The first time I went to Thailand I was running away from a marriage that had gone horribly wrong. The second time I was running from my divorce. This time I was just there. Healthy. Whole. Curled up in a lounge chair by the pool reading my guilty pleasure, a trashy romance novel. Five years ago, I honestly wasn’t sure I was ever going to feel normal again. I didn’t know if it was possible for a day to go by when I didn’t think of “him.” I was consumed by guilt and if only. I wanted my life back so badly that there were days I thought I would scream with the unfairness of it all. I wanted to move on, but I didn’t know how.
Aghhh. I coughed on the rancid fumes of the departing bus as I looked around the deserted stretch of dirt road I’d been dropped off on. At two in the morning all I could make out were the vague shapes of a couple of covered up stalls. I felt a trickle of apprehension, but shrugged it off. “My connecting bus will be here in ten minutes.” I told myself. An hour later, exhausted and fearful I realized I was stuck in the middle of some deserted part of Mayalsia – alone.
My divorce brought up a myriad of confusing emotions from anger to guilt to aching loneliness. I found myself often overwhelmed by my emotions and unable to process them in a healthy way. There were moments I just wanted to crawl into bed and not move — EVER. What helped me is a little exercise I found called Howling at the Moon. I now use it with my coaching clients and they all swear by it. The idea is simple, but the effects profound. I guarantee you will feel better if you give it a try.
He was 19. I was 34. It was another drunken wild night in Thailand, and I got it in my recently divorced head that the only way to prove, “I still had it,” was to get him into bed. Well, I definitely still had it — as all of the hostel could attest to the next morning. Apparently our 2 a.m. tryst in the common area of the hostel hadn’t been as private as we thought. I never thought I would be the hottest sex gossip, but then my post-divorce life was definitely anything but expected. Yes, I cried and wept. But what really made me heal was sex. A lot of sex. And I loved it.
I’d been living in California, but as I explained in in my last blog, Living Without Regrets, something had been missing in my life. I knew that I needed to take the leap and move to a new city. Austin had appealed to me. I had heard stories of friendly people, a fascinating city, a vast music scene. In fact, no one I talked to, had a bad word to say. So, on Thursday I squeezed myself in my tiny two-seater convertible, packed with all my worldly possessions, and drove over 1,700 miles from California to Austin. It took three days and was the longest road trip I had ever taken by myself. I worried that my car would break down in the middle of nowhere. My butt fell asleep more times than I could count. The hostel I was going to stay at no longer existed, and I slept under a tree at a rest stop. I stopped wherever I wanted. I explored urban ruins in LA and went swimming at Balmorhea State Park in Texas. It was a fantastic, crazy and challenging trip.