingly.  For alas, she never stays long.  Because she shouldn't.  Her life is happening, as it should, at an exciting, frenetic pace.   And the fact-of-the-matter is simple: she no longer needs me as she once did, when she was younger and still living under our roof.  And this, too, is as it should be.  She is not my Purpose (she is my progeny), nor should I be hers.  

My Purpose has been gone since 03 January 2025.

And it turns out, that is a super hard thing for someone like me to accept.  I am a person who enjoys doing for others.  I am at my best, and find that I am most satisfied with myself, when I am serving those that I care about and love. "Acts of Service," is how I think proponents of The Five Love Languages would identify this satisfying compulsion.  

I naturally assumed that I would lovingly take care of and tend to the well-being of my wife for the balance of my lifetime or hers, that I would abide with her, responsibly secure our home and our finances with her, remain ever faithful to her, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, all the things, for the remainder of my days or hers.  And for some 30 years, since before we ever said our vows, I was certain: 

She was my Purpose. 

But she's gone.  And so here I sit, a full year later, wondering... what will I do with the rest of my life now?