Cynicism Explained

I find that I am becoming much more cynical about some things than I ever was before. I don't know how much cynicism really entered my life prior to this past year, but -- and lately, especially -- it has seemed very difficult for me not to view life through jade-tinted glasses. And I'm not talking the Emerald City here. I'm not entirely sure when the cynicism really started to creep into my life, or when I began to notice it, but lately, especially when I think about love or relationships or anything having to do with "happily ever after", I cannot help but get a green-tinted soul. It's endemic, I think, to people who have gone through divorces or other serious, life-upheaving ordeals. And for me, this is even harder to deal with, because I've always thought of myself as a glass-half-full kind of person.

Optimism, though, and ennui do not a yummy cocktail make. There's too much bitterness in ennui, and it doesn't contrast well with optimism's sunny sweetness. So, too often, as in the rest of life, the bitterness wins out. Which is odd. Because even in my dark days, I always thought of tomorrow as being a savior. In fact, "tomorrow" is what propelled me through much of my marriage. The thought -- the wish, the sometimes fleeting, ephemeral hope -- that tomorrow would be better. Today is tolerable, but only if tomorrow comes, and tomorrow is better. And then, when tomorrow came, and wasn't better, I didn't let my spirits flag or fail, but looked towards the new tomorrow.

If you're curious as to what has sparked this particular rant, it was my own stupidity. I was scrolling down the front page of the New York Times online (it's my home page, because I'm too lazy to actually go buy and read a newspaper, so just look at the Times every so often during the day to keep up with things), and saw their little marriage section highlighted in their "Inside NYTimes.com" bar at the bottom of the page. (This was after reading, and being mildly disgusted by, one of the front page articles, "A Yoga Manifesto".) How stupid of me! To read of the glowing joy of all these newly married couples, to see their ecstatically happy faces -- ugh! Perhaps if I had ever had those feelings of glowing joy and ecstasy myself during marriage, I might be more forgiving, and then just slightly sad and nostalgic, but, alas, no. No, I found myself reading with growing vitriol of these happy marriages, and thinking, "Yes, but how long will it last?"

I don't know that I was miserable during the entirety of my marriage. I'm sure there were lots of happy moments, or if not happy moments, at least content moments. I was reminded, in fact, of one of them the other day. When my husband and I graduated with our Bachelor of Arts degrees, in English, from THE Ohio State University (never forget the "The", it's very important), we walked down the ramp together, one hand each holding a diploma, the other holding "our chothers". It was a magical moment; and I only recall a few moments as happy as that. (One of them was reading my acceptance letter to OSU.) Ironically, my wedding day was not one of those moments. In fact, I will forever burn with shame over one of my most vivid memories of that day: snapping at my mother as she asked me if I really did want to cut my veil off the crown of pearls and things I was wearing in my hair. Isn't that lovely? Not the dancing or the food or the speeches or the pictures, but me snapping at my mother. Oh, whoever said that to marry young is a mistake is so RIGHT.

I do remember good things about being married, and on some days, I convince myself that the bad things were over-exaggerated, perhaps, or didn't happen quite as I remembered them, but then the rosiness fades, and I remember the bad things, and hurt all over again. It's a funny thing, but my husband and I have been separated (we're not divorced yet, for reasons neither of us can really elucidate) for almost a full nine months, and it still hurts every day. And for those quick to point out that it was my decision, yes, thank you, I hadn't forgotten. But just because it was the right decision (I'm still, unfortunately, certain about that), doesn't mean it wasn't a painful decision, and it doesn't mean that I don't still love him, and that it doesn't still hurt every bloody day.

Part of me aches, sometimes, to go back to things the way they were, even if things the way they were was slowing killing both of us. I miss my bodies (I don't know that I've written of them, but I will someday; they're a pain too intense for me to talk about much, my little fuzzy, soft, furry kitten bodies that I literally delivered with my own hands, and have watched grow from that moment of birth), and I miss all my books, not just the ones I got to take, and I miss my couch, and my vases of flowers and . . . I miss having a home. I miss coming home to a place that was mine, that knew me, that waited for me and loved me. . . . In Ohio, I had a home like that; a tiny little apartment, and even in California, I had a home. I remember and ache for my home in Ohio. So much so that I wrote a sketch of it for a class of mine last quarter. I'll post it, so you can see what my home was. Maybe that's what I miss most about being married. Home, with my husband, who was as much a part of my home and soul as anything else.

Sometimes I really do hate life, and can't wait to move on and see what lies beyond it. Oh, cynicism, you bloody awful thing, go away, go away! Let me live in peace, at least for awhile!