The Story Begins

Neil Simon’s film, Chapter Two, was a favorite in my house as I grew up. James Caan had lost his wife many years prior and his new love, Marcia Mason, suffered through the transition as the man she loved struggled to leave chapter one behind and begin chapter two. It was a heartbreaking dance between the pull of the past and the promise of the future. In the end he joined his new love, realizing that just because he was moving forward it did not mean he had to forget what was left behind. It would always be a part of him, a bittersweet melancholy that need not be a crushing burden any longer.

For me, my transition into my own Chapter Two has been equally difficult for different reasons. I didn’t lose my husband to death; I lost him to neglect, to disconnect, to the temptations made irrationally enticing because of the grip of resentment. We almost broke up in year nine of our marriage and then again in year eleven, a time warp of denial on which I look back as the necessary evil of our survival. The second time around the separation dance I took a step everyone in my life warned against: I left.

He took our children to school and I picked them up. We played together and I made dinner. When he got home we ate as a family and put our kids to bed together. Then, I retreated. The retreat was two-fold: inward and outward. I withdrew to a dark and lonely place to try to heal a heart broken in pieces then, before, and long ago. Each and every night after we put our children to bed I went to an apartment we were renting to manifest that internal retreat. I couldn’t do one without the other; it was too late in the process for me to do a gradual turning of the page, it had to be drastic or the book would be closed forever.

Without each and every piece in place we could not have emerged a successful couple. The time away, the system we created to support our children, the friends and family who supported us, the perfect therapist for our needs, and the desire, on both our parts, to not rebuild what was, but construct what could be: Chapter Two. It is taking more time than makes me comfortable and is not one bit easy, but we’re there and working hard nonetheless.

It’s so very curious to me how Chapter Two emerged not only in my marriage but also other parts of my personal life. Like my marriage, during those same years I kept fighting for these life changing, amazing friends from college to remain in my life. What I didn’t realize was that our lives were evolving differently and, although I will consider them my family by choice forever, we couldn’t be a part of our daily (or weekly, or monthly) lives any more. We had our own families, we were making choices how to best live our lives, we were having bbq's and birthday parties with others more and more often. At first I felt a little hurt. Then I felt angry (which was really just more hurt) and confused. I had this internal dialogue about it all the time and it was making me crazy.

In the end, I came to an acceptance of what was, what is, and what may or may not be. Because of my other personal struggles this load was way heavier than it likely should have been, but I couldn't untangle one issue from the other. As I emerged from my marital struggle, I was able to see my friends--and me--with a new lens. It was heartbreaking but, much like James Caan, I had to hold it as bittersweet instead of burdensome. They will always be present in my heart and mine in theirs’ and that needs to be enough, at least for right now.

Unbelievably, during those same years I was fighting in my professional life as well. As I write this I see it no longer baffling as to why I was so tired all the time. Every aspect of my life was a battle and nowhere was their respite. I know now that all components of our lives are intertwined and not one of them can be pulled apart without the others unravelling in some way as well. Thankfully, when one is repaired, the others usually follow suit as well.

In my classroom every day I was battling poverty, neglect, and sometimes abuse in the heartbreak of teenagers who have to work harder than most adults in their whole lives just to get to school every day. I considered this my life work: to reach into the hearts of these kids and lift them to the place of their potential. How could I not? I am a product of the very same school and I am living in every way the American Dream. Don’t they deserve the same? And if their moms can’t provide it, isn’t it my responsibility to do it myself?

There may be honor in that, I suppose, but there is also a narcissism that breeds the kind of stress and burden no one but God can carry. Sadly, the more open I became in my personal life the less I could buffer out the pain in my professional one. Even as I moved martyrdom off my daily to-do list, I could no longer leave the heartache at school. I carried those kids with me every day, thinking about them in the car, in the middle of the night, in the morning when I woke up…as a result my professional boat began to capsize.

The final step into my Chapter Two began in what felt like moments before drowning. I had moved my marriage to the “other side;” I had mourned past definitions of friendships and learned to instead embrace them for what they are. Now, my biggest hurdle: finding a way up and over the threshold of my classroom door. Much like my marriage construction and my friendship acceptance, this requires more time than I am accustomed to giving something I want. That said, I have taken the steps to assemble a two-year path that will end with me on the other side. The other side, where I’m sure some new challenge will be waiting.

I remember several years ago reading an interview with Jane Fonda as she spoke of entering into her “Third Act;” she had just turned sixty and felt strong and powerful moving into what she saw as the third segment of her life. The first act sets the stage, the second act introduces the crisis, and the third act brings resolve and closure. Then it made sense; now it kind of scares me. If I go by her timeline I am only eight years into Act Two with twenty-two more to go. Does this mean I haven’t even been through the really tough conflict yet?

I think rather than mix metaphors any further, I will stick to the book concept. There will likely be many more chapters, but perhaps only three large, loosely defined parts: Prologue, Story, and Epilogue.

Here’s to the beginning of one fantastic story.