Just 4 days shy of my three year mark, I’ll be saying good-bye to No. 5. We were an on again, off again, property listing. Putting ourselves out there, and then retreating to question what went wrong. Why we were the only one left at the dance, still leaning against the wall. We wanted answers, but the answers we wanted had nothing to do with the truth, just a truth that we could swallow. A truth that wouldn’t place blame on us, but rather on something else, something out there, out of our control, that’s the kind of answer she and I were looking for, because it couldn’t be that we weren’t pretty. We’d worked hard to make ourselves presentable, to work with what we were given, to shine and polish, and impress.

The fear of not being enough is a horrible one, so we wouldn’t allow ourselves to think about it. We were going to take ourselves home from that dance, and decorate for the holidays. We’d be so blingy, you’d be blinded by our beauty when you walked through the door. We’d be bejeweled and bedazzled, festooned, and fiercely festive. We were going to go all out, but just as we were reaching for our coats and preparing to exit, the unexpected happened.

Isn’t it always the way. The offer came in, and we accepted. What could one twirl around the floor hurt. We didn’t have to stay until the end, but in the end we decided we would. It was good. No. 5 and I would consciously uncouple, and I would forge out on my own, alone again, free, a world of possibility at my fingertips, the only sadness, no holiday decorations in the city for me.

I do so love to decorate every square inch for the holidays. Maybe I’ll have enough energy after the move to get a tiny little tree, a couple of garlands, a few bows. That wouldn’t be too much work now would it?