estrellas are gettin’ estranged

0423jones_2 The man had it coming. I mean, come on. Who marries a woman known not only to say things like, "I am the author of the only dictionary that defines me," but who actually added italics and pinned it up as her web site tag line? Of course none of us know what goes on behind closed doors, or separate apartments, but when it comes to the filing of divorce papers, we all tend to impulsively choose a side.

Sides are always taken, and blame is handed out like napkins, despite the fact that it’s never clean. Even the most amicable of divorces leave someone questioning where they went wrong–how they’d come to this, this ending. Because the sad truth is we always look at the parting of ways between two people as an ending instead of a beginning, "it’s over" instead of "it’s all about to start." And we dwell. We go shopping to cheer ourselves, then we panic about money. And as friends, we apologize for their loss instead of celebrating their gain–a chance at a whole new life that can be so frightening and delicious all at once.

I am neither pro- nor anti-Jones, but when I heard that Star Jones Reynolds was unwrapping things with her husband of three years, I made an audible gasp. Normally, I’d have rolled my eyes all the way back to 2004, back to the elaborate details she splashed about on "The View." Over. And over. And so, so over. But I couldn’t help but be alarmed, saddened really, by the news. "Oh, no!" I thought about her book cover, how an entire line spread across it, with  only his surname. "You never should have changed your name." How ridiculously cynical, some might say of my hindsight advice, but I believe we compromise enough in our marriages and relationships, lose things, gain things, but the thing we should keep is who we’ve been our whole lives, the name we were given when we began it.

The fact is, I’m not cynical at all. I need to believe in love. To know somewhere deep down that it will work out for all of us, that we’ll get our playground love. The kind we sorta wished for on summer nights. Everyone should get that, find that, be able to sustain that. To grow up and do things the way grownups "should."

They’re the words and wishes of a little girl, estranged from reality, still casting a wish on a star. I think I’m both of them, the unguarded, wide-eyed girl and the insightful woman who thinks I spent too much time wishing for the wrong things.

I haven’t followed their story closely, but just hearing that anyone is splitting up makes me feel empty and sad for them. And then I want to smack myself because, uh, hello… all the best things in life begin with a breakup! Or rather, they’re beginnings, not endings. Hmmm. I wonder how that’ll look in italics under my name. StephanieKlein.com: there are no happy endings here. Nah, people will think it’s a site about massage.

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