Finding my Tribe

Note:  I am doing some blog maintenance and finding old posts that I never bothered to publish.  This one is from May 7, 2014.  As I mentioned in a previous post, this is my mid-life crisis happening.  I talked to a dear friend today about the collapse of my marriage.  She asked, "What are you afraid of?"  Not in a bad way, but in the philosophical sense.  This is a question for me to ponder.  It turns out, I am becoming less and less afraid of life in general.  

I suppose I can also add "Workaholic Husband and Subsequent Collapsing of Marriage" to the list.

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What happens when you don't belong in the tribe that you aren't sure you belong to?  Technically, I am a

Mother.  Daughter.  Sister.  Wife.

I am also

White.  Upper Middle Class.

In many ways, I've lead a charmed life.  I friend of mine was giving me shit the other day about it.  I recently applied for a job and I didn't get it.  I was crushed because I thought I had a decent chance at getting it.  Before she gave me shit, she gave me a pep talk.  She asked to me remember other times I failed, thought the world was ending, and picked myself to get back on the horse again.

"A good friend of mine from grad school said to expected to be rejected twenty times before you land a job," she told me.  "You've not gotten a job before, right?"

"Before I graduated from college, a consulting firm found my resume, interviewed me and then gave me a job," I replied.  "That job found me.  And when I left that job, I went to my college alumni office, and looked for who was hiring.  And I got a job again."

"Okay," she said.  "Think about a time when you were dumped by a guy."

"There was one guy in college, but I am not sure that counts as an official break-up because he moved to another state.  So it wasn't like I was really dumped.  He just moved away."

"You have never experienced rejection before," she said.  (This was the giving me shit part.  She was otherwise empathetic about not getting the job.)  She was kind of shocked.  Another hard part is that also really don't need a job, so I really can't cry too hard about that.  I would like something meaningful to do and to accomplish something, but my family doesn't need the money.  We could always use more to save for retirement, who couldn't?  My husband has a good job with long hours and we are fairly frugal and live within our means.  (Frugal to a fault, but that's another story.)  My being gainfully employed is optional.  Before I let her think of me as some kind of sheltered princess, I reminded her of the piles of tragedy and challenges in my life.

My first child died.

My brother has schizophrenia with a tragic outcome.

My mother has Alzheimer's.

So where do I belong?  I grew up with a bunch of lovely feminist elementary school teachers (thank you, Sharon Kolin) who taught me girls can do whatever they want.  Hellen Keller, Sally Ride, Susan B. Anthony and Eleanor Roosevelt were my role models.  Nancy Reagan was not.  Yet, here I am, 45, and my life is closer to Nancy's than the others. 

What the hell happened?

I married a doctor.

My first child died.

My brother has schizophrenia with a tragic outcome.

I had two kids.

My mother has Alzheimer's.

I sank.  I would never say I was depressed, because I wasn't.  I was able to escape the hell of losing a child and move on.  I withered as I watched mental illness ruin lives.  It took everything I had not to fall into the abyss, to stay sane.  My life shifted into neutral.  I am dog paddling in purgatory.  I got tried to write a book about my daughter and one about my brother.  I got a volunteer job to keep me busy, but also as penance.  Or maybe restitution or an offering to the gods.  I knew I couldn't make things back to the way they were, but maybe I could make or find peace.

Where do I belong?