Looking back at all my posts recently, I had to laugh. One of the first was called "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" That could be the title for all my posts, for my entire blog, and indeed for my life!

In my early posts, I waffled, now and then seemingly determined to pursue one course of action, only to change my mind a week later. But mostly I described my relationship with Rob as something damaged. The question was, and remains: Is it irrevocably so?

Today as a warm breeze drifts through my study window and my thoughts flow easily through my head and onto the page, I feel more comfortable in my apartment with Rob, indeed in my own skin, than I've felt in a while.

Some fellow FWW bloggers and readers say don't make a move until you're certain, and when you're certain, you'll know it. Others say I owe it to myself to leave. The latter is not unwarranted or unhelpful advice, but I don't know anything for certain, and I think I'm going to stay put for now. Feels right.

Where staying put with no big-picture plan seemed torturous just weeks ago, it doesn't seem so hard to bear at the moment. Why is this so? Couples therapy? Recent time apart from Rob as I traveled with a friend? Rob's continued evolution through therapeutic work? Maybe all?

One thing I've learned: being gentle with each other, allowing space for independent growth, and not giving in to fear when our directions diverge or seem unwieldy brings a bit of relief.

As memories of six days of sea and jungle explorations sink in, my eyes open to an old truth about myself.

Years ago I toyed with thoughts of Peace Corp service, working my way around the globe, or a job "in country" with an NGO. When my ability was questioned by parents fearful of such a life, and as my debts rose, I abandoned those dreams. I came to think them ridiculous. (Handy mechanism, to reject away what you actually love but cannot have. It makes the not-having easier to bear!)

But seeking cross-cultural connections and serving others are the only things I've ever felt called to do. Now I'm curious: Can I tap into the strength of purpose I've always had down deep and honor my interests and pursue my dreams?

These days I have more tools in my toolbox and take much better care of my emotional self. Debt can be managed, and my relationship with Rob doesn't have to keep me stuck. Where before I saw obstacles, I now see creative ways to manage concerns. I see opportunity.

With Rob's evolving understanding and acceptance that I can't play the role of a typical wife, and a bit of saving and investigation, I might just be able to get what I always wanted.

This would not be an easy life, to be sure. But fearless exploration of my interior as I trek through new exteriors, and a strong home base from which to depart and return, no longer seem unattainable. Unconventional perhaps, but not unachievable.

I'm back from a girlfriend getaway in paradise. Travels with a best friend off the beaten path awakened more joy in me and soothed my soul, but also left me wondering...

Why can't I capture a sense of fun and wonder in the every day life I already have? Why do I put up with pressures and jobs and people I don't like? Because I think I'm resigned to my lot and can't effect change for the better?

Why do I feel so stuck here in Boston, but I was free as a bird in Mexico?

One idea: I was wearing no wedding ring. I wasn't seeking romantic or sexual attention from men. But I think the ringless finger — and people's assumptions about my lack of attachment — invited more open responses and deeper interactions than I would have otherwise experienced.

One afternoon my traveling companion and I looked up from our reading to see a man snorkeling in the heavy surf. Curious. He emerged onto the beach with a string of fish and spear. We dropped our books and marched over to investigate. He saw us approach and waited to show us his catch of red snapper, octopus, and lobster.

In bits of English and Spanish we learned were evening snacks to enjoy with some friends. He was perfectly sweet and answered all our questions, with no suggestion of interest beyond the subject at hand. But he told us if we brought some beer, we could come try some of the grilled fish. Fun!

Unfortunately, we had other plans. But judging by his manner and our rapport, I think if we had taken him up on the offer we would have found a relaxed local scene in which we felt perfectly comfortable: an evening on the beach with some new friends. But were a ring on my finger, this might not have come to pass.

Couples therapy stretches out before me like a never-ending road, barely undulating, ascending only the gentlest slopes, never turning corners that so desperately need to be turned. There is no question the road goes somewhere better than our present location...but only eventually.

Indeed, the question before me is one of time. Am I willing to invest a few good years — my fleeting youth — in building a better relationship with my troubled husband?

No doubt such an investment has the potential to pay off big. A couple that goes through hardship and works together to find a solution can come out the other side stronger than ever.

But do I want to sacrifice the open window of opportunities in the present for pay off so far down the road?

Today in therapy it was clear Rob is capable of making breakthroughs that will allow him insight and room to find new behaviors that will make him easier to live with. But the more progress he makes, I'm worried the bigger the expectation (on his part and our therapist's) that I should stick around for the pay off.

A kindler, gentler, better communicator of a husband would be great, but sticking around for it to come to fruition — in what? two or three years? — will be the tough part.

Today I'm confident about being here, doing the work with him. Tomorrow? If my track record is to believed, tomorrow will be another story entirely. I'm taking every day as it comes, and perhaps one day it will feel like time to make a decision one way or another. Not today.

When the pressure of work, family drama, and troubled marriage overwhelm, I fantasize about leaving town, changing my name, and dropping off the grid for a small but self-sufficient life in the southwestern desert. I don't have much money of my own, but then I don't imagine needing much.

A beat up truck, a dog as companion, and a cozy adobe cottage — that's all I'll need. A pressure-free job at a local dive would pay the bills. I'll be perfectly content writing, exploring desert canyons, and kicking back with a few new friends over beer on rusty porch chairs. No father with Alzheimer's disease to worry about, no student loans to pay, no ambitious career or lifestyle plans in a fast-paced, high-priced northeastern city to frustrate the calm.

Such is my escape fantasy. Do we all have one? Do some people act on them? Are they the brave or crazy among us? I suppose that depends on how troubled their lives were, on how likely they could heal or remain safe, staying put.

