June 14, 2008

• Everything in its house

  Last weekend I was in NYC to see my husband and his visiting parents. I know that I compartmentalize things, but I hadn’t realized how much I’d done so with this separation from my husband until last weekend.

  I’ve been noticing more than a few new footprints on my site from new readers, so it might be worthwhile to stop a minute and explain my situation. If you’ve been a long time reader, apologies for the redundancy.

  My husband and I moved to NYC last October. We were returning stateside from a year living in Scotland. Usually we live in Chicago, although we were both born and raised in the same hometown in Michigan (we were friends, then sweethearts in high school). We’d never lived in NYC before, but thought we’d give it a go. While it was a great career move for my husband (he works in publishing), it was taxing in many other critical ways.

  Firstly, NYC was so expensive that we had to work so many jobs just to keep our heads above water; we are accustomed to saving a large portion of our earnings for travel, emergencies, grad school, and the baby we’re planning on before I turn 30 (I’m 26). But saving in Manhattan is a laughable endeavor. We felt lucky just to make rent every month and pay bills.

  Not only were we unable to feel comfortable with our finances, but the multiple jobs were harrowing. We simply didn’t have time for our evening walk, frisbee, staging living room readings of our favorite plays, and doing fun little collaborative writing projects together. We felt lucky just to eat a meal together once in a while. We needed to change our habitat and reclaim our lives.

  We are currently living apart for a few months as we transition our lives from Manhattan back to Chicago, a city we’ve always loved and feels like home. Practicalities and fiscal responsibility have him wrapping up life in New York and I setting up life in Chicago. And while I planned on missing my husband for the few months we were going to be apart, I figured it wouldn’t be much different than how much I’ve missed him all year. But it is.

  I once heard a radio story about cuddle clubs. These are clubs in major cities where single people go to cuddle. They are not sex clubs. In fact, many people go to them to save themselves from casual sex, since lots of people find that they are only having casual sex to fulfill a need for human touch. While I get the need for touch, I don’t think I fully understood it until Shaun wrapped me up in a hug to greet me. I felt every nerve in my body and cried.

  Up until Shaun’s hug, I hadn’t really missed him. I called him on my way to work to say good morning. He called every evening to say goodnight. We texted, emailed, chatted in the day. I sent funny snail mail. We’ve stayed very connected. Probably more so than when we were living in NYC together and simply falling into bed exhausted every night.

  Plus, I was having a blast rooming with my best girlfriend, reconnecting with and making new Chicago friends, riding my bike to work, and running along my beloved lakeshore path every morning. I started a new job that I find extraordinarily rewarding at the museum that I used to work at, a museum that truly is a home to me. There was gallery hopping, opening night parties for new exhibitions, a new 1950′s skirt and a pair of vintage wedge shoes from my favorite resale shop, a fresh haircut at my favorite salon. I have a rich and busy life here, but at the same time, a lot of personal space; I’ve found this pace to be unique to Chicago. One day I’ll find a way to articulate it better, but I know that it is true.

  Anyhow, I simply didn’t miss Shaun. But when he folded me up in his arms last week, I did. All at one. In a flood of tears.

  My writing compartmentalizes things less. My subconscious bleeds into it. Three days after I moved back to Chicago, I started writing a story about apocalyptic love. I’ve never written a love story before, let alone a sexy one. My story is more along the lines of Walker Percy’s Love in the Ruins than Bridget Jones‘ Diary, but it is love and sex nonetheless. So obviously the two things were on my mind.

  Anyhow, we had a great time together in NYC. Shaun’s parents loathed the city and our apartment and our lives in general (they want Shaun to give up on his career as a writer, get a corporate job, move in next door to them in the Michigan suburbs, and have loads of babies that I stay at home with. We’d both rather die than do any of those things.), but we ignored their negativity to the best of our ability and enjoyed their good moments. Because they really are loving, beautiful people underneath all their worry and uncertainty. It just takes them a while to get them limbered up and accepting.

  On Friday, we met Shaun after work for drinks/small plates at the Zipper Factory and a walk through Central Park. On Saturday, we stayed in our neighborhood and visited the Dykman Farmhouse before lunching at the farmer’s market, followed by a walk through Manhattan’s last remaining forest.

  It felt so good just to do little things for family. I made a great pizza for Friday’s lunch. I baked blueberry muffins for Saturday’s breakfast. I liked making Shaun’s coffee. I like knowing exactly how much milk and sugar he likes. I like knowing which mug is his.

  I also like how Shaun remembers when I offhandedly mention something I’d like to read and then secretly orders the book for me. He always makes sure that I have a quiet little pile of reading material stacked neatly on my desk.  

  Anyhow, it was hard to have all the heartache come pouring out at once, but it was really good too. Its not healthy to compartmentalize things like that. Its not healthy to compartmentalize most things, but its hard to learn how to be that efficient while still being “whole.” I’m learning, though. Slow and steady.
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  Do you compartmentalize things?

  

  • 12:07 pm
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