Things Fall Apart

It didn’t creep up on me like a surprise twist ending or anything.  I didn’t just wake up one day and realize that for the first time in almost eighteen years I was single.  Yet, for whatever reason, the other day that’s exactly what happened.  I woke up, unnecessarily early for a weekend, stared at the clock which was about to go off since I had forgotten to disable it, with the terrifying realization that I was alone.  Alone in this house, in this room, in this moment.  For the guy who has always enjoyed solitude, those stolen times when I could escape everything to recharge my spirits, I found myself confused as to why I felt the way I did.  The difference this time is that when I come back recharged, I’m still alone.

By alone, I mean no longer in a relationship.  It’s neither here nor there how I got there.  My ex-wife and I have two amazing boys, and we’ll be forever linked because of them.  We also share a desire to do right by them, and that means that no matter our differences, we’ll work together to show them how separated parents can raise children without having to expose them to the issues that drove us to where we are.  For all intents and purposes, we just grew apart.  The boys probably knew it before we did.  We did them no favours trying to continue with the same cycle that kept us distant.  We were becoming worse parents for it.  There was no worse day in my life than the day we told them that our marriage was ending.  There was no greater relief than being able to be honest with them, and by extension, with ourselves.

The New Year signaled the beginning in earnest of our final split.  We hadn’t been a functioning married couple for almost six months prior, and life was certainly not easy for months more before that.  We agreed that the path of least resistance was the best course of action.  She opted to keep our house, and I began to plan the process of buying my own.

Buying my own house! I would be a third-time home buyer, but for the first time, I’d be flying solo.  For the first two houses, my income was much less than hers, and as a teacher still finding his way to a permanent contract, my employment has been a year-to-year thing.  I’ve been very fortunate to find consistent work, but in the climate we face today, even seasoned teachers are having trouble securing full-year work.  Supply teaching pays reasonably well, but the competition is staggering, and nothing is guaranteed.  You need part-time work to supplement, but try finding an employer that can accommodate last-minute calls and abrupt shift changes.  There is a reason supply teachers often abandon the profession.

The process of buying my own house seemed like an insurmountable task.  The problem I faced was that a lot of the skills people learn in their twenties, such as online banking, pricing insurance, paying taxes, and the like, were skills I never had to learn.  I married someone who was skilled at number crunching and paperwork.  It wasn’t like I couldn’t actually do it, but when you have someone who looks after all that stuff, you become complacent.  The fact is, I paid all my own bills before we met.  I got into serious credit trouble along the way, mind you, but I knew generally what to do.  Income tax?  I always found someone to do it for me.  Bank rates?  Someone just told me what to do, and I did it.  When we got married, she took on all fiscal and paper-based responsibility.  I was in no hurry to learn any of it.

So, better late than never.  I’m thirty-eight, I needed to buy a house right away, and I had no idea what I was doing.  I also needed to perform well at work so I can continue to secure employment.  I also needed to be a decent father to my children.  I kept telling myself that it would all be worth it when I could be alone at last every other week.  There was a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.  I told myself to concentrate on one aspect of the process at a time.  I consulted mortgage brokers.  I met with my banker.  I secured a lawyer.  I hired a real-estate agent.  I found an insurance provider.  Everyone along the way was friendly and helpful.  Of course they were; they stood to make a lot of money off my predicament.

I shouldn’t be spiteful.  Everyone works in their profession for their own reasons, and these folks are no different.  They got themselves educated, found work, and work hard for the same reasons I do.  Whether we want to believe it or not, most people are not crooks.  They are honest, and do their best within the frame work they have.  My lawyer was very reasonably priced, didn’t charge me an extra hour when we went five minutes over that one time, and was prompt in her correspondence.  My mortgage broker was not as reliable.  He was charismatic, and had all kinds of optimistic scenarios we could pursue, but in the end was too slow getting paperwork filed, and cost me a week’s delay for closing.  He did manage to get me a fantastic rate though, so now that I’m actually in the house, I can simmer a little.  My insurance people were extremely happy, even kind to me as I stumbled through what were likely novice questions.  Mind you, insurance companies make a lot of money for a service they’ll likely never have to provide.  Hell, if someone paid me to make you dinner, and I only occasionally had to actually give you dinner, I’d be richer too.

It’s the little stuff that gets in the way.  I have an oil furnace, which I swore I would never have.  I looked into going with only electric, until I was advised how much my power bill would be for a 65 year old house like mine.  Oil it is.  I have a hybrid oil/electric furnace newly installed, getting some extra funds from my mortgage thanks to my clever, if slightly unmotivated mortgage broker.  He also secured enough for me to get my electrical work up to code, partly for my own safety, and partly for the happy insurance lady to green light me for coverage.  As it stood, the likelihood she would have to provide dinner was too high for her comfort.  I was amazed at the difference between the highest and lowest estimates from the various contractors.  I learned which companies were most interested in fleecing me for all they could.  The electrician was able to show me why the previous owner had a dozen different fuse boxes throughout the house.  The furnace man couldn’t believe the old man before me had an oil furnace rigged up in the shop upstairs to draw oil from the basement.  He actually took pictures of the whole contraption.  Neither the pot-belly stove upstairs nor the old wood stove in the basement were able to provide me wood heat, but both could potentially be sold to camp or cottage owners.  I wondered what their insurance people would say to that.

