This morning, as I was heading out for a brisk walk before the rains came, I found myself thinking of all the turmoil I’ve survived while treading water in the rough seas of my life during the past two years.

There’s a curse, long attributed as a Chinese curse and now debunked as simply a curse of unknown origin.

“May you live in interesting times.”
“Interesting times” appear to have been the least of the curses I’ve survived over the past two years.

Yes, I say “survived” because that’s the simplest way to look at it. The people who know me by my married name were surprised when I disappeared, probably because I never revealed the details to them.

And my writer friends?  When I had to run away from the most shocking betrayal of my life, I wrote online that I wasn’t ready to write about it yet—let alone talk about it. The cheerful group of friends and acquaintances who follow me on Facebook still don’t know what happened. Heck, even I don’t know what happened. All I know is that I found myself driving ten hours a day to get to the place that I remembered for its happy times. I cried for the first forty-five minutes. My cat, Minnie, cried for the first two hours. But we stuck it out.

So, now what? As I stare at the screen before me and type a few words, cut and paste a few words, I remember someone from long ago and I stop to google an old friend’s name. I’m sure that many of us, at this age, call out to the old days and find that Google has the answers to our questions. Once I catch up with myself, I hope to reconnect with some of these old friends. Well, maybe one or two. People change.

Here in the place where I’ve landed, during the summer, I cross paths with homeless people. One night, as I stood on the sidewalk with one of them, each of us licking an ice cream cone, I asked how long he’d been on the streets.

“Ten months,” he said. He shared that he has cancer. He also has five brothers who refuse to see him.

He said, “Everybody has a story. You, me—we all have a story.”
I responded, “Yes. Now that you’ve shared your story, some day I’ll tell you mine.”

My sister has been my saving grace. I joke that she pulls me back from the ledge. Not really true because I need to stay around to see how this story ends.

Next week is our 50th wedding anniversary. I dream about him. I admit that I miss him even though our marriage was a lot less than perfect.

Due to the circumstances, I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him again.

Everyone has a story. You, me—we all have a story.