It Takes Two

It takes two to tango. One of my favorite lines—and true, too. I didn’t get here by myself. I’m not standing at the edge of a new life alone. There’s still someone beside me, at least for now. They’re waiting for their next chapter, too.

Getting out more, meeting people, feeling lighter—that’s what makes them happy. And I’ve been holding them back from that. From living. From finding what they need to feel whole again. I see it now—the subtle change. They wouldn’t admit it, but there’s a lightness in the air without me around.

It’s nice, actually. Decisions happen in real time and not the unscheduled kitchen huddle or a committee meeting on the back porch. The air is calmer. I’m clearer. I’m happy just managing me for the first time in forever. I get to write, to overthink, to edit one paragraph six—okay, eight—times before clicking a button that might shift someone’s perception for a millisecond.

I was in a fog for a long time, convinced I was about to make a terrible mistake—one that would ripple through the rest of my life. But the more time I spend alone, in the quiet, away from the noise and the small negotiations of a relationship that doesn’t fit anymore, the clearer everything feels.

It’s like being seasick without realizing you need Dramamine. You keep trying to stay upright in something that’s already off balance. That’s what it was—quiet dismissal disguised as stability.

But here’s what I’ve realized: I may be stronger alone than I ever was inside the ‘we’ I disappeared into. I forgot that. I forgot that I get to leave with what I brought.

I may be a little more creased and weathered than I was three decades ago, but I remember now who brought me to this dance. And that’s exactly who I’m leaving with.