Death of a Twosome

Looks like I live my life backwards. Instead of exploring in my teens and twenties before settling down, I started exploring after having settled, in my forties and into my sixties. Funny thing is, all of us five siblings settled down with a high school sweetheart in our teens. What did our parents feed us?

The fact that it takes two? A sort of co-dependency? An idea that identity (the sense of self) is not individual? That growing up has to be shared? That my name could not be uttered without his, the one I married? That basically, I sold my soul to the marriage, to the relationship? That is how it feels today.

I was madly in love with my chosen one. I was seventeen. I was madly in love for many years. And we had a family. And we made it happen. The children grew up, smart and ready to make it happen. As we had, they followed the parental role model. Values and traditions painted on the wall.

I lost it. Looked at my spouse and had fallen out of love. Or rather, I was seeking my own sense of self. Who was I? What did I like? What did I really want to do? Decided to go to school and went for six years straight, obtaining a master degree forty-eight years old. That felt good! And it changed me.

Lots of upheaval in our relationship. Affairs. Job changes. Address changes. The twosome cracked at the seams and two individuals saw the day. Two very different individuals. A free spirit and a fixed soul. Still wanting to make it happen. There was love. There was history. There was shared appreciation of good food and fine wine.

But the cracks widened. And the free spirit had to follow her dreams. Dreams that were childhood plays, youthful imagination, and middle-age wishes. Stuff that was her sense of self. Passions to be pursued. Love to be explored. The twosome got squeezed. And slowly died.


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