Some Things Can't Be Fixed, But They Can Be Held

The other day, a friend called and asked if I wanted to go on a walk.

It was odd and definitely not the norm, but there was also no long explanation.

Just, "Hey, are you around? Do you wanna walk?" But something in her voice made me say yes immediately.

She caught me at the exact right moment, that small window in the day where I could step away without overthinking it.

A few minutes later, she pulled up to my house.

I grabbed my shoes.

We didn't hug the way we usually do, just a quick, "Hey," and we started walking.

You know those walks where the first few minutes are quiet, a bit awkward, and you start to sense something else might be going on? After a few minutes, she said, "I filed." I slowed down just a little, just enough to let the words land.

"I filed for divorce," she said.

There it was.

It was simple and direct.

"It's mutual," she said.

"We both knew it was the right thing.

It's not, like, dramatic or anything, but," she paused and looked down at the pavement, "I don't think I've actually said it out loud yet." We kept moving step by step, and I noticed her mirroring my deep breathing.

She told me about the kids, how they don't really understand yet, how she's trying to find the right words, the right timing, the least disruptive way to say something that will inevitably change everything.

"I know it's gonna be hard," she said.

"I just...

I don't know how hard yet." And there was something about that honesty that felt so human.

I didn't have anything profound to say.

I didn't try to fix it or wrap it in something hopeful too quickly.

I just listened.

Occasionally, I'd nod or say, "Yeah, that makes sense," or, "I'm here." At one point, she laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that sits right next to tears.

"I feel like I should have a plan," she said.

"Like I should know exactly what this is gonna look like." And I found myself saying, "I don't think you're supposed to know yet." We kept walking, but it made me think.

That's the thing about big life transitions.