I read today about breaking up. Some psychologists say that it often is similar to grieving.
The first stage of grief is denial. I think I’ve gotten past that already. Let me tell you what it was like: it was terrible.
I walked around in a daze. I wasn’t sure if I could do it. My car didn’t have an opinion. My doctors did. No driving.
But this is the US! Everyone drives! You have to!
The US was built for driving! The English landed and immediately they began driving their buggies and wagons. Chief Pontiac tried to keep them from getting too far west, but they just stole his cars and drove over him.
So I vacillated, telling myself that maybe I could drive again in a few months. Or maybe a few years. Maybe. But in the meantime I’m paying for a big loveable piece of steel that is sitting in my driveway. But then again, we’d moved to the city a few years ago, and frankly our relationship had begun to lose its appeal.
I’d cheated on it numerous times when traveling. And now living together outside Boston, a town known for tough streets and bad traffic, I leave my car lonely and sitting during the week. But we always had good weekends. It was still good.
“I can’t give it up,” I kept saying. What would I do without it? How would I get out of the city if I can’t even rent a car? How do I get to NH? How do I visit people elsewhere?
I can say that I’m past denial now. I know it’s time to end it. I know it has to happen.