Beer and Tacos

It’s been just over a year since my second marriage ended. Last week, my ex messaged to say his lawyer had finally submitted the paperwork for us to be officially divorced. My response?

“Yay. Now we have no further reason to communicate, and have a great life.”

Naturally, I immediately overthought it.

What if I get lonely? He could be a friend to call.

Which is when I took myself out for beer and tacos instead.

I don’t keep much alcohol at home, so I headed out to the restaurant where my middle and youngest work and grabbed a seat near the bar. It was busy—an AA hockey team practicing, a football game on, and peak people-watching energy. Hockey parents, I’ve decided, are an entirely different species of adult.

Being out alone felt great. I brought a book, ordered jackfruit tacos and a perfectly poured draft, and one by one the senior staff stopped by to tell me how wonderful my kids are—how hardworking, kind, and enjoyable they are to work with. The food was good, the beer was cold, but the pride? That was the best part!

Then my mind wandered to intimacy—and no, not just sex (although a good friend says that’s what BOB, the Battery-Operated Boyfriend, is for). I mean the small stuff: the hug at the door, holding hands, sharing a show on the sofa with just your feet touching. Making someone tea after a hard day—or having one appear unexpectedly for you. The inside jokes. That’s the real magic.

And then I realized—I already have plenty of intimacy in my life.

I have an open-door policy at home with plenty of hugs. I cook for my kids, even when they don’t like what I make. My son brings me tea when he makes a pot, and I do the same. I have inside jokes, shared shows, and deep friendships. And my four-legged bestie insists on constant physical contact, whether I consent or not. I hug my friends. I hold their hands. This week I’m cooking for a group of women I adore, and it’s basically the biggest hen party imaginable—and I love it.

I also thought about what it really means to share a life with someone. If I’m honest, I never truly have. My first marriage involved very separate lives. My second involved separate houses and a husband who was gone most of the time. While neither worked long-term, both suited my fiercely independent nature in their own way. I've also realize through therapy that eventually I want, need and deserve more.

Now, though, I’m learning to say yes. To ask for help. To let people show up for me. And it turns out—that’s beautiful.

So when I told my ex to have a great life, I meant it. Let’s normalize not being friends when a relationship wasn’t healthy. We all have baggage, but mine looks more like a lightweight backpack these days. It doesn’t need to sit front and center as an awkward friendship.

Those who know me well have heard about my lifelong practice of ahimsa—non-attachment. Letting go of what no longer serves me makes room for more: deeper friendships, fuller joy, and yes… tacos and a beer, enjoyed solo, in very good company.

After several decades of this practice I might finally be getting it.  It’s not just about wishing someone a great life in a healing and un-attached sort of way.  It’s more about creating space for a great big beautiful life. That's worth packing your bags for!!!