Month: September 2026

September 23 is the anniversary of my ex (and our dog, Rose¹) moving out.
And I am going to be honest, here: I’ve been struggling the last few days.

Rationally, I get that he was not a good partner for me in many ways and I know that if he wanted to try again it would be, frankly, a dangerous thing for me to agree to. But I also know that his appalling behavior was the result of a spectacularly abusive childhood and so I give him a lot more grace than I would someone who did not have that background.

All that said, he has given me no hint that he thinks about me at all or, if he does, it is not fondly. And I think that is what hurts the most.

I wrote him a letter which I gave him on the day of our parting. I have no idea if he ever read it. I read it yesterday, again, and it was a good letter. I wished him well, truly and without reservation. I also stood up for myself–saying that his blaming me for the end of us does not make that a truth². I said that he needed to accept that he has the power to make choices, like all adults do, and that he made a choice to end us; and that he was completely entitled to do that. I also said that sometimes our choices cause pain for others, necessary hurts, as his choice did me. I said that I understood that he did what he needed to and that my being hurt by that was unavoidable. It happens. But blaming me for his choice was, well, bullshit³.

I also pointed out that while he was a (powerless) victim as a child–he was not one now, er, then. I tried to explain that our ability to make our own choices in life is a good thing–it empowers us when we realize it. We have that control, that real control, to say “I choose not to live like this; I choose to live a different way.” He didn’t do something to me by ending us, he did something for himself. And he had every right to do so.

And then, I finished the letter wishing him a list of good things, like metta on steroids.

But, in the end, he did not leave me well. I mean, his behavior was not good from the time he pulled the plug until, well, it hasn’t gotten markedly better. He said before that if we ever broke up, he wanted to be as friendly as possible–for him, I guess it just wasn’t at all possible. And it sucks.

Being honest with myself means admitting that I was hoping that sometime in this year he would have said something conciliatory. Not “let’s get back together” stuff but rather something like “Hey, I behaved like a jerk at the end and I’m sorry” or “You were a good partner; it just didn’t work.” Just something… kind.

So, I think the reason I am so upset now is that I have to accept that I was a dork to ever hope to get that. I know better.

My most recent (and wonderful!) therapist said, last year, that I was repeating the pattern with my mother, trying to fix it. See, Mom died not talking to me⁴; she shot me the same hateful looks; I never got kind words despite everything I had done right and good, taking care of her while she, over the course of 18 months, died of lung cancer. Welp, my therapist was right about my pattern: I fell in love with someone who is very much like my mother, emotionally, and I had hoped for a different outcome.
I know better.

They (mental health pros) say relational trauma is healed in relationship. What they don’t always say is that sometimes that healing doesn’t mean a happy ending. It doesn’t mean we get what we (think we) want. That’s what happened to me. But it can mean we can see our patterns and be mindful enough to make better choices in the future. That’s, I hope, I think, also what happened to me.

The old me would reach out to him and try again to get that kind word. The more healed me knows that would be a super bad idea. So, instead, I think I’ll sip on a very fancy cocktail to mark the day, and my growth, and get on with my life.

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1. I miss her a ton; but Ruthie is happier to live dog-free. ↩︎
2. To be clear, I didn’t do anything like cheat or steal or even invade his privacy…there was no big causal event. ↩︎
3. I did not use that terminology, of course. ↩︎
4. Except for medically necessary orders or to say “Get out–I can’t stand to look at you.” Oh, and I was 18. ↩︎

I very much enjoy figuring out how to fix something and then actually doing it. I like using my hands, using tools, and using my brain to suss out the problem and its solution. I love learning how to do repairs as well–the little tricks, especially. For example, when the artisans who replaced the dining room windows introduced the ex and me to door shims, to fix a rubbing front door, it was a revelation!

I do not come from a family of handy people. You’d think that my father, having grown up on a farm, would have been handy… nope. I mean, he could use a tool better than my brothers and mother, but not much better. It was like he had repair dyslexia: the kitchen faucet he replaced worked backwards (cold/hot lines obviously switched and never fixed), as did a light switch in the hall.

Mom was absolutely dangerous with a tool. I think every time she used a screwdriver¹ she ended up bleeding from a self-inflicted wound. We didn’t even really have a tool box with a decent set of tools. A hammer, yes, because there was always art to hang, but art hangers were not used–just whatever nail/brad/or even screw that could be pounded into a wall to hold up the work². Instruction sheets were often ignored. Duct tape abounded. When I think about what she would have done with a power tool like a drill³, I shudder; it would surely have resulted in hospitalization.

I have no memories at all of my eldest brother ever using a tool. I mean he must have, but I don’t remember it, except for his dismantling small reel-to-reel tape recorders (and never putting them back together successfully). I do remember him painting my dad’s old double as a summer job; but repairs? Nope. The other brother was his mother’s son. I remember when he got the parts to make a dining room table for himself and his girlfriend (or wife already? I forget), from an unpainted wood shop of some kind, and proudly showed it off. As I went to sit at it, it went ka-lump: it was not level. Not even close. I’m pretty sure he just had to screw in the legs–that is they were pre-cut, etc.–but he couldn’t manage to make it work. Yikes.

