Saying Goodbye
I love my apartment. I’ve fallen in love with Los Angeles but must move to a more affordable city. I either hate change, or I’m not supposed to leave. My gut is all out of whack. Maybe I should wait just one more month, two more months, or three, but I’ve been saying that for a year and three months now. My divorce finalized on January 1, 2023, and I’ve been at loose ends ever since, waiting for my life to begin again.
Waiting.
I didn’t grieve the loss of my marriage, not really. I wasn’t devastated when he left. He was so cruel, and he took pleasure in causing me pain, mainly when I was at my lowest. He knew how to twist a knife and make it bleed, and just when it started to heal, he twisted it deeper in.
But I grieve the loss of the partner I thought I had. I grieve the loss of having someone take care of the hard things. He did that well, mainly because he refused to cede control of what mattered — bills, taxes, travel, voting. He knew just what to do and did it in plenty of time. But he never knew how to love, so I suppose I have one up on him.
Nevertheless, love doesn’t pay the bills.
I’ve struggled this year trying to get my head around all that. I’ve also struggled to stay employed, but then, Los Angeles never opened up for me. I knew it years ago. Just before we met I was about to move back East. I was New York-bound. Not that New York would have been any better for me. I’m far too sensitive and introverted. A place like New York would’ve eaten me alive.
I met my ex-husband and clung on for dear life, convinced I’d never make it without him. And because I loved him and needed him with every fiber of being, I confused his attention with that same love. In me, he found someone he could control. I’d have done anything for him, and did — until I didn’t, and that’s when it all unraveled, and I saw the man I married. Selfish, self-centered, controlling, demanding, judgemental and cruel.
I guess, however, that at least I gave Los Angeles and married life a good go of it.
Reason and common sense must prevail. The rent is too high, and food and gas are nearly double what they are in smaller cities. You pay for the vistas in this city. There may be plenty to do that’s free, but you pay dearly to live here.
But maybe, just maybe, something better awaits me in a new city, something more me. I’ve never made much sense in L.A., I’ve always said so. “If I weren’t married, I’d leave this city in a heartbeat,” I used to say. But that was when ambition and youth were at my back. I’m tired, and I feel used up. I’m not the young woman who married him.
But maybe I’m more. And maybe I need a new environment to find that out. I’m ready to stop trying so hard and worrying so much. I spent my marriage worrying that he’d leave me and that I wouldn’t know what to do. When I stopped worrying, he left.
L.A. is a city designed to keep you isolated, mainly because the Entertainment industry doesn’t want you in it. Only engraved invitations and Ivy League schools need apply. Not that the entry-level positions are any better than indentured servitude. By the time you ascend, you’re working harder than you should, and that’s your life. It’s all you do and who you are, and for many, working in the “Industry” is a substitute for a personality.
Nevertheless, I wish I could stay. I wish…I wish I’d met someone different, but I was different and not the person who could’ve said no to him or yes to someone good. I don’t know how many good people there are in this city. It draws the narcissists and success-obsessed from all over the world. The rest of us usually don’t last.
So, that’s all true. It’s all true. It doesn’t mean I want to leave. But I don’t want to keep spending my resources on a life that could take or leave me. I want a place that wants and loves me. I’ve been looking for that my whole life. Deep down, I know that you have to find that in yourself. And if that’s true, then it won’t matter where I live or what I do. I’ve heard that many times. I started the journey of learning to love myself while in my marriage. I naively believed that if I changed, so would my ex-husband. We’d both grow magnanimous together.
One of the first people I met in L.A. was leaving for all the reasons I’m leaving now. When I met him, I thought, “Oh, this does not bode well. This is a bad omen.” But I tried not to be superstitious. Still, here we are nearly twenty years later, and I’m saying some of the same things. My heart breaks for that hopeful girl and all the trying she’s done since then.
The thing is, I didn’t let myself fall in love with L.A. until my ex left. It’s like I wouldn’t truly give myself to loving anything, not entirely because, on some level, I didn’t feel safe with him around. I was always in a state of hypervigilance and fear.
That’s a good sign. It means I may fully be able to love a new place and love it with abandon.
Goodbyes will break your heart. Unlike my ex-husband’s departure, I’ll feel this one fully. Perhaps it’s a substitute for the grief I won’t let myself feel for him. Yes, there are a lot of substitutions and sacrifices we make in this city. A lot.
©Punt On Point Media, Inc. 2024 Amy Punt
