You Can't Take Most of it With You

Sometimes strange thoughts pop into my head. Like yesterday, when I got showered in Starbucks with latte foam and it reminded me of bird poop and I realized what I was writing was shitty and things happen for a reason. Anyway, I assume my readers know about the

strange thought issue, since most of those strange thoughts seem to pop right from my head into my blog. I should really get myself a filter.

I suddenly began to worry today that an eagle is too self-contradictory for me to use as a metaphor. For four days now, I've focused on the soaring, the concept of an eagle taking flight rather than digging in her heels and clinging to the past with her strong talons. (By the way, I've always felt lucky to be an American, but if I were an eagle, not so much; what woman wants to be bald?) As it turns out I have nothing to worry about as far as the conflicting messages sent by the eagle's various extremities. Those talons are strong, all right, but the only things they cling to are the tasty treats the eagle has chosen to take along for the ride. Necessary provisions.

No opposing forces -- to cling or not to cling? to soar or not to soar? -- causing inner conflict for this eagle. Yeah right. The urge to cling on to the past is so strong sometimes, I'm lucky my feet aren't so much strong as just plain ugly. Lucky because clinging to the past is pointless, and as appealing as it seems, the past can never be recreated; no matter how much you try to set everything up so nothing will change, things will never be exactly the same. Which can be a good thing if the past sucked, but if your head is filled with good memories, watch out!

I think a lot of folks going through the break up of a marriage tend to get confused by happy memories. You want out, and then all of a sudden you're out and your marriage seems, in the blurred vision of hindsight and loneliness, to be the best darn thing that ever happened to you. Memories of children growing up, family gatherings (which always seem much rosier in retrospect); sometimes it's just memories of being in your thirties rather than your fifties. How can that help but look great? And somehow, we get tricked into thinking if we stay in a dead marriage, our kids will stay young, older generations won't die off, and we will be able to turn our own aging clocks back. Irrational, sure. Tempting, you bet.

The one thing that will remain constant is the relationship between you and the person you've already had second, third, hell tenth thoughts about. The person who no longer makes you happy. The future is full of memories yet to be made, some of them happy, some not, but the prospect of sharing them with someone you don't want to be with should be enough to get those eagle wings flapping and those talons releasing their grip and hanging on only to the essentials. Should be.

I have no problem grabbing on to the good memories and taking them with me as I swoop into my next chapter. As memories only, snapshots of a time gone by -- people and a life that no longer exist in the same form. My big ugly talons may not be as strong as an eagle's but they are freakishly flexible. I'll be able to grab whatever I need to nourish myself as I move forward.