leaving las vegas

(and always one more time)

I considered putting this post behind a paywall—something I’ve never done before but may explore in the coming months. My reasoning is not about increasing revenue; if you know personally, you know I’m not the best at “marketing” myself, frequently underselling the work I do. No, it was a consideration coming from the rawness of the content itself and why it has taken me longer to write and publish this piece. As my newsletter grows, I don’t always have the same connection with my readers as I did at the beginning. This is not a bad thing, just an observation, and I’m asking myself how much of myself I wish to expose. I'm still wrestling with why this essay feels more vulnerable than others, but for now, I’m taking a chance and putting it out for all to read. I appreciate your feedback in either the comments or by responding personally to this email. If you wish to manage your subscription option, I am grateful for your support. And in the future, if I do decide to paywall certain content, I will always comp subscriptions, no questions asked.

Okay, here goes… .

neon boneyard, las vegas

The texts began before we had even left town:

You’re going to Las Vegas?

You and Las Vegas seem like a funny match.

Are you going there willingly?

Wait, are you and John getting MARRIED??

I won’t leave you in suspense—we did not get married. Even if the thought had crossed our minds, we would never have gotten married there.

John’s already done that.

Seriously.

Nevertheless, last month the two of us did find ourselves in Nevada on a trip intended purely as a vacation, our first “real” non-Maine-centric vacation of any significant length—or at least the first involving air travel.

Our destination was dictated as much by our respective pasts as our current present course, for as happens in the dissolution of any marriage, there is the distribution of property. For me, it was a seasonal cottage ten miles off the coast of Maine, and John? A two-bedroom timeshare right off The Strip.

Obviously, if nothing else, John and I will forever be a study of yin and yang.

A first trip is both a gamble and an affirmation, sometimes beginning before one has even left the house: as I meticulously worked my way through my packing list, laying out (neutral) color-coordinated outfits across the bed, and questioning whether or not I could get away with a carry-on, John announced, “I’m pretty sure I only need one suitcase!”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

I couldn’t help but laugh because this man is my forever maximalist, living slightly larger than life and giving me permission to do the same—to jump before I may be ready, to embrace not always being “the quiet girl.”

I decided to check a bag after all.

There’s actually plenty more to do in Las Vegas than I imagined, especially for a planner like me.¹ There is also the possibility of simply sunning by the pool, something deeply frowned upon in the old administration. And please, don’t even get me started on the food!²

Still, it can be hard to not get lost in the gloss.

As I already shared, John and I did not get married, and yet, at some point during our week, the thought began to take up real estate in my mind until it became the (over) thinking thought I could not escape. How could it not when there were brides, brides everywhere—their presence whizzing past me like silver balls in a pinball machine. Just when I least expected it, another one would appear.

Are you and John getting MARRIED??

On March 12, I awoke in anticipation of the publication of my friend Margaret Mandell’s book, And Always One More Time, the ebook appearing effortlessly on my Kindle. I’ve been waiting to read her memoir before it even had an ending, for although Peggy’s story is not my story, there are uncanny similarities in our mutual discovery of starting over, both with men named John, and as I read her book, my rumblings grew louder:

Why weren’t we getting married??

Forgetting the obvious—John's first wedding at Graceland Chapel didn’t work out so well—I don’t really want to get married. At least not here, not now. Or do I?

When I was growing up, like many women, I was sold the story and delusion that marriage meant a man would be waiting for me with open arms, offering me a life where I would have it all and live happily ever after. Even with my personal proof positive that having it all doesn’t always equate to being happy, here I was in Las Vegas, surrounded by brides, lulled into believing I wanted to do it all over again.

Now.

I can remember a time on Monhegan when John and I saw one of my neighbors walking down the road. “There goes John, the boyfriend, “ she said. He smiled and squeezed my hand. Then, after she passed, he whispered, “Until he’s John, the husband,” and my heart skipped.

While this could be construed as “you complete me” dreamy, it could also be just John being John, a man with a way with words. I mean, he should—he’s a bartender.

There’s a line in Peggy’s book:

“You know, you’ve never asked me to marry you, John, I said one day. “Because you’ve made it clear what the answer would be,” he said. Still, I wanted to be asked.

More than anything else in that Las Vegas moment, I wanted to be asked, too.

I knew we weren’t getting married, and I really didn’t want to, but an idea did pop into my mind: What if we went shopping for a ring?! Not precisely an engagement ring, just a ring. Preferably simple, with the right amount of B L I N G. And so, the next phase of my mania began:

Whenever we approached a jewelry store, I imagined John would suggest we go window shopping—you know, just look around. Because, really, is it so far-fetched to believe that a man who frequently brings you flowers for no reason might whisk you into Tiffany and Co.?

I hate to break it to you, but yes, dear reader, it is.

Especially this man who, if I ask, “Tell me what you are thinking about,” more often than not smiles and responds, “Absolutely nothing.”

Nothing?

Nothing?

As someone who can have a full-blown panic attack in the space between each breath, how is it possible to be thinking of nothing? I decided I had a choice

I could catastrophize myself into believing the relationship was doomed if not already over, OR I could consider the possibility that John had zero idea as to the mechanisms of my mind, and I could say something, so I did.

