More to Life

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  I nodded, no longer surprised at her ability to read me. “It’s just, it’s my marriage. It’s my life.”

  She tilted her head. “It usually is.”

  “I have a good husband.” I wanted to make that clear for some reason.

  “But?”

  “But . . .” I inhaled, then released the next words when I exhaled. “I feel crazy saying this, but I’m just not happy.”

  Now she tilted her head the other way. “Why is that crazy?”

  “Because I’m supposed to be happy with a life like mine. My husband has loved me unconditionally and as far as I know, has been faithful to me for over twenty years. He can be a little controlling and dismissive, but the good in him far outweighs the bad. Financially, we’re great, and even though my children are demanding, they’re really good kids.” I threw my hands up. “All of that should make me the happiest woman in the world.”

  “And yet?” She gestured with her hands for me to continue.

  I’d been thinking these thoughts for years, here and there. I’d never connected them to the emptiness that I felt inside. That’s what the DR had given me.

  I opened my mouth and released words I’d never spoken before. “I feel like I slipped into my husband’s world and created the life he wanted. Not the life I wanted.”

  “What life did you want?”

  I thought about her question for a moment, then said, “One that was different from the one I had growing up.”

  “And from what you say, it seems like you got that life.”

  I nodded. “I did. And for a while, I thought it was enough. I thought I wanted this—the perfect husband, the kids, the dog, the house, cars, all of it. But somewhere along the line, I asked myself wasn’t there more to life than being a wife and mother.”

  Maybe I was comfortable saying this to a woman who didn’t know me because I was too ashamed to say it to anyone who did.

  With a nod of understanding, she leaned in and took my hands. It startled me a bit. Not just her touching me that way, but the feel of her hands. They were wrinkly and weathered, like she had lived on this earth for dozens of decades.

  But once she began to speak, I forgot about the touch of her skin. “Sometimes, the price of entering his world is losing yourself.” She shook my hands as if she wanted me to get the next point. “Often we are so intent on being our mate’s everything that nothing else matters until, one day, we wake up and realize we no longer know our own purpose.”

  This was so eerie how she was reading me without knowing anything about me.

  “But what if my purpose is to be a good wife and mother?” I said. Even as I uttered the words, I knew they weren’t true.

  “If it was, you wouldn’t be here searching for something more,” she replied, releasing my hands. “What is it you feel about your family?”

  “I love them,” I replied without hesitation.

  “No, beyond that,” she said. “What do you feel in terms of the role they play in your achievement of your dreams?”

  I shifted my weight as I weighed my answer. “I think I’m starting to feel some resentment because I didn’t get to follow my dreams.”

  “And whose choice was that?”

  “It was mine, but . . .” I was getting frustrated. “I’m just saying, as I told you, my passion is painting, but every time I try to really get into it, something happens. Everything ends up taking precedence over what I want to do.”

  “And whose fault is that?” she asked.

  Though I was getting worked up, her voice remained calm, in turn, calming me. “I guess it’s mine.”

  Her silence said that she agreed with me. Finally, after a moment, she said, “People, including those who love us, only do what we allow them to do. They only suck up the energy we give.”

  “So because my life took a detour, I need to just accept the way things are as the way that they’re meant to be?”

  “A detour is not a derailment,” she said.

  I sighed.

  “It appears that your husband became your purpose. So the reason you got out of bed, the reason you got dressed, the reason you did everything was for your husband. Even your job—if it’s anything other than your passion—is for your husband . . . and your children, of course. It seems that your family has become your entire world, and that can be detrimental.” She talked like her words were coming from experience. Or wisdom. Or both.

  I choked back my next words, took a deep breath, then released it. “My heart is telling me to leave my husband.” I paused, not believing that I’d said that. “I sound crazy, don’t I? I mean, what kind of sense does that make?”

  She released my hands, though she appeared unfazed, completely unsurprised by my declaration. “The hardest part of a journey such as this is recognizing that we are lost,” Jewel continued. “We strive for so long to be one with our partner: one mind, one voice, and acting as one. But while oneness can be wonderful, it is not always the best.”

  “But Charles really is a good man. We have a good marriage.”

  “And yet you feel the need to run away.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Do you want a new life?”

  Jewel was reading me like a novel. Over the past week, that question had gone from an inner whisper to a roaring siren.

  “All I can tell you for sure is that the life I’m living no longer feels like enough.”

  She continued, “Your intuition always knows what’s right for you. The only reason you’re hesitating is that you’re not accustomed to listening to your instinctual voice.” She leaned in and narrowed her gaze. “Your emotions tell you everything you need to know about what’s right and what’s wrong for you. So, in essence, how you feel is everything. Your emotions are always guiding you along your life’s path, but be aware . . . that path might be different from the one you’re currently on. I think that’s what you’re finding out.”

  I sat there for a moment, letting her words settle inside me, and I felt tears welling in my eyes. “But we’ve been together more than twenty years,” I said, dabbing at a tear that seeped from my eye. “How do I just throw that away?”