My oil tank is only six years old, contained in the cellar, and in immaculate shape.  I have to get him to fill out a form for that for my insurance lady.  An oil leak would most certainly cause her to have to make me dinner.  Irving also sent me a form to fill out to take on the rental of the tank.  Rental?  I thought I just bought the damned thing.  I still need to clear that up.

Then there are utilities.  Setting up my own power account was easy.  Why I am still sent the bill for my previous home is beyond me.  I managed to weasel my way into a cheap home phone bill, but only because the cell phone they had offered me was not serviceable where I teach.  After some confusion, I came out with a great phone rate, but I’m still trying to find a suitable and affordable cell phone.  Don’t send me your suggestions, please.  All cell phone providers are evil.  They all tell you what you want to hear, and more often than not are lying. 

Internet was another adventure.  The big companies couldn’t provide anything for me in Penniac.  I am five minutes from the capital city of New Brunswick, and I may as well be on the moon.  I once read that there is high speed internet throughout the entire country of Mongolia.  That’s right, you could be in a yurt in the middle of the Gobi desert and get better internet than in Penniac.  One company told me I could get it, then sent a guy to my identical street address in Quispamsis, a town which is most likely a lovely place, except I wouldn’t know since I have never been there, let alone live there now.  When we cleared up the geographical quandary, the guy on the phone sheepishly informed me that my services weren’t possible in Penniac.  If your window was open that day, you might have heard me telling him off.  I settled on the only other option available to me, a company that services rural NB with questionable rates and speed.  It’s that or hang out perpetually in McDonalds and Tim Hortons restaurants.  Or move to Mongolia.

Then you move into television territory.  Usually, all the services can be bundled, but since the big companies can’t seem to provide all of them to my new yurt, I have to go piece by piece.  Satellite or cable?  I began to ask myself how much TV I was planning to watch.  Being alone for half the time, it seems as good an opportunity as ever to try to get into better shape, so why not use the exercise equipment I’ve had for fifteen years and not used for fourteen?  It’s hard to get in shape in front of the TV.

Still, I’ll miss out on my sports coverage, so I figure to get some sort of service set up in the weeks ahead.  I figure it’s best to see how I’m juggling all the important bills first, just to be sure I can actually afford it.  I have no false impressions about my situation.  My income is secure for the next few years, but it’s only my own.  Gas and food are still expensive, although I can control those.  I don’t need TV.  I’m pretty sure that at this point I need phone, power, and internet though.  I have also decided to downsize my vehicle.  A brand new Grand Caravan doesn’t seem so important anymore.  I have to make enough off the sale to settle some of my debt, and then I need to buy a cheap yet reliable car.  The savings in gas alone will be worth it, but I’m ultimately rolling the dice with an older car with which I’m not familiar.  Mind you, a new car doesn’t guarantee there will be no problems.  My mechanic had to replace my brakes this morning.  I should send the bill to the province of New Brunswick, because I’m sure the pothole dodging I’ve been doing all spring was the cause.

Now that the sale has been finalized, and the school year has wound closed, I face the most significant part of the whole process.  I get to unpack.  Sure, I’ve been there for three weeks now, and some rooms are unpacked enough to feel comfortable.  Still, it’s an older home, and I still have things I want to do.  I can’t stand the pink carpet in my room.  My hobby shop has hardwood floors, but they’re all stained and dirty.  The water smells like sulfur when you turn it on hot.  I can pick away at these, and I can slowly start to set up my camp as I see fit.  Because I can.  The reward for doing it all yourself is that you don’t have to share the reward.  I can put Star Wars toys in my kitchen if I want.  I probably won’t, though. 

I am just days into my vacation, starting the slow process of settling into my new surroundings, and now of all times I find myself looking backwards.  I have accomplished so much in the past six months.  I am stronger and more confident than I can ever remember.  I used to be tired when I spent time with my kids, but now I find myself planning our days together to maximize our time together.  We all benefit from that.  Their eyes glow when they walk through the front door, and they now get to help make their rooms comfortable too.  We eat at the table, and wash our dishes together after our meals.  They are keeping their spaces tidy, and helping out with the upkeep around the house.  It’s when they have to leave that I find myself getting messy again.

Being alone is really just a concept.  It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.  I have decided to be more social these past few months, and it has made me happier.  Who knew?  I’m fortunate to have a week where I can come and go as I please, only to be thrilled to have my boys home so we can plan fun things to do together.  I found the answer to my own rhetoric.  How I got here was just the process of my own personal evolution.  Things fall apart, but what you rebuild in the aftermath is what matters most.  I think I’ll dig out my yurt and go camping next week.  Mongolia is a bit of a stretch, but there’s always Quispamsis.