How Did I Get Here?

When the universe presents you with a cat

“And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack

And you may find yourself in another part of the world

And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile

And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife

And you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?’ “

— “Once in a Lifetime,” Talking Heads

I was running errands a few weeks ago, dropping off some FedEx packages, picking up dog food, then to the grocery store. I coasted to a stop at an intersection and, while waiting for the light to turn green, was suddenly struck by my present circumstance. There I was, sitting at the wheel of an old Toyota Prius, one that belongs to my girlfriend, on my way to buy dog food. I was never a big Talking Heads fan, but “Once in a Lifetime” popped into my head and I had to play it in the car—loud. I spent the rest of my errands singing along, on repeat. The sentiment of the song is more pessimistic, and a Prius is hardly a “large automobile,” but the notion of looking at one’s life more fully awake was relatable and profound.

Two years ago… heck, 18 months ago, I didn’t have a girlfriend—much less one who let me drive her Prius—or a dog. I was in the twentieth year of my marriage, a Volvo was the default grocery getter, our cats had died a couple years earlier, and I was training for the Fan Dance in Wales. I could never have foreseen the future, one that is now my present.

People’s initial reaction towards divorce is typically one of sympathy, grief, and often incredulity. And yes, endings are often sad, but can also be for the best. Sometimes they aren’t the result of something gone horribly wrong or a betrayal, but simply something that has run its course, met the terminus of its lifespan, and often a doorway to renewal.

I feel like now, on the cusp of turning 56, I have turned a page. I’m living in the present, not sleepwalking through my life, learning more about myself and what I am capable of, being more honest with myself and with others, saying “no” more often, speaking my mind, and living “smaller,” more humbly. I’m making new friends, trying new activities, stretching my comfort zone.

In October of 2024, after several months of feeling lonely and sorry for myself, while also putting on a mask and hiding my inner turmoil outwardly, I adopted a dog. It was a big step for me—then a single man who traveled a fair bit, and had no experience owning a dog (though we’d had dogs when I was a kid). I solicited advice and encouragement from dog owning friends, then started browsing the pet adoption websites. It didn’t take long. In fact, Ruby was the first dog whose photo and profile I saw. Once I went and met her, I knew she was the one. We’ve been inseparable ever since. It’s no exaggeration to say that she changed my life.

A month later, almost to the day, I had my first date with my girlfriend, Kristi. We met through an online dating app, had coffee on a damp November weekend, then went for a brisk walk in a cemetery (don’t look for metaphors, please). We’ve been together ever since, and have traveled to Scotland and New York, gone camping, running, biking, paddling, and skiing, attended protest rallies, gone to the theater, cooked and eaten countless meals, and have an ongoing gin rummy tournament. I have learned so much about being in a relationship—about honesty and vulnerability and communication—and I have such a strong sense of living in the present moment every single day, with no assumptions or expectations or anxieties about the future, or dwelling on the past. To do this at this stage of life is nothing short of revelatory, and profound.

The introduction process continues.

Now we possibly have a cat. It was entirely unplanned, though we both love cats and talked about getting one someday. There she was, meowing from halfway up a maple tree. Our efforts to locate her owner have been unsuccessful and we’ve been daring to try out different names, and slowly introducing her to Ruby. The timing isn’t perfect—we have some travel coming up, some out of town guests arriving, a dog!—but when the universe drops a cute orange kitten in your lap, you go with it. It’s a lesson in being open to change, to new things, and not overthinking.

Some believe that we can manifest people, situations, and things in our lives if we put out the right energy, and are true in our intentions. This concept might sound a little “woo-woo,” and probably goes by different terminology depending on your spirituality, but I’ve become a believer. Deciding to live with honesty and clarity has brought me a greater sense of peace over the past year than I have experienced in a long time. Freeing myself of expectations of who I felt I needed to be has allowed me to be more content instead of chasing a career, an image, or a certain life.

Now I have a dog, a girlfriend, and maybe a cat. I’m diving and traveling less, but taking a strength training class twice a week, and looking forward to gardening season. I read more, watch less TV, do crossword puzzles and play cards. I still have my two Land Rovers, but often opt to drive a Prius on errands. I may ask myself: “how did I get here?” By being true to myself, that’s how.