Me, I liked watching repair people do their stuff and learned, somehow, over time, how to do some things. I watched a lot of This Old House as a kid, too, which I think helped. I think it is my nature to read instructions–for anything from a homework assignment to an IKEA flatpack–and to follow them precisely that has helped me too. But, overall, it was probably working in the studio with Steve Webster where I learned the most.

Being a photographer in the pre-digital days, Steve built his own sets. He built out his studios⁴, too. And he maintained his equipment. I learned a ton from him–how to use power tools, how to properly hang something on different kinds of walls, painting techniques, when and how to “cheat” a repair (aesthetic stuff versus actual repairing), and how to try to fix something without the assumption that it (I) would fail⁵. Instead of repairs being a drudge, they became fun–puzzles to solve.

And I loves me some puzzles.

Sadly, some men do not take well to a woman offering them suggestions on how to do a repair. I have more than one ex who fit that mould. Instead of accepting that I might have a clue and could offer good advice, I have often been dismissed or, worse, told I was emasculating by telling them⁶ what to do. If I did a repair myself, that too was emasculating.
Ah well, they are exes now…

Being single (again) has given me the opportunity to do repairs and maintenance myself. I am mostly enjoying it. My latest mini-project was upgrading the tv antenna. My Fabulous Neighbor acted as if I rewired the house when I told her about the mini project. Really, though, I simply purchased a new indoor antenna, swapped out its cable (I wanted white and a smidge longer), and added an LTE filter. I also got cable clips so the coax is hardly noticeable, although I have to admit it was a bit of a challenge to install them just because of the very limited space (no room to swing a hammer). Now I get all the channels I want without the signal loss from passing cars and planes, and it looks much better.

I’m surprisingly handy⁷. I think some of it is also because of all my mindfulness work. Fixing things often requires extra focus and deliberate movement. It can be a form of meditation–like walking or playing an instrument can be. So maybe that’s another reason I (mostly) enjoy it.

With the seasons changing, I have a big project in mind, one that I have wanted to do for years. However, it will require buying (or borrowing) a (miter) saw and maybe a nail gun. We’ll see. Meanwhile, I will enjoy watching football without signal loss.

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1. Frankly, if she bothered to use a screwdriver it was a minor miracle–a flatware knife was her usual “tool” resulting in lots of wonky tips on our flatware. ↩︎
2. Forget about mollies or pilot holes…brute force and swearing were her techniques. ↩︎
3. FWIW, I love my Ryobi power drill. I refused to get rid of it when the ex and I got together (he had a different brand); now I’m extra glad I held onto it. ↩︎
4. The old Worldwide Hideout was in a casket building; then, later, he bought an old church for the new Hideout. ↩︎
5. Again, this was in the very early days of the internet, so it wasn’t like you could just look for a tutorial on YouTube or something. ↩︎
6. That they couldn’t see the difference between someone (me) offering advice and dictating directions is a big tell here. I was almost always doing the first–the latter was very rare and when it was something of mine that I needed help with, like “I can’t get this to turn, could you help me? You’ll need to use a lubricant…” ↩︎
7. Maybe not so surprising–my cousins (mom’s sister’s kids) are both very good with tools–doing finish carpentry and making stained glass, etc. ↩︎

The other evening I got to thinking about how much I enjoyed my little motorcycle ride to get my facial last week. Riding up to Normal Heights to go to an appointment is a very typical ride for me. I don’t take long rides out into the mountains or desert; I ride in town. I use the Triumph as joyful transportation–running errands and the like. Even when I go to Cabrillo or Soledad, I will almost always stop and pick up some groceries or whatever, before going home. I ride to sangha. I ride to go someplace–not just to ride. This means I ride at least once a week, more often, weather permitting. No big planning–just put on the gear and go.

My ex has/d a motorcycle. When he rode, it was pretty much exclusively on long excursions into the hills or desert. We’re talking hours-long trips requiring GPS and planning¹, like to Julian and beyond. With all that complexity and time required, he rode less often than I. The few times we rode together, on separate machines I mean, he acted kind of resentful when I said I wanted to keep it shorter². It took me a while to understand what was going on: it wasn’t exactly what he had envisioned, so it wasn’t okay. He had problems with good enough. With compromise. With acceptance.

Honestly, that seems to be an issue for a lot of (cishet) men I know–being comfortable with good enough.

For example, when a (cishet, throughout this post) man buys a car or truck, his next stop is to some aftermarket place to change out the wheels or add on a rack or tint or, well, something substantial. Most of the women I know buy a car (or truck) and, well, simply drive it. At most, they may get a mount for their phone (if needed) or maybe a decorative seat cover, but nothing huge. Guys, on the other hand, are swapping out suspensions and exhaust systems! No matter how much they love their new vehicle, it isn’t good enough as it is. It must be tweaked, improved, made better. I have definitely noticed that every modified vehicle that drives through the neighborhood has a guy behind the wheel.