  “Just because you have traveled a path doesn’t mean that you are meant to be on that path forever. That path is only useful to you as long as it retains its ability to support your growth. You can only hold on to something that you’ve outlived for so long before the universe will take it away from you.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  She paused and flashed a smile at a customer who had stopped at her booth. “Good afternoon, those make great gifts for your loved ones.”

  The woman flashed an uninterested smile and said, “Just looking.”

  I expected Jewel to break out into her sales pitch, but she simply nodded and turned her attention back to me, even before the woman walked off. She lowered her voice and said, “I can always tell the ones who are a waste of time.” She clasped her hands together and leaned back in. “As I was saying, you can voluntarily stay in a relationship that leaves you feeling unhappy and unsatisfied, but don’t expect the universe to comply with that destructive pattern,” she said matter-of-factly. “If it’s not in your best interest to continue coupling with your partner, then the universe will arrange convenient circumstances in which to help you separate.”

  I weighed her words and wondered how much I believed what she was saying. Her new age mentality didn’t mesh well with my solid Christian upbringing. But while she spoke of the universe, I looked at that as God. I didn’t want God to make something happen so that I’d be pushed into my true purpose. I wanted to begin my new chapter on my own terms.

  “I feel that it’s time—I feel that I’m being set free to find my purpose. But honestly, I’m terrified to walk forward alone,” I said.

  She nodded. “Stay if it feels like growth; leave if it feels stuck, or worse—if it feels like you’re going backward. The only thing that’s important for you is to allow yourself to continually grow an
d evolve as a human being. If you can do that within your current relationship, then you are in the right place. If not, it might be time to find your place.”

  “So you agree that I should leave?” Why was I asking this stranger her opinion on my marriage? It was bad enough that she didn’t know me, but she’d never met Charles.

  But again, I felt like she had some abilities. It was as if she were an angel sent to help me find my peace.

  “That is a decision only you can make,” she replied. “But it’s always better to be alone than to be in a relationship that has outlived its purpose. When you’re alone, you can live your life on your terms. It will definitely be scary at first, especially if you’ve never been alone.”

  I nodded, thinking back over the number of times I’d been alone in this last week. I’d done more alone this week than I had my whole life. Jewel was right. It had been scary and exhilarating at the same time.

  But the thing about having breakfast or lunch or even a drink alone down here was that I had a husband waiting for me. My solitude wasn’t permanent. But with what I’d been thinking . . .

  There were knots in my stomach and now, even more questions in my head. Was my relationship with Charles really a wrong relationship? “Am I being selfish for wanting, or even thinking about wanting, to end this marriage?” I asked.

  “You are not selfish for ending a marriage. You are selfish for holding on to it for the wrong reasons. This is what you must understand. . . a relationship isn’t good because it lasts a lifetime. A relationship is good if it gives you the wisdom of a lifetime.”

  Those words were beautiful, but that wasn’t why tears sprang to my eyes. It was because with those words, I knew. It was time to go home and rewrite the ending to my story.

  Chapter 12

  It was hard to say goodbye to the DR. But Jewel was right; I couldn’t hide out forever. Not only was it childish not to face my challenges, but staying in the Dominican any longer than I already had wasn’t fair to Charles.

  Charles. The thought of my husband made me grip the arms of my first class seat—which he had paid for. He’d made sure that I had luxury in the sky both ways. But I didn’t enjoy it as much on the way home for all the obvious reasons. For the entire time, I felt sick, refusing the first class meal, the first class drinks. All I did was look out at the clouds, and tried to sketch a few, as I imagined that I was flying through heaven.

  Once the wheels touched down on the tarmac, I knew I was far from any kind of utopia. My stomach did more than rumble, it tumbled over and over. But I knew this was nerves—all because I knew what I had to do. I knew what I needed to do.

  “Welcome to Houston, where the local time is 6:35 p.m.”

  As the plane rolled toward the gate, I wondered what Charles was doing. Was he at work? Had he stayed late there or was he already home, wondering when I was coming home? I hadn’t told my husband the exact time I was landing because I knew if I had, he’d be at the airport waiting with dozens of roses and as many kisses. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that—not when I knew what was to come.

  I closed the sketch pad I’d been doodling on the entire ride. Just as I did that, the man to the right of me leaned over the console between us. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but that’s a beautiful sketch. If I hadn’t seen you start with a blank slate, I’d swear that you’d purchased it from somewhere.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks, but it’s just a hobby.” I silently rebuked myself. I’d started referring to my painting as a hobby just like my family.

  The man stood and raised the overhead bin to get his bag. “Sometimes God gives us our gifts and we sit on them.” He winked. “And that’s a shame. You’re very talented. When your desire becomes greater than your resistance, I look forward to seeing you among the greats. You have a nice day.”

  I stood and trailed behind him through the jet. Even once I’d claimed my bag and then slipped into an Uber, I thought about his words: “When your desire becomes greater than your resistance . . .” I still heard him as if he was sitting right next to me.

  Why am I thinking about this so much?

  That thought consumed me for the twenty-minute ride home; it filled my thoughts so much that I’d forgotten how sick I’d been feeling. That feeling didn’t rush back to me until the Uber rolled to a stop in front of my home.

