Guess Who's Back?

A week ago I lost my purse. I had gone to Johnny Macaroni’s to do something nice for someone else and unwittingly left my life there. I didn’t realize this until Monday and Monday Johnny Macaroni’s is closed, of course. By the time I got in touch with them on Tuesday, they didn’t have it. I can be careless and ditzy on occasion, lose things, trip over my own two feet, and choke on my own spit. However, I’m 99% sure of where I left it and about 97% certain that somewhere someone under 20 is using my ID to buy scorpion bowls for themselves and a couple close friends. That or an identity hacker is waiting to pounce at just the right time. Let’s hope it’s the former.

After about a day of having no identity or debit card, I felt so unsettled that I eventually ended up in tears. Wednesday I had to dash from work to a cross country meet in Marshfield for Maire, the gas in my car was nearly empty, and I had no cash or card on me. On fumes, my little CRV rolled into a Mobil station and I asked if I could pay with my phone. The 20-year-old attendant looked at me like I was insane. “Yeah.” he said with a significant “DUH” undertone. I added on some Laffy Taffy and a big bag of TGI Friday’s Cheddar and Sour Cream Potato Skin chips and went on my merry way. I made it to the meet just in time and saw Maire finish in 58th place. I was so proud of her for just doing this, cross country is not easy. I did it in middle school too and all I remember was a combination of the smell of cheap makeup dripping down my face and the urge to puke toward the end of a course.

Later that night I found myself feeling cranky at dinner, to the point of not wanting to talk to anyone and wanting desperately to just put my head down. I needed to get somewhere quiet, away from the sound of the TV and all the shenanigans. As I sat and smelled incense in our sunroom, I texted Thomas about just how shitty I felt. “You want to talk?” he asked. “Sure” I said. Little did I know that he, at that point, had put a number of things together and knew what female event was lurking in my immediate future. Having grown up with three older sisters taught him a few things and he is quite aware of the inner workings and outer manifestations of life as a woman. His voice cooled me down, I felt less cray and more calm. My plans solidified for the next morning of trekking down to the New Bedford RMV (the only one I could find with an appointment open soon enough). Not only was I going to replace my license, I was changing my last name back to Paul.

Whenever I do anything official, I assume that authorities will reject my attempts and send me on my way. This is how I approached my license appointment—prepared for the worst and to throw down, respectfully, if needed. It turned out to be far easier than I anticipated. Guess who’s back? Ms. Paul is, that’s who. A crappy situation had a silver lining all along. Reclaiming my maiden name on my license was significant. What was more significant was that it happened in the city that Dad spent quite a bit of time in as he researched for his book, A Place of Rest. “I’m a Paul again.” I told him in the car. It is a wonderful thing to be back to a new version of your old self. Turns out that there is a whole lot in a name.

Reclaiming my identity along with handling all that comes with losing your wallet was daunting for me. Official business sent me into a tailspin like a whirligig dropping from a silver maple. At the end of that day, however, I felt good. Really good. Suddenly, I was who I’ve always been in my mind and felt a little lighter and more myself. The sun felt warmer that day and I was less untethered and adrift. Later this weekend, Thomas and I took a ride down to New Bedford again just because. It has become a bit of a place we like to go to feel the grittiness of a city and the richness of marine life and history. We stumbled upon a tiny art museum with a small exhibit that blew me away—Through Darkness to Light: Photographs along the Underground Railroad. This was a photographic reconstruction of the route of many escaped slaves from Louisiana all the way to Canada. The photos were dark and earthy, pushing us to feel just how dire and necessary was the choice to escape. Dad would have loved going there.

“I sometimes feel like the more that time passes, the more I miss him.” Thomas said of his father who also passed from dementia years ago. “Sometimes I wish I could go back to when he was writing and ask him why he was so obsessed with whaling and Herman Melville.” I shared, letting him and now you know of one of my greatest regrets in life. I thought about Herman Melville and Moby Dick. Why did he write about a man obsessed with a whale? Were Melville and Dad one and the same? Was Moby Dick really just about a hunt for identity? Yes, that makes the most sense. What else would drive a human to the brink of sanity but a search for oneself?

As I look back on this week and all the ridiculousness that ensued from me doing something nice and then getting my period after a three month hiatus, I feel silly for getting all emotionally wrecked. But losing one’s ties to identity is tough, I had even thought my social security card was missing until I found it this weekend. When I went to the RMV, I worried that they would have some reason to a) not give me a new license and b) not allow me to change my name. An hour’s drive and $25 later, Eminem’s “Guess Who’s Back” was running through my head and then loudly on the speakers in my car. I care deeply for my ex-husband and father of our children. I want the best for him and our separate but together lives. But, I lost a piece of myself when I gave up the last name of Paul and I wanted it back.

There are a number of significant stressors that continue to plague this family which I will hopefully detail in coming issues—stressors that will make your heart ache and eyes water. But, as the Indigo Girls so eloquently sang “There’s more than one answer to these questions, pointing me in a crooked line.” The path of life’s griefs and joys is not linear, it twists and winds in the strangest directions sometimes. But,“it’s only life after all” and I, for one, will try to remember to not get my knickers in a twist when things get bumpy. I’m back and one step closer to fine.