It’s Tuesday. Tuesday is better than Monday but it is not as good as Wednesday or Thursday or Friday. There is still too much work to do; too many problems to confront; too many obstacles to overcome.
I am dressed and ready for work; but it is still early. The ferry does not leave for another 25 minutes.
Emails: a daily tidal wave of information, requests, copies, and commerce. Time to sort out the critical ones from the spam-lite versions. I probably receive 200 to 300 emails a day; most are quickly dismissed and many deleted unread. But the important ones hide amidst their trivial cousins and must be identified, considered, and responded.
First my work Blackberry. Early morning holds the overnight messages from Morgan Stanley and offices around the world. Fortunately, not too many today; I will respond to most from work. Remind me to call Chris in New York.
It’s still early. I open my North American Blackberry where messages from home linger, waiting patiently for their turn. My investment banker in San Diego asks if I want to sell any investments and capture the tax loss this year. Since all I have are loses this year, there are no gains to offset. God, I used to think I was an investment genius, using asset allocations and shrewd stock picking to beat the averages and build our wealth. This year, I have lost millions and the year is not over. What a disaster.
As I scroll through the remaining emails, I stop. I see it hiding among the commercials from stores and annoying solicitations. My chest tightens, my heart rate escalates; my breathing hesitates. It is an email from Jill, my wife in California. Should I open it? What time is it? Should I leave for the ferry and read it later? It is still early.
Jill’s emails fall into two categories: simple requests frequently with thinly veiled criticisms (How do I access …website; you never told me) and diatribes condemning me for 30 years of misdeeds. I can deal with the former; I always have difficulty with the latter. How can someone I was married to for 30 years be so hostile?
“Dear Scott, I have decided to serve you with divorce papers…” My heart is pounding as though it will break through its cavity; my breathing has stopped; time has stopped; I am immobilized; I stand in stunned silence, confused, grasping. 30 years of marriage over; notified by email. I feel sick. I cannot continue to read; I close the offending Blackberry and walk unsteadily toward the ferry.
Sydney Harbor is one of the most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed. I stand at the dock today, looking over the Harbor and seeing nothing. My heart is still racing; unless I can get some measure of control, I fear a stroke is coming.
I open the Blackberry again. “I have asked the process server…;” I am to be served like a criminal here in Sydney. Should I go back to the apartment or should I go to work? I cannot make a decision; I do not know what to do.
The ferry pulls up and the crowd behind me pushes forward; I guess I am getting on the boat; but others made the decision for me. I am incapable of making decisions. I am unused to such paralysis; CEO’s are leaders and decision-makers; what is happening to me?
I find myself in an ocean of people exiting the ferry and let the wave carry me to shore outside the wharf. I take the familiar path to work, not thinking just following habit.
At work, I see Bonita, our HR executive, and ask her to watch me, explaining what happened and telling her I am having trouble coping. In my office, I close the door; it is still early and few employees are around. I must get control of my emotions; with Bonita my voice cracked and I almost broke down. The employees will be watching me; I am their leader and the economic times are difficult. If I falter, they will fear the Company and their jobs are at risk.
I do not know what to do. I reread the email, now in its entirety. It lies there like an infectious bacterium, poisoning that which surrounds me and paralyzing my body and mind. My new assistant arrives; this is only her second day. I tell her about the email and tell her to expect a process server. I am shaken, but Elpie sits and tries to comfort me with wisdom gained from her earlier divorce. What a burden I am placing on this woman. I hope she understands today is not normal.
*****
Three days have passed since I was felled by that electronic arrow. I pulled myself together and survived Tuesday and my angel friend, Julia, came over that night and we talked until midnight. Wednesday and Thursday were spent in Melbourne with back to back to back meetings beginning very early and lasting very late. No time to feel sorry for myself or think. Not thinking is good sometimes, especially when bad thoughts linger in the unconscious waiting to escape.
Friday my mobile phone rang as I sat in my office. I felt a cold chill. I knew who was calling even though I had never met or talked to him. The messenger was coming for me.
We met in the lobby and he handed me the package from America. Just a kid in shorts and a tee shirt; seemingly innocuous but carrying a time bomb unlike any I had ever received. I had expected an officious lawyer in a suit; the surf dude was less threatening but I oddly felt disappointed; my marriage should have commanded greater respect.
I carried the papers to my office and closed the door, which I rarely do. I needed to be alone with this toxic brew. Slowly I unfolded the document, which carried on it all the official stamps and seals to reinforce its self important image and gravity of the journey on which I am about to embark.
It was a court order obtained by my wife against me. I know most of the language is boilerplate; but as such it assumes the worst in man and restricts me as someone who has committed vast crimes or was a threat to my wife or society. For someone who has always tried to do the right thing and views himself as an upstanding citizen, it was a cruel blow.