  “Thank you.” My voice was soft as I thanked the driver when he handed me my roller bag from the trunk.

  “Have a good day.”

  I stood on the curb until the Uber driver sped away. Then, after a deep breath, I made my way up the walkway to the front door, feeling like I was walking the longest mile. I turned the key in the lock, stepped inside, and when I was all the way in the foyer, I turned to my right. Charles, Anika, and Judy were all sitting there—at the dining room table.

  “Mom!” Anika jumped from the table and hugged me the way she used to do when she was a little girl. “Oh my God. You’re finally home. I’m so happy to see you.”

  “Finally,” Charles said. He stood to take my suitcase from my hand. “We missed you.” He kissed my lips, and when he hugged me, I felt relief permeate through his body, almost like he was scared that I wasn’t going to come back home.

  They were acting like I’d been gone for months when in reality it hadn’t even been two weeks.

  “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Before I could respond to my husband, my mother-in-law asked, “Is this still even your home?” She was sitting at the end of the table, not even trying to hide her disdain.

  “Mother, don’t start,” Charles warned.

  “Grandma’s pissed,” Anika said in a whisper as she leaned in.

  With the anxiety that I’d been feeling, I didn’t have the energy to deal with my mother-in-law. The only great thing about my timing was that Judy was leaving on her own trip tomorrow. Funny, right? She was going on a cruise, and I hoped that she’d extend her time away from home.

  “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming in?” Charles said, trying to break the tension in the room. “We would’ve picked you up.”

  Judy scoffed and banged her fork on her plate as she continued eating, but Charles, Anika, and I ignored her.

  “I just caught an Uber so I wouldn’t bother anyone. It was no big deal.”

  Judy dropped her fork again, then pushed herself up from where she sat. She glared at me when she said, “So, you don’t feel you owe this family an explanation?”

  “No disrespect, Judy, but I talked with my husband.” I bit my bottom lip, stopping myself from saying anything more that would definitely have been disrespectful.

  “So you think he’s the only one you owe an explanation?”

  I folded my arms and raised my eyebrows. That was supposed to be enough to get her to sit back down and be quiet. But it didn’t work.

  She shot back, “And I’ve been here with my son. Trying to help him make sense of your nonsense. It’s pure foolishness when a wife abandons her family.”

  “I didn’t abandon anyone,” I said, filling my voice and my temperature rising.

  “You know what?” Charles said, kissing me again. “You’re here now. And that’s all that matters.”

  Anika hugged me again. “And I am so glad. What’s this?” she said, taking my portfolio and unzipping it. “You took your art stuff on vacation? Really, Mom?” She pulled out the canvas. “And you actually painted?”

  “Good,” Charles said. “You got to do some relaxing stuff.”

  Anika looked at the picture and frowned. “Is he playing basketball. . . on the beach? That’s crazy.”

  Judy tsked as she sipped her iced tea. “So, you couldn’t come home because you were off dabbling on a canvas like some hippie with no care in the world, huh?” she said.

  Charles took the painting from Anika. “I think it’s nice, babe.”

  I almost smiled, until he set it down on the floor and leaned it against the wall, then turned back to me.

 
“We’re just glad you’re home,” he said.

  “For real,” Anika said. “We have less than two weeks before I head back to school. I need you to get my new bedspread and all the other stuff.”

  I wanted to be upset at the scenario that had just played out, but I was used to it by now.

  “Anika,” I started as I removed my jacket, “I just got home. Haven’t you done some of the shopping?” Anika had lucked out and gotten a resident assistant position, so she was moving into her own room at Spelman.

  “No,” my daughter said, sounding appalled. “Why would I do that? I was just waiting for you to do it,” she said as if I should have known that.

  “Sweetheart . . .”

  “I know, I know, Mom. I know what you’re going to say. I’m an adult and it’s time for me to do things like this on my own. But what sense does that make when you’re so good at that stuff.” She kissed my cheek, then almost skipped back to the dining room table as if she really was glad to see me and her words were the end of the discussion.

  “Are you hungry?” Charles said, motioning toward the spread on the table. “Mom made smothered pork chops.”

  “Somebody had to,” Judy mumbled, as she resumed eating.

  “No, you guys finish dinner. I’m going to go upstairs and shower.”

  I ignored Judy’s piercing glare as I passed by her and moved toward the staircase.

  Inside the bedroom, I said a silent prayer of gratitude. I was so thankful that Charles hadn’t followed me, giving me more time to work this all out in my head. But really, I didn’t think there was enough time on earth for me to prepare for what I had to do.

  I stripped, tossing everything onto the bed, then stepped into our double-headed shower. The warm spray of the water soothed me, brought me back just a little to that place of peace that I felt so many of the days while I was away. But it wasn’t enough to soothe my stomach.

  As I stepped out of the shower, Charles poked his head inside the bathroom, and I almost felt the need to hide. But I didn’t and he smiled as he watched me dry off, then begin massaging my body with the stress relief aromatherapy lotion that had become a staple in my beauty routine over the years.