One person's sanctuary is another's asylum. 

I returned to upstate New York last Thursday after six weeks of the NYC job search scene — a grueling, merciless, yet necessary torture.

While I did cut commuting costs, the lack of space to breathe and recoup at day's end in the city surely did nothing to prepare me to get up and go it all over again the next day.

So what does that mean for me now? Where do I go from here?

I am halfway through my fourth month of unemployment — with less answers than I had in the first. Having followed every bit of direction and bartering every pearl of wisdom given to me, it seems that I have come full circle, with no alternative but to go the cycle again.

Remember Sisyphus?

At this point, perseverance and insanity have but one thin, heavily smudged line betwixt the pair, and I find myself on most days doing a very peculiar dance: one that involves great endurance. At this point, I've got enough energy to keep up the fight — for now, at least.

I know that I must can't give up — even when the odds are not in my favor.

What keeps me going? I remind myself of how great that victory dance is going to be. 

I haven't been to a therapist in a while. I stopped seeing the last guy I was going to because he got a little too fascinated with me and gave me the heebie-jeebies. So I rid myself of the one person in my life whom I freely chatted with on a regular basis about my thoughts of leaving my husband.

I used to talk to my pastor about it quite a bit but my therapist talked me out of that.

I confided in a few friends and soon afterwards it felt like an awkward pity party.

I told my mom and now she dislikes my husband.

If I didn't have a blog to write I would be a big bucket of nerves. At least I have one outlet.

I don't know if I'll go see another therapist. I don't know how the last guy managed to do it, but he got me so wrapped around his fingers that I would save up situations throughout the week and only form an opinion on them after my therapist and I had a chance to mull them over together. 

I went to therapy trying to figure out a way to save my marriage and instead got roped into a codependent situation with the therapist. Why can't anything ever just be easy?

If I do go see another therapist I think I'll find a woman who has such a thriving practice that she won't cling on to one patient in particular and decide to become some sort of puppet master.

I feel like a real idiot for having fallen into that pattern with my therapist, and now I'm scared to see anyone else. Really, it's not like I need another complication in my life.

Apparently, my ex, Levi, caught wind of my lunch date with his sister, Erica. He called last night, said he wanted to have a "civil conversation." (I really must remember to send the man a dictionary with the word "civil" highlighted.)

Then he rambled on and on about how he "isn't going to do anything for Adrian just yet" and how he will "never go through me to have a relationship with Adrian, that he must wait until Adrian is old enough to formulate a relationship with him himself." Same old, same old.

Then he switched gears and told me that he is going to "come take him from me." More of the same. Listening to him now, I can't believe that I ever got myself so upset over his bullshit.

This time I simply told him, "Thank you for the update" and added, "It was nice catching up with you." Done.

Then I met Erica in the city for lunch yesterday. We met at the cafe outside of the zoo, ate, and then wandered around the animal exhibits. She tried to engage Adrian a few times, but he was way more interested in the monkeys and sea lions than in her.

It was only at the end of our day that she brought up Levi, and...their mother. (I still can't decide which one of them I loathe more.) Apparently, the mom wants to see Adrian but she doesn't want to see me. Levi has told his family that he is okay with them "filling in for him" — holding a place for him, until he is ready to be a parent. I told her that it wasn't the right time to talk about it.

But seriously, what can I do but shake my head in disbelief at the utter dysfunction that is their family?

Yesterday was the first day of school. It is my thirteenth, as a teacher. One would think first day would have become commonplace by now, but it still makes me fluttery and nervous and excited. It's still, after all this time, The First Day.

It's also an anniversary, of sorts: The first day of school is what finally made me ask for something to change in our marriage.

Jake used to take me out to dinner the night before the first day. As a teacher, this is one of my Big Days: The First Day, Graduation, Opening Night. Having someone at my side, recognizing their importance, meant something.

Jake had been spending more and more time in China. Eventually, he missed one of my productions. He started missing my birthday. I realized he hadn't been to a graduation in years.

Two years ago, when he told me, despite a month of reassurances to the contrary, that he wouldn't be back before school started, I fell apart. It was just one miss too many. "I need something to change," I said. It was the first time I'd said it in five years. They were five years of being told, "I can't work on this relationship now. Next year will be different. It won't be like this next year."

"You keep saying it will be different soon," I said. "Tell me — is it really ever going to be different?"

"No," he said.

"Then I can't do this anymore," I said. And then he told me he was going to stay in China. That this is what he wanted, more than he wanted me.

This is my second year starting school with no one else to mark the occasion with me. Third, if we count the year we made that decision.

I had a lovely day and made myself a lovely little dinner, but, still, having someone that I can share that with, someone who knows this day's importance to me and recognizes it — I really miss that. 

I dream of visiting the Greek Isles and navigating the twists and turns of the road — between mountain, town, and beach — on a scooter. I lean into turns that open toward vistas dotted with bright white villages shining in the intense Mediterranean light. From every vantage point, ocean surrounds.

