REFLECTIONS AND MIRRORS

Divorced.

 

One simple word. One life changing decision. Another little label used for categorization. Just a number to add to a detached statistic to tell the world that another two people, once unified in holy matrimony, dissolved their wedding bands and went their separate ways in 2004.

 

But a single word doesn’t entail the flood of papers needed to be filed. It can’t begin to address the long sleepless nights leading up to the separation. Or the suffering that began to tear two former lovers apart for everlasting weeks on end. In one label, there is no way to full convey the accumulation of thoughts and words—both said and unsaid—that resulted in divorce papers being submitted to the state.

 

And no number of records, statistics, or studies can begin to show the lasting

impact that a divorce has on the kids. Numbers and calculations cannot convey the emotional turmoil that children suffer through. Lists of symptoms do not replace years of experience. Footnotes on treatments do not absolve habits instilled by the past.

 

And psychologists? Analyses? Experiments? They can begin to conjecture but they can never chart the future trajectories of a child of divorce. Because in the end, a divorce is not a story about pity, it’s a story about perspective: your history may shape you, but your perspective on life creates you. And I have decided to become a visionary, not a victim.

 

Upfront I will admit: I didn’t come out of my parents’ divorce unscathed. Even today, I struggle to properly express some of my thoughts and emotions; my introversion is emphasized by contours of painful social awkwardness; my aggressive attitude and passion can sometimes go a little too far; and there are still days where I dip down low into the depths of depression and find myself stuck in its rut. And all these problems—I could let them consume me and I could become another child of divorce. I could be just another statistic. But instead, I decided rise above that and move forward, not double back.

 

Because at the core of my parents’ divorce—at the core of my advantage—is the one thing that tore them apart in the first place: their extreme differences. For on one end of the spectrum, there is my mother: conservative, pragmatic, and emotionally reserved. A hardworking single parent, she taught me that if you want to beat the system, you have to be the system. You must work with what you have, not conjecture about what you don’t. Yet on the other end of the spectrum is my father: liberal, creative, and incredibly expressive of his thoughts and feelings. A free-spirited artist and attentive father, he taught me that if the system is wrong, go make your own. The universe is infinite—and so are you.

 

Spanning this huge gap between two very different paths, it seems like I should’ve snapped: not only have I been stretched beyond my limit in order to reach both sides, but also twisted by the very virtue of the fact that their roads run completely opposite each other. Only instead, I’ve become flexible: I’ve learned to adapt and understand that there is more than one way to approach a situation. How my mother decides to deal with something isn’t always the same as my father. But her technique is just as legitimate as his—or anyone else’s. 

 

Take, for example, their advice on how I should proceed with life. My father says that I should pursue what I love: no matter how hard the road may seem, if you chase your dreams, you’ll always be okay. You just have to be ready to deal with the hardships life will inevitably throw at you. Yet, my mother says to stay practical. Yes, you can certainly study what you love, but don’t make it your main focus until you’ve found a steady way of life. Because after you’ve got the money, you’ve got the home, and everything else—you can do whatever you’d like and always have a firm ground to which to return. And both of these ideals are absolutely reasonable: who you believe is right honestly says more about you than it does about my parents because to this end, it’s about the perspective you have than the practicality of each situation.

 

But what does this say about me? Well, I have to admit: I don’t know which side to take. Because both sides are absolutely right. Yet I can’t help but feel that there’s a third solution somewhere out there. That, in the multiple choice test of life, there will always be an answer reading “other” with a line next to it to fill in your own answer. And if not, well then, there will always be space to make my own choice. Because sometimes all the possibilities aren’t obviously there before you—you just have to be willing to change your perspective to find it.