Because I’ve learned it’s my responsibility to speak rather than sulk, and regardless of the outcome, I have a voice. My voice.

It should come as no surprise that rather than the two of us deciding to go our separate ways, John listened to my insanity. Calmly. Then, he looked at me and smiled, “We can do that.”

Eventually, we did go to a jewelry store, not Harry Winston or Van Cleef & Arpels, but no matter. Because here is where I must confess, it was one of the most excruciating experiences of the entire week—far more cringe-y than the conversation that led us to be there in the first place.

With each ring I tried on, I began to shrink, feeling more and more like a little girl searching for sorcery from a stone and marking me as the possession of someone else. Suddenly, I remembered that sometime in the middle of my marriage, I had stopped wearing my original engagement ring—not to make a statement, but because it didn’t simply didn’t feel like me. So why would I want someone else to give me a Cinderella symbol when I know I’m already living my happily ever after?

For my 50th birthday party, I wore a long white dress, and even though I was pretty sure Mike and I would soon separate, we never let on. We let our friends believe what we thought they wanted to see. Why do so many women keep the story going? Is it to save face for others? Or are we really doing it for ourselves? I never wanted to get divorced, but I also knew I couldn’t stay married. When I look back on that evening, I try to be kind to myself—to see the party less as a ruse and more as a gracious farewell, the dress as a promise of all that was yet to be.³

To become my own bride.

We think of yin and yang as being at opposite ends of the spectrum, and in so many ways, that’s what John and I are. But there’s another understanding of the philosophy, too. Yin and Yang are interconnected and inseparable. You only know one because you know the other.

John sees me enough to take me into the jewelry store. I see myself enough to know I already have exactly what I need.

We are each other’s jewel.

The two of us returned to Rochester exactly as we arrived, happily unmarried—at least for now. But who knows? It’s always within the unknown that possibility glitters,⁴ even after leaving Las Vegas. 

P.S. Keep your eye out for more about Peggy. Our conversation about yoga and writing is forthcoming, and if you wish to read her memoir, head on over to her website.

UPCOMING: THREE REMAINING SPOTS!

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The Faraway Nearby: stillness, story, sea

September 18-22, 2024

Monhegan, Maine

what’s your story? it’s all in the telling… . .

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The Faraway Nearby: stillness, story, sea

If you have ever wished to experience Monhegan, this retreat is your invitation. With Rebecca Solnit’s poetic memoir as our guide, we will write through the island's topography and the geography of our senses to embody our storied experiences. 

The Faraway Nearby is for anyone who longs to learn or return to the practices of writing and meditation in honor and celebration of our authentic voices, as can only happen when you find yourself on this artist's island 10 miles out to sea.

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Yoga, yoga, yoga! I’ve added new classes to my schedule at Tru. If you’re in Rochester, come practice in person every Monday at 4:30 p.m. and Wednesday at 9:00 a.m. You can preregister here or just come on over!

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finally, while she’s still baffled by stairs, Violet has developed a way with paper—currently seeking gallery representation (serious inquiries only)

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thanks for reading ~ if you enjoy this newsletter, i’d love to know! you can leave a comment, send me a message, or restack/share this post with a friend. you can also subscribe as a free or paid member ~ or manage an existing subscription. as always, i’m grateful for your readership.

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1. if you happen to find yourself in las vegas, here is a list of some of the things we enjoyed:

hiking in red rocks canyon; reliving our childhoods at the pinball hall of fame; the neon boneyard (at night); if you’re looking for a more intimate show, prepare to be confounded at the magician’s study; frank gehry’s center for brain health; the mob museum for my wannabe gangster; and of course lots (and lots) of people watching!

2. and (almost) everywhere we ate, mainly off the strip

half bird chicken & beer – chef brian howard (of sparrow + wolf) has a way with chicken and sauces, like sweet honey bbq and yuzu hot honey, mmmmmm

i have no idea what we ate at tacos el gordo because no one spoke english, and the menu was in spanish, but i would go back in a second, and i’m super proud of my pointing skills!

maggiano’s little italy – i mean it IS las vegas and John is John.

hachi serves high-end Japanese street food, like binchotan charcoal-grilled yakitori and takoyaki!

and finally, the TASTING MENU @sparrow + wolf 

3. There is so much more to say and so much that has been recently said about the power gained through the act of divorce. If you haven’t read, The American Ex-Wife, by Lyz Lenz or Splinters: Another Kind of Love Story, by Leslie Jamison (both serendipitously published on the same day), I highly recommend. Pssst,

lyz

has a date with her own white dress, but I’ll let her tell the story.

I also hold

Maggie Smith

’s memoir, You Could Make This Place Beautiful in the highest regard. I wore my white dress in 2016, four years prior to her publication of her poem, Bride, but I will still remember where I was sitting when I read it in The New Yorker and thinking, YES. There’s so much more to read and I’m always open to hearing your suggestions, but am including one more for consideration from the NYT, Online Dating Can Be Miserable. But It’s Also Liberating.

4. Michelle Obama