Do the men you know ever just buy something from Ikea and put it together exactly as it was designed to be, or do they paint it or modify it somehow? I know a ton who do the latter.

Even houses. A woman will think about painting a wall or getting new window coverings when she buys a house. While later she may want to make changes, in my experience at the time of purchase, she accepts the house as good enough. A guy, on the other hand, will think “Yeah, I’ll buy it, but this place will be perfect when we get a bathroom added.” My ex was this way when we bought the house and I was really surprised by it. He said he loved the house³; but, right after we moved in, he talked about massive changes: add a second story kinds of changes. In my head I was thinking “Why did we just spend $850,000⁴ on something that isn’t good enough for you?”

This failure to accept good enough makes no sense to me. Why not be satisfied with something just as it is? I’m not talking about settling, I’m talking about accepting something, as it is. Settling, to me, is when you can’t get good enough so you reluctantly make do (I can’t get chocolate? Damn, okay, I’ll live with vanilla⁵); accepting something as good enough is, well, more positive: sure, the car doesn’t have 200hp, but it’s fine as it is.

In relationships, good enough is extra important. First, there is the good enough of compromise. No one is perfect and every partnership requires compromise of some sort. A compromise is, for example, partner A wants to watch X movie, partner B wants to watch Y movie, let’s agree to flip a coin and we’ll watch the winner’s tonight and the other tomorrow. Good enough.

More importantly and fundamentally, however, you have to accept (and, I would add, happily) your partner as they are. That is, your partner needs to be good enough in your heart and mind exactly as they are now, not what they may become in the future. “I don’t like basketball and he does, and that’s fine” is healthy; “I don’t like basketball and he needs to stop liking it” is not. “S/he has potential” is a recipe for a bad relationship.

And I don’t just mean romantic relationships. One needs to accept friends (and family, if one chooses) just as they are. The whole of them. You don’t have to like every bit–maybe you have a friend who is chronically late; it’s fine to say “hey, it bugs me when you’re late” but don’t try to fix them. Accept that they are who they are (Betty Latearriver) or let go and maybe get a new friend.

Moreover, if you apply it to yourself, accepting good enough is a form of self-compassion: I’m good enough, exactly as I am now. Maybe I will change X or Y someday, but I am 100% happy with who I am today. It’s not downplaying future growth–maybe next year I’ll learn Japanese; right now I’m learning to crochet–but rather a full acceptance of our inherent okayness, now. In the moment.

Frankly, I think a lot of the problems with the techbros and the MAGA-folk can be traced to an inability to accept good enough. The push for more more more, the greed, looking down at others, othering groups (immigrants, LGBTQ+, etc.), seeing enemies (where they don’t exist)…it all seems to circle back to a failure to accept good enough…in themselves. I think most of them strike out at others (and grab whatever they can asset-wise) so that they can feel better about themselves. I think the push against professionalism, specialization, credentialing, etc., (think MAHA, anti-vax, etc.) is all connected to this. They take offense at superior knowledge and/or skills, personalize them, and say “You’re not better than me just because you’re a lawyer/doctor/scientist/etc.” rather than accepting the differences between people and their skill sets. They can’t see themselves as good enough and hold the possibility of someone being better, in any arena. That is, they see it as an attack against themselves as good enough generally if someone knows more than them about, say, medicine.

These fragile egos…causing their own suffering and the suffering of so many others, simply because they can’t hold themselves as imperfect and good enough. It’s quite sad.

I don’t know. These are, of course, just my thoughts. All I can say with any true knowledge is that I’ve found that accepting good enough has contributed to less suffering in my life. It has definitely brought me more joy. Like the motorcycle–I didn’t need the bestest or fanciest model and I can get something out of almost any ride. Makes me think: maybe more folks should try it.

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1. To be sure, I know a lot of men who do this: they have their long weekend rides, often with other guys, like up Palomar or to take the curves of the S1. There is nothing wrong with it, but these same guys often won’t ride on an errand–like it has to be a production or something. ↩︎
2. I was also a new rider (despite my many years of riding pillion) and my moto is considerably smaller than his–literally half the engine size. ↩︎
3. To be honest, he was actually more thrilled with it than I was at purchase–I liked it very much and accepted it as, gasp, good enough, then later grew to love it. ↩︎
4. An unrelated side note: coming from Ohio, I couldn’t deal with the house prices when we were looking and would repeatedly, unconsciously, subtract $500K from any price. It was like a twitch. So, the house was $350K in my Ohio brain even though I knew, rationally, it was $850K. ↩︎
5. Of course, there is Sally in When Harry Met Sally who modified any food she ordered. To me, this is not about not accepting good enough but rather asking for what one wants. If she, for example, ordered straight off the menu then, when she got the food, complained about it, that would be not accepting good enough. ↩︎