When my wife saw my crumpled-up car, she sobbed uncontrollably at my near-death experience, but I couldn’t feel anything. While I knew my reckless behaviors were heading towards disaster, some other self-destructive force steered my life.
For the next two weeks, I drove a rental car while the insurance company debated whether to fix my vehicle or retire it to the junkyard. The agent told me, “If the repair costs are over 50% of the vehicle’s value, there’s no sense in fixing it. We’ll just cut you a check.”
The damage I’d done to my marriage was well over 50%, which made me wonder if I should cut my wife a check for a new life (which I ultimately did).
When the body mechanic called to discuss his assessment, he gave my car slim chances. “Once you wrack the frame, it’ll never drive the same again,” he said.
Before I wrecked my life, I was a loyal husband, but I’d become a stranger to myself. It was not drugs, drinking, or debauchery that brought me down, but the realization my marriage wasn’t working out. Instead of dealing with it like a grown-up, I chose self-sabotage.
…
Black Ice
As sophisticated as the Doppler weather radars were, they underestimated the severity of the winter storm about to collide into our city.
One minute we’re all working at our desks, and the next minute emergency news flashes alerted us to head home before the black ice arrives and shuts the roads down. (Black ice is the thin coating of clear ice you can’t see on the surface of roads but is deadly to vehicular travel.)
Instead of heeding the expert’s advice, I let my buddy, Charlie, talk me into getting a drink at the local pub across the street. I was hesitant about going to the bar because I couldn’t control myself around the waitress, Vivian. She was the only person I’d met who made me misremember my ring finger, vows, and values. I wasn’t in love or lust, just seeking a way out.
While Vivian and I had a flirtatious banter, we never went beyond that. However, one night she asked me to help her get some boxes down from a shelf in the stockroom, and I lost my grip. I took a bite of the forbidden fruit, and a shadow of guilt, shame, and doubt followed me forever.
Charlie, Vivian, and I hung around that pub all afternoon getting sauced until the owner said he was closing down because of the worsening weather. After we settled up our bar tab, Vivian and I fooled around in the parking lot.
…
When life spins out of control
My fancy champaign-colored car, an Infinity Q something, was even more pompous than my “power suit.” The vehicle didn’t win any performance metrics—e.g., speed, weight, or agility—but it took the grand prize for obnoxious blowhard, which doesn’t help in a snowstorm.
The drive home was slow and lonely. Things were going ok until I got halfway up the entrance ramp to the beltway that went around our city. When I hit my first glassy patch of black ice, my car started spinning out of control, and there was nothing I could do but ride out the centrifugal forces.
In one snapshot, I saw the already mangled end of the guardrail fast approaching, and in the next, I watched as the guardrail narrowly missed the driver’s side door and attacked the back left passenger door violently. It ripped out the back seat, spitting a mixture of leather, foam, metal, and glass everywhere.
Covered in fear, I gripped the steering wheel in shock at how a split-second difference could’ve changed my life forever. As the biting wet air slapped my face, I peered out of the shattered glass, hoping to see someone on the road, but not a soul dared brave these hazardous conditions—except me.
Unable to open the driver’s side door, I crawled out of the passenger side. As soon as I stepped onto the icy embankment, I slid down into the wet ravine; my fancy clothes streaked in dirty skids marks. I struggled to get back up the slippery slope and lost one of my stupid-looking basket weave designer shoes.
When I finally got to the top, I looked for my cell phone in the car but couldn’t find it. With soggy clothes and no heavy coat, I knew I wouldn’t last long in the bitter cold, so I walked down the empty highway, my barefoot and face in blistering pain.
It was over a mile before I could find any glimpse of civilization, but every business I walked up to was closed. The decent folks were sitting at home drinking hot cocoa in front of their fireplaces with their families.
Almost frostbitten, I saw a worker inside a fast-food joint mopping the floor. He gave me the “we’re closed” gesture, but after some pleading, he let me inside. As I sat in a booth drinking hot water, I asked if I could use his phone. I called the only person I knew could help me: my wife. She had a 4-wheel drive SUV with snow tires that could handle any terrain.
Our drive home was quiet, as my wife and I both knew our marriage was falling apart. The next morning, I forced myself to say the most challenging words I’d ever spoken across my lips.
I confessed to my fling with Vivian.
My petite wife punched a hole in the bedroom wall, but it should’ve been my face. She had all the right to do so, but instead of fighting anymore, we separated.
Necessary Ending
My wife and I got engaged in a moment of impulsive rescue. Neither of us had the emotional maturity to be married. While 7 out of 10 things were right with us, three were not. We assumed we’d work on those few things, but they only got bigger and more entrenched.
Some people divorce easily, like trading in cars, but it crushed us. We were both loyal to a fault, and divorce was against our religious beliefs, but some endings in life are necessary—without explanation.
I handled things pathetically and will forever feel guilty about cheating on my wife. Instead of confronting our problems like an adult, I dismantled our marriage through self-sabotage. My subconscious was threatening me, “If you don’t pull the trigger and end this, I’ll destroy you and everything else in your life.”
My wife was a good soul, and I did love and care for her, but marriage wasn’t the right vehicle to carry our love.
…
Growing up
When it came time to sign the divorce papers, the guilt and failure brought me to my knees. My divorce lawyer, who was a not sentimental man, put his hand on my shoulder and said,
“Someday, you’ll look back at this moment and realize divorce was the best thing that ever happened to you.”
With shock and disgust, I asked, “How can you possibly say that?”
“Because this will be the day you grew up and recognized how serious marriage is. It’s not something you do on a whim.”
My lawyer was right: marriage is serious, and I grew up.
It took me 15 years before I’d get behind the wheel of marriage again, but this time I thought long and hard before making such a significant commitment.
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
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