When I announced I was getting married for the first time, my groom to be's best friend laughed and said, "I'd like to see you move his napkin."
I had no idea what this meant.
My first husband had lived alone for most of his life, when he was not sent to a Catholic boarding school. He had some eccentric ways. His windows were covered with book cases, which were packed with books. He did not go out much, had his set of friends that he had forever,he was (and still is) funny, smart, and ofttimes charming.
At the wee age of 29 he was fairly set in his ways. He is also a writer. When he would sit down daily to write he would carefully places all his immediate needs in order, book, pen, ashtray, lighter, cigarettes, and a glass of water with a napkin under it.
The napkin.
To move the napkin would be to change something, to alter his universe, to invade his space, to make my presence known.
I tried to move his napkin in many ways during the course of our marriage. We had two children, we moved (a lot), but I was unable to move the napkin for any significant length of time, and we parted on good terms. On the day we divorced we had lunch together.
Many years, more children and losing my second husband to cancer, I am again in a relationship. I spent almost 9 years alone before finding and committing to another relationship.
Something has felt "off" for me from the moment she moved in. Nothing I could name, but rather felt. Nothing so dramatic that I wanted to end the relationship.
Just something.
My first husband is traveling the world at the moment. He is a free spirit now with little possessions. What he owns he can fit into one suitcase, a far cry from our five bedroom house with a pool we once lived in.
I was thinking about him and I realized he no longer has his napkin. He has become flexible and fluent to change.
I knew then that I am the one now with the napkin. I have lived in this house doing things how I prefer them for so long that I am afraid I can not move my napkin. Some ways or habits are not even ones I particularly enjoy, it is just the way I have been doing them.
As a result I have at times been resentful to my love.
When did I become the one who is not flexible and fluent to change? I am the one who invites chaos into the house with children, animals, mess. All she wants to do is help.
She has, for the most part lived with someone her entire life, roommates in college, various lovers, random roommates. She is used to the ways of cohabiting. I thought I was the one who was well versed in those ways.
I have forgotten.
I have at times been bitter. Bitter than my first husband is free to do as he pleases. Bitter that I am stuck in a house and city I do not love, and now bitter that someone I invited in is trying to change things. Even for the better.
It is time for my napkin to go. If I hold on to my napkin it will be all I have and I want more than that. I want unrestricted love. I want to let go and jump again. I have before and I want to again.
My napkin is a lie. My napkin will not keep bad things from happening, it will not prevent possible illness, it will not make everything "okay". It will however prevent me from truly loving, from changing, from letting go.
Letting go of the past.
Letting go of the present fears.
I know that if I continue to hang on to my napkin I will never love her in the fullest way that I can give her and that is not what I want for her, or me, or the myriad of children, pets and mess we have.
I need no one to take away the napkin, I throw away in the way I obtained it, alone.
It is scary, it isn't easy, but it is so worth it. For years I needed it to survive. I needed to learn how to be alone. I fought very hard to imagine a lifetime without loving again, and I succeeded. Now I will relearn what it means to give in love and not just accept in love.
Look at your own glass. Are you holding a napkin that is preventing you from something? A change, a love, a habit?
Let's go green and clean up all the napkins we have. I am excited for the extra space in my heart to be filled.
And yes, scared.
