I am not in love anymore. I am not even in heartbreak. Being in one or the other over the last couple of years took up a lot of my time and ability to think straight. Now, I'm just in Maine.
I have methodically organized and structured my new life. I now choose how I spend my time: wake up at 6:00 to read, bathe, and breakfast; teach and grade papers in my online classes at 8; write at 10; walk/hike at 3; cook and eat dinner at 5; exercise at 6 and read some more; bathe at 7; watch foreign or classic film I get from library at 8; be in bed by 10. Believe it or not, sometimes I don't have enough time to get through my weekly list of things-to-do. On Sunday, like all Mainers, I rest, but I don't go to church. I prefer to drive on scenic Route 1, eat at a restaurant outside of Portland (I have yet to discover a decent place to eat it in the city), go exploring, and/or hike.
It took some time to get over the folly of picking up and moving to a new place all by myself, even though I'm not one to shy away from an adventure. The interesting thing is that moving to Maine has always been in the periphery of my "to do list," along with going on a pilgrimage in San Compostela, Spain; traveling to Kashmir and Bhutan; mastering Spanish; becoming as great an adventurer as my hero, Jane Digby; perfecting dirty talk; reading all of the world's great classics; learning to surf in Hawaii; falling madly in love... again; dancing the Tango; and living in Europe.
I have always felt close to Maine: it was one of those feelings that became pressing when I saw it in movies, read about it in books, or ogled over pictures of its lighthouses. Being here gives me the same deep joy I felt when I earned my graduate degree or raised my kids - the type of knowing of having accomplished a fated task (A task assigned to you by your maker. A task you have to complete no matter how insane it sounds, how scared you are, or regardless of what anyone thinks about it. Believe me, I've fielded many questions about my decision to move to a place I had never been, but only dreamed about).
The other day, when I was sitting in the Dunkin Donuts in Portland drinking coffee, I felt a rush of belonging. I had officially become a Mainer. This is something I just knew, and now I understood that the Mainer is a unique brand of man. He is introspective. He walks alone at night lost in thought. His gaze is distant but never haughty. He is not fashionable but real. He is proud, finicky, hardened by life and extreme weather conditions, but does his best to be open-minded. He works hard and tries not complain. He knows life is challenging but won't harp too much about its difficulties because like mountains of snow leftover from a storm it eventually all melts away. Most important, he is not in Maine to search for purpose, but to cultivate a deep knowing of it. Memoir, " of Ruby," available at: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TT5DDWO
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