Person of the Year

I don’t know that it’s possible to choose one person of the year for last year. I’m here because of the people who love and keep me, and to single one out seems impossible. All serve such a unique and irreplaceable purpose. But today, I can’t help but think of how especially unique—even strangely so—one person is to me now, and how much he matters to so many. He was the person of so many years for me and maybe he couldn’t believe it then, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I call him the Artist Formerly Known As My Husband. It just came out that way one day, and unless I’m using his name, I shorten it to The Artist. I do this probably because it’s a music reference [although neither of us is much of a Prince fan] and because I don’t like the term “ex-husband”, although that’s technically what he is to me. To reduce all the good years of laughing and jokes and Friday night music dates to the clipped “my ex” felt, and still feels, cold.

So The Artist. He’s my Person of 2014. He’s my person of that year, even though I saw him very little those twelve months, and I think we’re both okay with that. We have to be. He’s got my vote even though we didn’t live together at all, and he’s no longer the first person I call when I need something. [But I do still call. I CAN still call. And so can he.]

I know that although I’ve been described as wise since I was very young, I know more about myself and about life now than I have at any other point. I didn’t show shit before. And one thing I know without a doubt is that there are times in this life that simply getting through it is an act of massive courage. I don’t know if that’s true for him right now. But I know that last year was a boxing match of epic proportions for us both, and we never once took it out on each other. There wasn’t a total knockout, and we both came out the other side. We’re scarred and sad and terrified but still backing each other up the entire match. It takes patience and respect and strength to end a marriage with the same amount—although a different kind—of love you went into it with. That doesn’t happen if both people aren’t fighting for grace.

It’s unlike me to be this public about such private matters, and I doubt I speak on it again. But those who love me have been kind enough to show the respect I’ve demanded, and for that I thank you. Please know it’s deserved. You’re not doing me a favor, you’re simply nodding your head or shaking hands with someone who knows how to say goodbye, how to be a gentleman, and who knew when to walk away and when to show the hell back up. May we all pay respect to people like that every time we meet.


Peace and love,