12 steps; I like to walk, anyway.

Just a little while after my marriage ended, I did something stupid.

Well, I probably did more than just one stupid thing, but what I am referring to now is the time I locked my keys in my car. I felt dumb and, on top of that, I had to ask for help from a couple of super nice guy friends who were only too enthusiastic to try out their lock-picking techniques on my ghetto-fabulous car.  I was newly single and the whole situation helped to highlight the fact that everything was different and now I was alone.

It was hard.

Fast forward to today.

When I got my car stuck in the snow. And to make matters worse, I was dropping off a little welcome back gift for friends who were traveling home from halfway across the world and didn’t exactly want to be entertaining once they finally arrived at their house. And I was stuck in their driveway. While they were due home soon. Awesome.

Again, I felt like an idiot. And again, it sort of highlighted my situation and I didn’t have anyone who I didn’t mind calling. Like, it was embarrassing and intrusive and I greatly disliked having to ask for help.

But I called a friend. He came and got me unstuck pretty quickly and then I was on my way, feeling badly about the whole thing and marveling over how things can change and do change and when did I become a jellyfish who has no say over where I end up? Probably today, cause I spent the time I was planning to be at the gym all stuck in the snow instead. There you have it: instant jelly-fish-ation.

But then I remembered some things. Feelings. They are temporary, for the most part. They are not always pictures of reality; they are more like dress up clothes that are actually optional. So I decided to have what Jase and I like to refer to as a little Matt Chat. I talked it out in my car. Yes, I articulated what I was feeling, and I decided to let those feelings go and then–though it wasn’t like the earth opened up and high-fived me or anything like that (which would be quite apocalyptic and terrifying, actually), I do think things were sort of better after that.

I guess what I am saying is that maybe that was a step in the right direction.

Another step would be to try not to park where the snow has already parked.

Oh, and also, I picked up a book. Literally. It’s been sitting on the kitchen counter forever–or at least a few days–and tonight I picked it up and started reading it while eating some dinner. It’s a book on recovery. I feel like I am recovering, so I figured it would say something that would relate. And man, does it ever. In the first few pages there were these affirmations that one is supposed to read and agree with, over and over again, as many times as it takes, and just the first three made me think that someone had written me a letter, starting with Dear Jessica and everything.

Cause, look:

• today I accept that the life I have known is over.
• I am entering a new and blessed phase of my time here.
• I accept pain as my teacher and problems as the key to a new existence for me.

(and I am pretty sure they’re not even being sarcastic; I mean, I love this book’s depth already, but I would say that the author’s voice isn’t exactly what one would call comedic)

Later tonight, my pop noticed that the book on recovery was all dog-eared and in an obvious state of hey! somebody’s reading me! and so he asked me if I think I am an addict.

“Maybe,” I said.

“What in the world are you addicted to?!” he asked.

Which is when my mom jumped in. “Love,” she said, not even as a question. “OH.MY.GOSH.” I replied, with all the angst and irritation of a teenager who was just informed is grounded and knows that if they can’t go out, Billy will just go out with someone else, so they really just can’t be grounded right now, see?

“I am not sure what I am addicted to, but I certainly wouldn’t mind recovering and just being, you know, healthy,” I said in a way that didn’t really invite more questions.

And then I proceeded to sing the song At Last by Etta James, in preparation for an audition that is coming up. You know, all about how this one person has come along and now your lonely days are over and life is like a song and their spell was cast on you and his smile, his smile, changed your life and ohmygosh, can we say codependent and hey! I’ve got a great book for you to read, Etta James, and ps I actually do think your song is pretty; it’s just, I don’t really believe in a knight in shining armor and there’s a difference between loneliness and solitude and today I accept that the life I have known is over and I am entering a new and blessed phase of my time here and also I accept pain as my teacher and problems as the key to a new existence for me and right now none of that really jives with your song.

So, there you go.

But I do agree that life is like a song, at least; I just didn’t specify which song it happens to be like.