Living out-loud

A few years back, when I was still working at Very Big Insurance Company, I came in to work after being away for a few days and greeted my co-worker -- let's call her Polly -- with the usual, "How are you?" Polly and I, by the way, were never on great terms to begin with and I tried to keep my interactions with her as terse as possible for that very reason. So I expected that day she would say her usual, "I'm fine, you?" And then I would say I was fine and we'd move on with the day. Except that particular day, she said, "I'm getting a divorce." I stopped flat in my six-inch heels and I swear, my mouth was stuck in an O-shape for about five minutes.

"I'm sorry?" I said when I managed to get my jaw to work again.

"Don't be," Polly said, "I'm doing great." And her lips curled up into a smile, and then there was a little bit of tooth, and some crinkles at the edges of her eyes.

Over the next few weeks, Polly underwent this massive transformation. She got highlights, lost weight, bought a new wardrobe, and was thoroughly enjoying herself. At one point, she bought herself a huge bouquet of roses and put them on her desk "because I deserve them" and she didn't mean it in a pity party sort of way either.

Polly's behavior threw me. For some reason, I was under the impression that when one was divorcing, it was supposed to a be 'traumatic hide under the bedcovers and eat chocolate all day and wail on the phone to sympathetic girlfriends' experience until the pieces of one's heart managed to stitch themselves back into place.

Losing someone you care deeply about is never easy, but whatever other differences Polly and I had, I always admired how she allowed herself to only feel sorry for herself for about 30 seconds and then she got up and involved in her own personal renaissance. Bedcovers and chocolates sound comforting, but I know now that going out is the way to get past the hurt, disappointment and guilt. After all, if you're out having a good time, there's no time to dwell on what might have been.