Passion. Believing what you want to believe. A baby born. Still believing what you want to believe.

Years of birthday cards, anniversary cards, and valentines with handwritten promises of superlatives and forevers. Notes about what we had cooked (we each had a problem overcooking London broil) and what times things would be and who phoned. Notes with jokes. Boxes and boxes of cherished memories of special days and everydays saved throughout my marriage.

They were my life for 25 years, so when I decided to tackle the project of going through them last week, I kept a few of them and put them in a small cardboard box with a heart on it. But I was fine letting everything else go, because downsizing to a small place in the adult community is my new dream. And the only way we get over hurt is when it becomes boring because something in the now, like planning an exciting near future, takes the forefront.

I married the wrong person because I love him. So what. Would our species create its own replacements if we all had our eyes wide open? I’m smart, tuned into psychology, and it happened to me.  And it will happen again to someone else. To quote Kurt Vonnegut, “And so it goes…”

Last night, I put the 25 years in their paper form out to the curb. At 6:30 this morning I heard the truck pick them all up—not for trash, but for recycling.

Advertisements