The other day I received an email from an old friend whose been reading my FWW posts. We were college pals who hadn't been in touch at all in the 15 years since I graduated from Ohio State and pull up stakes from Columbus, until I found her via the all-powerful Internet.

Most of what she's knows about my life today is what she reads here.

She said a couple things about a recent post that I've been thinking on since.

First, she's never known anyone doing what I'm doing, returning to a marriage I left two years ago. Also, she said I seem ambivalent about it.

Funny how when you get a new car, you suddenly see them everywhere. I know a few other people who've been down this road. My eyes are keen to these situations these days. I have a couple of friends who were in and out of their marriages for shorter periods and another who was separated for two years, just like me.

She also wanted to know if I was in it for good now. Two years ago I would have said "No way." Actually, I would have said it was still "open ended," but what I way thinking was, "No. No. No going back."

Then time comes along and does it's thing, and here I am. It ain't easy, that's for sure. But I take it the same way I'm learning to take everything these days, as it comes and with a good bit of openness.

With remembering how suicidally bleak it felt to be hopeless in that marriage with no obvious way out. Heavy in my body. Shipwrecked.

That's the ambivalence. I know where I've been. The truth is, had we not been bound together by kids, I would have left without looking back. And yet, I did not reconcile "for the kids."

The last time I wrote, I was trying to be brave. But I was really scared that I might not find a new home for myself and my six pets. To keep from panicking, I reminded myself that even though I had just three days to find a place to rent, I only needed one place.

Just one house with one fenced yard. Just one landlord amenable to six pets.

On the second morning of my search, I set out to see a house. My map indicated I could go south, then east to a major road that would lead to my destination, or so I thought. Turned out that while the roads cross on the map, one is an overpass, and I ended up on an interstate highway headed out of town.

Annoyed, I exited at the first familiar road. As I was finding my way back, I spotted a "For Rent" sign, and turned to see what was available.

It was . . . shall we call it a cottage? A very modest house with a fenced yard. The neighborhood seemed quiet and nice. Quickly I called to ask if it would be available to someone with pets. How many pets, the landlord wanted to know.

Some people I love and respect had advised me to lie about that. But AA teaches honesty in all things, and I soon realized that the stress and distress of having to explain or hide some furry person or persons would put me in jeopardy of drinking.

I took a deep breath and told the truth, all set to drive on.

"Hmmm," said the landlord. "That's a lot. I'd have to meet you, and we'd have to talk about it. Where are you now?"

Within minutes he was showing me the house. I scarcely looked at it: Did it have floors? Yes. A roof? Check, and ceilings too. Oh, and how much was the rent? I was thrilled to learn I could afford it.

I went back to see the place twice more that day, and the next day I said I would rent it. As we shook hands, I sighed in relief.

"Feeling better?" asked my new landlord. "Much," I replied.

My husband and I are supposed to start marital counseling again this month. You may remember that the last time we went to counseling it didn't turn out so well...our pastor had to refer us to a professional because we were just too wacky, and then the professional guy got way too fascinated with me and stopped helping the marriage while he tried to wrap me around his finger.

No, things don't happen easily for us.

I asked my husband to try counseling again a few months ago and at first he was insulted, then he was apprehensive, and then he was agreeable as long as I waited until October. September is a really busy month for him at work so he didn't want to have to deal with marital counseling while working overtime. Okay, fair enough, so I agreed to wait.

It's October and he hasn't brought up marital counseling. I'm not going to wait for him to bring it up; I'm going to make an appointment for us whether he brings it up or not. Let's face it; if I didn't take the reins in this particular task I don't think it would ever get done.

I'm excited to see if counseling helps this time. Really, I would love nothing more than for counseling to show us how to be a happily married couple again and to save our marriage. The last few times we went to counseling all it did was give us an hour to get mad at each other, and then a week to simmer in anger until the next session.

Maybe this time it will be different. Maybe this time a light bulb will go off and we'll fall madly in love with each other again. Maybe we'll have a stronger relationship than ever because we've overcome our difficulties and came out of it all stronger.

...Or maybe we'll just find out that it's not going to work. 

Before Levi I was never capable of having "emotionless, no strings attached, sex." Being somewhat of a hopeless romantic, I couldn't even fathom such a thing. I wanted love, I wanted passion, I wanted romance. Everything else just seemed dull.

After Levi though, I completely understood. I didn't want a relationship. I didn't want to hear about anybody's problems. I didn't want to go out to dinner. But I did, sometimes, want to have sex. So, no strings attached sex became my "thing." Being new to that game I quickly discovered a few things.

1. There is no such thing as "no strings attached sex." Sure everyone talks a good game, men especially. But when you actually start playing you realize that emotions creep up (obviously varying) no matter what the situation. We are human, we have emotions. Damn.

2. These "relationships" are actually harder to manage because in between having sex all you're talking about is how great it is that you're not getting attached, how awesome it is that you're not in a relationship, how not jealous you are, etc. When actually, you are in denial, or at least one of you is.

3. As a result of all of that, these relationships oftentimes have messier break-ups than traditional relationships. Why? Because neither party was being completely honest and that is bound to hurt someone's feelings.

I just found this out again. And this time, it was my feelings that got hurt.

Found myself engaging with a man that I had already known for a bit who is also going through a divorce. We found ourselves talking about the divorce process at a party one night. Shortly thereafter we found ourselves having a "casual fling."

What's hardest about being the one who was left: There's a lot of fear left over. Fear of risk. Fear of hurt. Fear of being left again.

