"What's this one?"
He held the binder in his hand, starting to flip through the pages.
"Oh," I said.
"That's actually the scrapbook of my divorce."
Even I hear it.
It's not the most normal thing to do.
It's not the most normal way to get through heartbreak.
But then again, I have never really been one for normal.
So there it is -- the scrapbook.
It's full of photos of the flowers I started buying myself.
Ticket stubs from the under 30 cheap seats at the Kennedy Center to watch La Boheme & the Japanese ballet.
Snapshots of new dresses in vintage store dressing rooms, the one with the red belt I still have.
Stacks of books -- poetry and Cheryl Strayed and Borges, because why not? Things were already topsy turvy.
Pictures of beautiful churches and funny pies on my trip to England, because I was searching for a bigger God, a bigger belief, a more beautiful way of moving through the world.
I found myself again in remembered, uncovered things.
I love this art museum, that ice cream flavor, that movie, that feeling.
"She's still in there."
The me that hungered for beauty, inspiration, excitement.
And then there were the new things.
What does this hunger really want?
What does this feel like?
What if I put on the black dress and take the Lorrie Moore novel to the bistro on the corner and order the risotto and have my own perfect date?
What if I trust what I want?
What if I let my body talk to me?
Yes to this, to him, to love. No to that, to that, to that.
What is in you, waiting to be uncovered?
P.S. This & so much more created UNCOVER all those years ago. Ten weeks to find her again. Last day to sign up is Friday. www.theuncoveredwoman.com/uncover