365

It dawned on me on my drive into work this morning that it has been a year since things ended with the ex. An entire year. 365 days. Holidays. Weddings. Births. Vacations. Moving. All done on my own. Without him. And I survived.

[Insert Pat-On-The-Back Here]

In retrospect the ex and I had a great relationship. We got along really well. We had fun adventures. Went on a lot of vacations. Attended dozens of concerts per year. It was fun. Easy. We never fought - not once that I can remember. But on the other hand our relationship slowly slipped into friendship only. By the time things were ended, we were having sex maybe once per month and barely kissing or touching sensually. The months leading up to the break I'd try to convince myself that the lack of the physical stuff was because we were both living at home and had no where to comfortably do what we wanted. I could no longer handle sexing in back seats of cars, or forest preserves, or parks any more. It was mundane. Annoying.

The break-up was not a surprise. I feel as if we both were ready for it. He was just the one to pull the trigger. I had considered doing it myself several times last summer. But there was always something holding me back. A wedding. A birthday. A holiday. A vacation. I would think "well I would break up with him, but now is not the time...my birthday is next week" or "its BABs wedding" or "we're going on vacation". You get the picture. It was always "the next week" when I would address it.

Don't get me wrong, it was sad. I cried on his parent's couch when we called it quits. I cried that night. And I have cried on occasion since. But it isn't the "woe is me" crying. It has been tears for what used to be. We were mostly happy, even if we knew the end was near. The week after the break up I was relieved. I felt like a weight had been taken off my chest and I could breath again. It was the right thing for the both of us. Then and now.

365 days of singlehood. 365 days of rediscovery. 365 days of me.

Oh how the time flies...