Over everything, coloring everything, is that fear of ending up back in that place — the place that comes before the leaving. That place where you love, where you want, where you're willing to try and he isn't. That place where you're simply waiting — on the side, in the back — hoping for a smile, a word, some time. Hoping he'll remember that you're the one he chose. Hoping that he'll choose you again.

There's nothing worse than wanting someone who doesn't want you back.

So when the person you're with now, the person you've come to love — despite trying not to, despite fighting it — dithers, wavers, backs off, it's that worst feeling all over again.

It's not fair, really. It's not as though the other party isn't entitled to his own fears. It's not as though it's something that can't be worked through. It's not as though this isn't a normal part of a figuring out a relationship.

But even knowing all that, even knowing that you shouldn't look for parallels, shouldn't panic, shouldn't run and hide, nothing, nothing, nothing makes you feel as terrified and unhappy and wishing to god you had never let yourself love someone else as thinking — even for a day, even for an hour — that someone else, someone again, doesn't think you're enough.  Doesn't want you enough.

And maybe that's lot of pressure to put on someone new. Maybe it's a lot of pressure on yourself — to constantly try not to fear, not to worry, not to expect the worst.

But all you want is to be wanted. All you want is someone who wakes up, sees you, and thinks that's the most wonderful thing in the world. That seems like so much to ask. It also seems like so little.

Rob and I have been cutting back on driving lately, so until we were barreling north toward New Hampshire this weekend, I had forgotten the pact I'd made with myself to always be the driver when the two of us are in the car.

Rob doesn't get road rage, but he drives as if other drivers were the punks who bullied him in grade school, and this is his chance to show them who's boss. He is unforgiving, and never allows other drivers or even pedestrians the go-ahead.

He vies for the better position in a merge though it puts the passenger side in danger of being hit. He tailgates, a dangerous move made more so because his reflexes are molasses slow. For my own safety, I watch for brake lights on the highways so I can tell him to STOP! It takes him forever to notice and react on his own.

When I was learning to drive, someone told me to look farther ahead. It changed everything. Take your gaze another 200 feet forward, and you get to see what's coming much earlier, giving you more time to react if needed. Your peripheral vision will pick up what's immediately surrounding you anyway. When I gave Rob this tip, he thought I was nagging. When I try to talk to him about changing some of his driving habits, he never does.

So this weekend on the road, as Rob made one dangerous move after another, familiar thoughts returned. Does he respect me so little that he thinks nothing of putting me in danger? What if we had a child? I couldn't possibly allow him to drive anywhere with the baby in the car. Or, if he suddenly became a safe driver for the baby, could I forgive him for not treating me as carefully? 

And that's when it hit me. That's exactly what I already can't forgive him for — all the small moments in which he has betrayed my safety and trust. With us, it's not one big thing, but an accumulation of disregard. Our healing journey is a rough and pitted road — we get by one hazard to find many more ahead. 

By Paul Lambert, FWW co-founder.

With knees knocking, a divorce rap swirling in her head, and her Adam's apple lodged in her stomach, Debbie Nigro energetically took to the stage at the Gotham Comedy Club in New York and made the whole crowd laugh themselves silly.

She was hysterical as she talked about "cougars", the plight of divorced women, her approach to life and fun, and most of all, she shared how absolutely petrified she was standing up there, but what the heck ... "I am giving it up for a good cause".

That made me think about giving... and as she put it, "giving it up".

Marty Ingels once wrote that in this world of "give and take," too many people "take" and not enough people "give".

So I started to reflect this morning on "giving". We can all do it. Give a smile, a word of encouragement, a hug.

Anne Frank said, "No one has ever become poor by giving". And Winston Churchill said "We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give".

So as I sat back and reflected on the courage and determination that Debbie put into her wonderful comedy routine, I thanked God for this wonderful girlfriend who has devoted most of her life to giving to others.

I feel better, had a good laugh, and remembered that great St. Francis of Assisi quote: "For it is in giving that we receive".

Debbie received a lot of applause the other night, but deep down I'm sure she received something much greater: The satisfaction of stepping up to the plate and "giving it up" for a good cause.

Can't recall the last time I laughed so hard, for so many hours as I did last weekend. This is what happens when you put three women in a car for a good long road trip and throw in a few matching rainbow T-shirts.

My friend Tracy came out to Oregon for a quick spin through the state and lucky me, I got to ride along for the tour with her and another of our good friends.

The thing about travel is what it does to the soul, my soul anyway. There just is no quicker or more efficient therapy than driving away from life for a few days, for just long enough to fully appreciate everything you're coming back to.

Okay, of course there were a couple moments of "Hmmm, I could just keep going and never look back." Except, I couldn't. In every shop something took me home. Some little thing I couldn't resist buying for my girls, and for their dad, too. And then all the happy rush of waiting to see their faces when they opened the packages.

When we took a wrong turn, or more precisely, when we — slaves to technology that we are — mindlessly followed the GPS along a three-hour stretch of one-lane, shoulder-less forest service roads, all hairpin turns and death drop cliffs, straight up and over the Siskiyou Mountains instead of cutting down across the Redwood Highway through Northern California as we had planned, I just kept laughing. White knuckles and all. It's like that on the road. You take the adventure as is comes and let go of everything else. The plans we're so attached to.

I kept thinking on that drive, "This, this is the souvenir I want to bring home from the trip. Home to my relationship."

Every time my vision is jacked by an unfortunate turn into the wilderness, let me remember to drive slow, hold tight, and laugh myself all the way up and back down again.