Dreams Deferred

Dreams Deferred... But Not Forgotten

For the last two months, I've spent just about every waking minute regretting the life choices I've made so far. At 18, I wanted to study abroad, move to New York and work in publishing. My parents were overwhelmingly opposed, so I dropped out of college, took a job in my hometown and got married. Later, I desperately wanted to write; instead I spend my time doing all the household chores while my husband lies on the couch and watches TV. I've always wanted to be friends with "artistic" types—musicians, actors, artists—but I still tell myself I'm not hip enough for them to want to be around me. There are times when I'm so filled with bitterness and self-loathing, that I cry. It's the bitterness of being too gutless, at 42, to even try. I keep telling myself that I don't have a bad life. My husband and I have a reasonably happy marriage. But this constant ache of regret and loss is starting to do a number on me. How do I get over this whining and learn to be content with what I have?

Who says you have to? But hoping your husband will rescue you—that he'll magically arise from the sofa and supply what you want—let alone know what you need—has not gone anywhere for the past 18 years. So you're going to have to rescue yourself. Not to worry: that's the way it works for most of us. Parents hear "artistic" and what flashes before their eyes are images of shelling out financial support for a lifetime. You need to connect your dreams and your reality on your own—not by abandoning your dreams but by taking some small steps to alter the dispiriting reality you now find yourself in.

You can stay mired in regret if you want; it's a very safe emotion in that it doesn't require you to do anything different. But if you want to feel alive, you're going to have to move out of your comfort zone and make some small changes in what you do, and that's going to feel weird at first. It's something everyone has trouble doing but which you seem to find especially difficult. You chose a husband who continues the discouraging messages your parents gave you—maybe because they echo your own fears. The truth is everybody has those fears; you just have to act anyway, and the fears will begin to quiet down as the strange becomes more familiar. So will the self-loathing.

Of course, there's no guarantee you'll succeed as a writer—just as there's no guarantee that anyone will—but it merits a try. Best of all, you don't have to move to some literary enclave. You can do it from home. I'll bet there are classes or workshops in writing poetry, short stories, novels or whatever within a 25-mile radius of your home. Is there a nearby college? Adult education courses at the high school or Y? If not, start your own writers group. Recruit other novices (post messages in supermarkets and all the usual places) and ask a local English teacher to serve as advisor. Search online for info and/or books on how to start a writers group. I know several successful writers who got their start just this way—at middle age (or older).

Once you've registered for a class or decided among your new colleagues on a regular meeting schedule, ask your husband (kindly) for his cooperation. Don't expect him to break out the champagne, but do spell out exactly what you'd like from him. Use your own words, but you might try something along these lines: "Honey, you know I've always wanted to see if I could write, and now I'm going to try. I'm taking a class on Wednesday evenings and I'd like your support. You can help me best by making dinner for yourself [or whatever] those evenings and letting me spend Sunday afternoons by myself at the computer. I would appreciate it if you would not say anything to discourage me, even if you think I'm nuts, because it's already hard enough for me to do this much." Even if you fail as a writer you will win your own respect. And Sofa Boy's.

I Miss the Life We Had

I am currently broken off with a boyfriend. We did everything together, often with friends and his family, and now I find myself alone and lonely. I have ended relationships with mutual friends because they were women with whom he did things I wanted to do with him, like decorate his new house and go to parties (while we were broken up). I felt our mutual friends would have honored our friendship. I have made it a pact with myself not to eliminate any more friends and learn to be a little less controlling of others' behaviors. We went from serious and committed to us not getting what we need. I broke it off because he started name calling. I thought I could do better than this relationship, but I feel so cut off from a social life and miss many of the things we did together, including his family. But mainly I feel inept. I have no children and an elderly dad who has more friends than I do.

Congratulations. You broke off the relationship just in time. Life with a verbally abusive partner is no fun. You don't need a guy who starts name-calling when things don't go his way. What you do need are attitudes that are less rigid. It sounds as if you have strict rules for everyone else's behavior. Pay less attention to what they do and more to what you need to do. But remember, ex partners who are no longer in a relationship (even if the separation turns out to be temporary) are generally considered to be "in play." So go easy on your (ex)friends. You desperately need to widen your social circle and build a new social life. You have to take action yourself. As long as you wait for it to just fall into your lap, you're going to be reminded how much you miss the life you used to have. Do an inventory of all your interests, and look to join outings or meetings with like-minded souls. You can search newspaper and often Internet listings. Taking even one step will make you feel a lot less inept.