As I read, I sunk further into depression. How could my life have come to this? What did I do wrong? How did I fail so badly at something so important?
My new assistant came in. “Are you going to be okay?” I don’t recall my reply but it must not have been convincing. She tried to reassure me, her new boss, that time will heal the open wound that was so apparent. She left me alone to ponder further amidst the doubt and angst. I was very alone and sinking fast.
My mobile phone beeped with a text message. My angel said, ‘hi….’ The timing seemed ordained. I texted back my latest setback, and she replied with encouraging and supportive words. With this sudden intervention, I regained composure and steeled myself to go out into the office, show I was still alive, and at work. Now I worried how I would perform my routine at the Company Christmas Party that night, but something else to worry about temporarily replaced the despair that document brought.
*****
It’s Saturday, the day after the document was delivered and four days after the noxious email appeared. I survived the Christmas party, but today I am in the apartment alone with my thoughts. Both Blackberries are quiet; it is as though they know it is my time for reflection.
I will think about what happened for years to come; but it is important for me to try to understand what I can now. I have been searching my memory for clues: what was said in marriage counseling sessions, Jill’s seemingly outrageous attacks, our lives together over time, the good times and bad. I do not have the answer but I think I can see a few things through the fog of anger and depression.
I see now that we were divorced earlier - at some time in the past – not in a legal sense but in an emotional one. Jill was never there for me when I had a personal problem; but then I was not there for her either. I learned to deal with my problems myself, and she sought outside help when she needed it.
A few months ago, my friend Julia and I had a deep discussion of our individual emotional experiences and needs. We talked until the restaurant asked us to leave because we were the only ones remaining past the closing hour. We could have talked all night. I never had such a discussion with Jill. We always kept each other at a distance.
I do not know when the emotional separation first occurred. Maybe we were always so different that emotional connections were difficult. She came to the marriage from a close nit family; I came from a dysfunctional situation at home. She was Jewish and liberal in philosophy; I was raised as a Christian and am less ideological. I grew up without money or resources; she grew up with the support of a middle class family. Perhaps, these many differences, which were obscured by other life events at the time, reemerged as we aged.
I know men and women are different in so many ways. What I did not appreciate until more recently, however, is how women seem to remember every slight or harsh word and hold a grudge even if apologies were given at the time. Men, by contrast, seem to be better able to move on and forget past conflicts.
Many of Jill’s complaints about me seem to go back to such comments or perceived slights over 30 years. Maybe the build up was inevitable, but I believe our relationship worsened when Jill went through menopause. She seemed to become more negative and interpret my actions in an unintended negative context; I think she saw negatives where others would have seen positives or at worst, neutrals.
Clearly when our children were younger, our devotion to them and to parental tasks pushed any emotional disconnect into the background. When the children grew up and moved out, we were left with nothing to cover up any interpersonal deficiencies which hovered in the background.
When I resigned as President of New Plan and started consulting for Morgan Stanley, it meant more time at home and more interface with Jill. I do not think either of us was ready for the greatly increased time together. She had developed a lifestyle predicated on me being somewhere else and I had developed an office based comfort level that caused great resentment when I transferred it to a home office.
I have observed in others less tolerance in differences as people age. I always felt I was immune to increasing intolerance because I recognized the problem and was aware of its character. However, as both Jill and I aged, perhaps we became less tolerant of our differences including lifestyle preferences. I loved living in London for example; Jill hated it and yearned to be with her friends at home. This created conflict. And Sydney appealed to my sense of new adventure but was not favored by Jill and her desire to remain in close proximity to friends.
So maybe it is not too difficult to understand. We did not have a good emotional underpinning – maybe we never did. Our differences were hidden by our commitment to raising our children and building a financial nest egg (me) or finding reward and recognition in the community and political environment (Jill); and then we were left alone without emotional commitment but confronted by aging, lifestyle, and physical change.
I find it difficult to forgive Jill for her detachment – separate bedrooms, emotional and sexual distance – and for her constant criticisms and abuse from which I fled to Australia. Jill seems unlikely to forgive me for accumulated past grievances and my departure to Australia. If we had a better relationship in earlier years, I suspect conditions would not have deteriorated so badly in the present context.
I try but do not understand the depth of hostility Jill has for me. I think of myself as a nice guy, a good person who tries to do the right thing; yet the person who I have lived with for almost all of my adult life hates me so. This is very hard for me to deal with.
Sadly, our divorce may lead us both to a worse place. 30 years of building mutual friendships is mostly lost; although I will lose much more than Jill. A lifetime of common and shared experiences means less today. The many good times are submerged in an ocean of darkness. We each have access to less money, less companionship, and are more alone. Jill has nearby family; I am adrift and will need to find someone else.