I can't make my dream getaway happen right now, but I'm not waiting around, either. I've manifested a bit of the experience here at home: I bought a Vespa to get me around the city in a style reminiscent of my dream, and at a fraction of the cost — to my wallet and to the earth (75 miles per gallon!).

I scoot between neighborhoods, from yoga studio to post office to library. My skin soaks up the sun but is also cooled by the breeze I create as I open the throttle. It's...freeing.

I haven't always felt free in my marriage. But freedom isn't about having the most comfortable arrangements — living in the house, working the job, and with the partner we always imagined. Freedom is an inside job, and inner freedom cannot be buffeted about by the vagaries of life. It is steady and true.  

I can't deny, however, that a solitary ride on a late-summer afternoon — waning sunlight and warm breeze on my face — doesn't jump start things for me.

Out on the leafy streets I capture a momentary sense of freedom. The Vespa is...my new joy toy.

How do I know if I'm on the right track? Sometimes there's a sneaking suspicion that I may be going off the deep end. As I pack my bags for one last solo getaway, all I can think about is my old life, even though I know how important it is to keep moving forward.

I am totally committed to coming out of all this on the other side.

Probably the best thing I did this month was to commit to another six sessions of therapy. My therapist has been an on-and-off integral part of my life for more than 30 years.

Now, in the post-marriage phase of life, I'm looking for signs, talking to angels, seeing a therapist, journaling, going to Buddhist retreats, and saving time on Sundays for church.

Oh, and I make time for lighting candles, drinking champagne, reading, and celibacy.

All bases covered?

Yikes! Especially since, when I first moved out on my own, I didn't even know where electricity came from. I don't mean which electrical company. I mean where the circuit breakers were, or even what they did.

That's how long I'd been married, pregnant, nursing, and ill.

Ok, get a grip, Joy.

I keep telling my friends, "I am going to be the last 50s housewife."

Not sure exactly what that means, except there's no excuse for disempowerment.

Practicing deep breathing, calming the mind, "ommmm-ing" for peace, I'm treating this weekend as a launching point.

The new school year is going to herald big changes. The kids will get out of bed with no hassles. They may even have my morning caffeine ready. I will find myself, minus the dot on my forehead, and without curry.

Ooops. Wait. This is a reality blog, and my kids don't even know where the stove is.

That's it for now. More thoughts after the retreat and, hopefully, ensuing clarity!

Somewhere in my house is a book entitled Letting Go of the Person You Used to Be by Lama Surya Das. I bought it three years ago when I lost my job and my last pregnancy within a few weeks of each other.

When the job went, that was kind of okay. I was about to take up a new vocation: motherhood. When the baby went, that was utterly not okay, and I've been trying ever since, in ways healthy and not so, to get over it.

I need to reread that book. Fifty-one weeks ago I was surprised to hear myself telling Edgar yes, I do want a divorce. I still haven't filed the papers.

I can talk about keeping the health insurance and the expense and trouble of divorce, but at least some of my delay is a result of my unwillingness to let go of a bad marriage.

Doggone it, took me 40 years to find a husband. So he wasn't the best husband, but he was — uh, still is — my husband.

It also took me quite a while to find and buy my house, which I don't really seem to be able to afford right now. 

In truth, I haven't been able to afford it for quite a while.

It has been pointed out to me that if I don't figure out how to pay for, or to sell, or to rent out the house, it'll be taken from me. Then I'll have to let go. For the past several months I've been working on letting go of the conviction that I must and can hold on to my home.

I've put less effort into the idea of releasing Ed.

But I feel my tightly clenched hands being pried open, so to speak. I'm beginning to accept the possibility that it's time to let someone else (who can afford it) love this house.

Maybe the practice will help me to let go of my marriage.

My husband served in Iraq for a few months back when our first child was a young baby. I was really proud of him for what he was doing even though I was scared out of my mind for the dangerous situation he was getting into and also because I was really new at the whole mommy thing and was about to do it all on my own.

When he came home he was different. I know you've all probably heard about how people go away to war and then come back somehow changed, but unless you've experienced it firsthand then you probably have no idea what it's like.

It's not like in the movies where he sits in a dark corner and smokes cigarettes while grumbling about the ills of war. Instead it's as if he went away one man and then came back another.

The only way I can describe it is that he came home himself, but a different version I had never seen before. Less patient. More prone to anger.

One minute he would demand attention and the next minute he would shut down and want to be left alone. He laughed less and was much more critical of everyone around him.

He's gone to counseling and the therapist told him that although he probably has some PTSD issues; chances are he'll bounce right back eventually. That was five years ago, and most of the time I still feel like he's a stranger.

What kind of woman leaves a husband who changes after serving his country? He may be a different man, but he changed because he went off to fight for the liberties I enjoy daily.

I struggle with this all the time. Is it his fault that he's different? Why can't I adapt to his changes? Should I have to?