This week I depart for a short Mexican vacation. A dear friend who lives on the opposite coast is meeting me for an escape to the beach. We'll sleep in a cabana on the jungle's edge, read in hammocks, and practice yoga on the shore. I anticipate warm air, fresh seafood, and easy conversation.

The temptation to relinquish obligations back home will tug hard. I'll relish the thought of staying behind in a paradise marvelous not so much for its sand and sea as for its lack of strings attached. But no person is an island. I'll be back.

This weekend a scientific conference created the opportunity for a convergence of Rob's old friends. Once a close-knit group of graduate school students, these men and women pursued jobs in their particular specialties and settled in various far-flung states and countries.

I had long ago grown close to them through Rob, but given our recent troubles, this time they didn't feel like my old friends. They were his.

It was tough to dutifully play the part of doting wife as brunches with other couples turned into walks around the old neighborhood, drinks at the pub, and eventually dinner as well. That's many hours of reminiscing and, eventually, tired smiles...

Talk focused on weddings, births, and — this gang's ultimate milestone — the defense seminars that concluded their graduate studies. It took me back to my first couple years with Rob, when every few months we were participating in the celebration of someone's landmark event.

We pub-crawled after friends' dissertation defenses, hosted graduation parties, and traveled the country for weddings. Our courtship was lined with others' milestones.

As the frequency of the rites of passage dwindled — once everyone had wed, settled into jobs, and had their first children — our sense of couplehood faltered.

Was it the ritual reinforcement of our roles within this community that kept us together? Years later, everyone else is going strong. Rob and I, now isolated from the community we were born into as a couple, don't seem to have our own glue. 


I just learned about Living Apart Together (LAT). Interesting idea. (Isn't that what Woody and Mia did, only to have their sense of family diluted enough that Woody took up with his wife's adopted daughter? Eww.)

But from the sounds of it, others make it work, and in living apart, they find the freedom to stay together as a couple.

What about the opposite? Allow me to coin the term Living Together Apart (LTA!). As in someone moves into the guestroom and the former couple shares the apartment equally as roommates, and no intimate relationship continues.

I bet Rob would go for it. And this way I get to keep my favorite study intact, continue to receive the affections of my cat, and stay in my beloved neighborhood!

But would it be fair to Rob? I've been opening up to the idea that we have helped each other grow but might need to grow in separate directions in the future. While living together could eventually impact our moving on and dating, what about in the near future? Is it possible this could ease a transition?

Or is it a cop out when the fear of change and loneliness related to moving out are too tough to imagine? I'd love to hear from others who have given it a try.

I've written about Rob's proclivity for binge drinking and playing computer games when I'm out with friends or away for the weekend. It's both a cry for attention, and my punishment for leaving him alone.

That he does it when I leave belies a fear of abandonment, which is sad, but after trying to help him for years to no avail, I can't support this unhealthy response to his problems much longer.

And the pattern has taken a dark turn. Rob recently binged to the point of terrible sickness. Looking back, we realize he had poisoned himself and needed medical attention.

I was away for only a few hours, during which he drank heavily. Soon after I returned he was heaving in a strange way. I asked him if he wanted to go to the hospital, and all he could do was sway and try to focus his eyes on me, and say "no" weakly.

We both abided the sickness, waiting out the vomiting. I cringe to think what could have happened, and I wonder why I asked a devastatingly impaired person if the hospital was in order and did not proactively seek help for him myself?

What a complete lack of judgment on my part. Our marriage may be on the rocks, back and forth one way to the other as we try decide our ultimate path, but hopefully in the meantime we can commit to better health and safety for him and for me. Starting immediately.

Rob's and my couple's therapist suggested the choice I face isn't between our current relationships on the one hand, and separate futures on the other, but between a new relationship together on the one hand, and separate futures on the other.

Oh, right. I don't have to settle for our relationship status quo; if I choose to stay, it should be for a better, healthier relationship. While this is not earth shattering, it felt new, and gave me pause. I guess I had been in a rut thinking the relationship was unchangeable and therefore doomed. Not so?

After this suggestion, I spent a good day thinking, nah — there's no way Rob can change. And the trauma between us is irrevocable and can't be healed.

But then I thought of all the good changes Rob has already made and decided he would be capable of it. That lasted through a second day. But something still irked me. Even if change for the better were possible between us, I still had misgivings. What were they?

They were my dreams. My dreams of independence, the freedom of living on my own terms — without the guilt and the fighting and the worry — and the pride that would come of humble self-sufficiency.

These dreams of mine are set in the near future; I imagine enjoying this independence while I can still pass for the kind of young that gets away with putting up visitors on a futon rather than in a well-appointed guest room, that travels from hostel to hostel and is not decades older than the other guests.

This is it — I feel I'm in a race against time. Sure, independence at any age will be wonderful, but my particular dreams I want to live out, well, now.

This reminds me of Harry Burns's loving tirade at the end of When Harry Met Sally: "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Soul searching and self-knowledge are good things, right? But if you can't get too much of a good thing, why am I tired of the pursuit of my true feelings, ready to give up on couple's therapy?

I'm going crazy from broken-record thinking, and pretty sure my best confidants are ready to flee at my next mention of these problems. I need answers. A divorce article I recently read pointed out that while contemplating separation over an extended period of time, you put yourself in a state of prolonged heightened awareness.

Heightened awareness. Helpful, right? It went further: indecision is an opportunity to contemplate every side of the issue. Great! But then it switched gears: at this time one does not think clearly or logically, and might not employ sound judgment. Beware of your thoughts. So which is it?

Well, of course it's both. I'm aware. And this awareness feels heightened — if, by "heightened" one means ever-present, obsessive, and anxiety-provoking. What am I aware about? That I'm not able to make a clear judgment about my situation. Circles again. All in all, I'd kind of like a break from thinking at all.