“Grow Up!”

Really?

“Grow up!” Her simple and harshly voiced words reverberate within my head. “Grow up”--what exactly does she mean by that? As I climb the grossly rutted rock strewn path with a dire urgency to pee, knowing that I still will not be in our bathroom for another ten minutes, I decide to pull down my panties and bend my knees. There is no one in sight and I am out of view, even though I am in the open pasture. This place has such a sense of isolation that the only onlooker would have to be flying overhead.

Immediately after I pee, the nearby turkeys cackle, in a group. Are they in cahoots with Fran, I wonder? Do they also believe that I need to “grow up” by not peeing in the middle of nowhere, in the grace of nature? I sigh and continue my hike up the hill, grateful for small things.

At fifty years young, I understand how I am transitioning toward a higher sense of myself. My path splits and I follow the less attainable, more challenging and also dreamier route. It is a time in my life to cast away all regrets--if any--and to reach toward the stars in everything I attempt to do. No more kidding around, this is my life, the real thing. After fifty years of taking life seriously, it is my time to be playful, to create joy around me and to laugh, whenever possible. Is that growing up, I wonder?

At lunch, I share with my group of women friends that I have decided to give my marriage another try. Another go around, only this time I will do it with more courage than before, perhaps even go to the lengths of changing my past behaviors that did not work and on to ones that do. My friends support and applaud me; only one friend, Fran, roughly spits out the words, “Grow up!” with a not so hidden sense of anger and frustration. Has she always felt that way about me, I wonder? Or is it only recently, in regards to my marriage?

Now this woman is known to blatantly speak her mind, no bones about it. She’s also a joker and when she first said that, I am sure that she is only joking. I begin to laugh, uncomfortably, then realize that she is probably very serious. Instead of responding to her with an open heart I am shocked into silence and big eyes.

Her words sting; she does not know where I have come from nor does she really know where I am going. After we finish lunch and move on to the cashier to pay for our lunches, she puts her hand on my shoulder and says to me, “I’m glad you decided to stay.” And a part of me is confused: stay in Hawaii or stay in the lunch group or? She clarifies, “Stay in your marriage.”

Does she think of me as someone who flies away at the slightest provocation? I want to defend myself, then think otherwise; jumping to my defense to me, signifies that I feel guilty. Am I childish, too silly, too playful, not serious enough, what? I am not a quitter.

I don’t tell her that my heart feels sad because of the way her words spit themselves out at me. Yet I think I would have liked to ask her if she has ever been a single parent (I’m pretty sure she hasn’t); purchased a house by herself without the help of a husband or anyone else; have the courage to leave her children for months at a time to take care of her own screaming soul, crying for help in its discomfort.

There is so much that she does not know about me or about my marriage. In fact, she has never even met my husband. In reality, she knows so little. What makes people say such things to others, are they coming from their own pain? Who is she to judge me?

In our current living situation I endure adversities and challenges, rising above each one, with courageousness and grace. We live without running water up a 4-wheel drive road, where I have no vehicle and must walk half a rugged mile to the main gate out to the road, crossing an overflowing waterfall stream that rushes off a several hundred foot drop, where recently a cow slips off, in the motion, the confusion and the strength of the water flow. It is decapitated somewhere along the way down, over the enormous ragged rocks. My choices are these: to cross the stream or to stay behind, in isolation. Sometimes I must schlep my heavy backpack, full of things that I need for my continuing journey, as I do not have a vehicle where I can easily throw these things in the back seat. Each time I reach the stream, it’s shoes (and sometimes) socks off, then back on, again. On the way back, no matter how tired I am, or how hard it’s pouring, it’s the same routine. Walk the half mile, take off shoes, put them back on to continue, uphill, uphill, uphill. No matter how tired, how short of breath I am, I continue.

Last night my cell phone refuses to recharge. My husband has not yet arrived home and the sun has set, the sky raging pink and orange, darkening swiftly. Without a vehicle or way to communicate, I feel afraid. I begin to panic and can not concentrate on anything else: where is he, where is he, where is he? It is my new early evening alone panic mantra.

Finally, Ed comes home and finds me on the outside walkway, in tears. The sunset is striking, the clouds distinct lines that are all lit up. He hugs me and I don’t want to let go. Does this mean I am not grown up? I am certainly glad to see him and now feel quite safe. I attempt to decipher her harshly spitting words.

Even if she is talking about my marriage, I endure adversities and challenges, I suppose like we all do, at one time or another. Our marriage is perfect in its imperfections, I understand that. And sometimes the water underneath our bridge floods, crashing over cars and cattle, homes and hearts. There are things I don’t always recover from. And I remember a dear friend telling me about the painting that her husband gives away, one that she loves, never bothering to ask her how she feels about it. This friend continues to live with and love her husband, in spite of his deeply hurtful actions. Is this what Fran speaks of? The decision to continue--no matter what?

Opportunities for growth appear around every corner; it’s when we are face-to-face with them, that our decisions make all the difference.

Another friend spends time in agony, works it out through the years and celebrates her marriage mid-life. And another stays together for the sake of her child. Yet another goes through husbands like a child splashing through water. Is there a rule of thumb, marriage etiquette, the art of marriage? Marriage is an art, I suppose and similar to art, there are many perspectives, tastes and desires. Can one person make such decisions for all of us?

In our women’s group we are all spirited--we love to play, laugh and tease one another. Our ability to have fun seems endless and I believe it’s the reason we have been brought together, to create joy in our lives and on this earth. At lunch we laugh so loudly, I am sure that even the hard of hearing need to cover their ears.

We are all travelers, on our own distinct and individual journeys--I call Fran, because I care about our friendship, to let her know I don’t appreciate her judgment of me. She apologizes, realizes her words were too strong and in our short conversation I think that we both grow up--admitting to our mistakes, sharing our feelings and respecting one another, in the end. We could all use a bit of growing up, I imagine--every now and then.

Love and Bliss on my Birthday,

Ruthie