I’ve been flea marketing my whole life, so I know better than to attend with a set agenda or with the weight of a broken heart dragging down the process of sorting through someone else’s castoff goods. Today I made the mistake of attending under both circumstances, and I left with the rarity of emptihandedness.
There were treasures to be had, I’m sure, but in my state of mind, the biggest bits of baggage weren’t in the beat-up boxes and card tables surrounding Veteran’s stadium but with me. I needed to replace a shelf leaving with a fresh ex, and everything I looked at reeked of my broken heart, and while some measured 36 inches wide, it wasn’t, somehow, big enough to fill the gap. I had subconsciously tasked the flea market and all of those vintage goods rich with the energy imprints of lives over and done with the task of answering some very big questions and filling some very big gaps.
Emerging single again means that 1300 square feet of house feels enormous, I feel immense loneliness, and the gigantic chaos of everyday life seems harder to navigate. Those things are parts of breaking up, as is the division of property, the crying, and the logistics. Even those splits made for the better are filled with these tragedies, and I know that, but I still went searching through other people’s pasts for answers today, hoping to numb out or wise up.
I came out empty, with no shelf, no answers, just…the same skeptic that got me into this mess in the first place. Here’s a tall, stiff drink and a Cheers to you, all of you, making a go of things. It’s harder than it looks.
Skeptically Yours.
Bigskeptic
Amy Liming 