No Promises by Diane Barbarash

I dreamed the breakup the night before it happened. Although one could say it was inevitable.

I had no plans of adding the end of a 14-year relationship to an already intensely stressful time with my daughter while also juggling two jobs. We’d just settled in for a week respite at our cottage in the quiet and rural town of Yale, population 150 at best, and the plan was to pretty much do nothing. Yale boasted a boarded-up motel, one general store, and a library. The joke was if you blinked while driving by, you’d miss the town completely. Our red A-framed cabin was situated on the other side of the train tracks but close to the Fraser river, where rushing waters could be heard along with the multitudes of birds that danced freely among the oak trees. In the winter, the snowed-in isolation there was harsh, but in the summer, the sun painted a beautiful serene ambience over our hideaway.

Back home, things had been tumultuous for quite some time. Nira, who was now 16, was staying at a friend’s place following a big blowup, and Jennifer and I could not for the life of us escape the constant reactive communication that had plagued our relationship. Looking back, I see how despite our many attempts, we just could not understand each other on a core level. Still, we kept going, believing that somehow longevity would win out.

It’s early morning. Jennifer is doing her best to pull out a heavy wooden shelf from the dresser as quietly as possible, yet the weight of that old cabinet betrayed the best of intentions. I was still partially asleep, unable to release the dream that had been replaying for what felt like hours, but by the time Jen drove that big old shelf back into place and left, I was officially awake. I realized immediately that I had been narrating this dream continuously, which felt profound, so I grabbed my journal and wrote it down:

“I am leaving the town I never fit in. I am laying out the clothes on the bed I will no longer sleep in. I am holding a huge wrap-around skirt but cannot understand why I have it, as it is so big. There is a heaviness in my heart, and a great great sadness.”

I knew this was no symbolic vision. Whatever happened there was about to happen here, and time was catching up. So I found my way to the front porch, coffee in hand, and waited, staring wildly at the dirt road in front of me, and feeling the chill of the morning breeze. Then, as if on cue, Jennifer pushes open the screen door, and flusteredly announces, “I’m not happy”. And that was it. To be honest, I was more amazed at the sequence of events that were playing out than the actual essence of her words. “It’s ok” I respond without hesitation, “we’ve already broken up in my dream and we’re just waking up”. She stared back at me for a minute but the relief on her face was obvious. We’d been on two different roads for such a long time trying unsuccessfully to change the other’s trajectory. We were both tired, and lonely, and angry, aching to be understood.

Six weeks later Jennifer moved out and I began the process of healing the pieces of myself that were long overdue for attention. But I had no choice. I had to learn how to stop trying to be someone to someone all the time. The people changed, my address changed, everything had to change, just like in my dream. I learned how to be more authentic and trust that good things come when you say what you really feel, within reason. But most of all, I learned that home is really just a little town inside your heart, from which everything reflects back.

Thank you to the ones who inspire me daily to be true to myself when I write... Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Steve Earle, Sigur Ros, Kathleen Edwards, Kacey Musgraves, Julie Miller, Rhianna, Future, Bon Iver, Yellawolf, Lights and to songwriters everywhere