I’ve been thinking a lot about turf lately – mine, other people’s, who needs what and why. Today, the first day of living differently with the same person, is being filed under “See? Walking on a tightrope’s not so hard!” though it’s unlikely this is a long-term solution. It takes us through the holidays, though, and maybe into summer. Hard to blow up a house in the cold and dark of winter. Harder still to do it the week before Christmas. But still, necessary to make changes in space as much as in expectations without waiting any longer.
Waking up this morning I immediately felt the difference, of course. Just me and the dogs (though no more room on the bed as Addie had managed to spread all of her 90 pounds over the king-sized bed like an amoebic dog-slab covering all available surface area). The room, my room, was quiet and still. It felt, in those first waking moments, peaceful. Then the stab of change, of sadness and work yet to be done, but a glimmering through the leaves that this was a good thing, just a hard one.
My first Ex has been doing his own turf grab lately. Always a charming bully, I think the impending departure of the boys, just a year and a half away from leaving for college, has struck him too, and so he wants more of them. Yeah, me too, but his method has been to subtly or not-so-subtly put pressure on them to be with him rather than with me (you know, their mother) through the always-winning combination of a cookie in one hand, a club within the other. This has resulted in them now feeling a mix of guilt and panic if he “catches” them with me during his custody week, even if he’s at work and his house is empty.
To fight this is a fool’s game, and will only result in more pressure on the boys and everyone losing. Prudence and wisdom, two of my most annoying friends, say to do nothing. Sometimes I really hate those naggy bitches. But it is true that a dog can’t pull on a leash no one’s holding, and so letting go is the only way to ease the tension (I say, having made a phone call this morning that can be best summed up as “what the fuck?”).
I’ve been looking for the right song for today, and I think I’ve found it. It’s Robert Downey Jr. singing Joni Mitchell’s River, but this version talks to me more through its lack of expectations than through any wish for anything. There’s something in there that accepts what is, just the facts, ma’am. Tired and sad. Of course sad. It’s not about the lyrics, it’s about his voice.
When to fight for what you want, when to let go to get what you want. Not so easy this stuff.