Space reclamation

I’m taking life back by facing the past one place at a time

It’s been just over a year since the final time my ex and I separated. He moved out on an April day with his collared shirts and the dishes I picked for us years ago, and I started the slogging process of moving on.

Every divorce is different, but all share a few hallmarks. Unless we’re untethered enough to simply move away and never return, we have no choice but to confront the places and spaces that had meaning or joy in the last versions of our lives, the versions we knit together over long stretches — children, good intentions, shared friends and ambitions.

Today I’m with friends my ex and I once co-loved, camping in a tent on a ranch, eating pit-cooked pig and grocery store pastries that taste better than they deserve to on a cold morning after a long hike. It’s the same tent we bought for our family, the same tent we set up together time and time again, bitching at each other over flopping tentpoles and cooing at each other in its warm shade.

This time, the tent has my kids in it and me, but no him.

This time, the tent has my kids in it and me, but no him. I set that tent up under the tree we camped beneath last time we attended this annual event together. I’m forcing myself to reclaim the moment — this space, this social scene, the feeling of accomplishment after packing and hauling and unpacking and resting.

This time it will be a difficult. The solo redo feels amputated and strange. But next time, this will be my place and mine alone. The tent will remind me of this creek and this sunshine and this roaring fire. I will have taken it back.