Return to me

Some day when I have the time I will write a book. For now, I'll call it the anti-Dr. Phil book on love and romance. I find myself busier than I've ever been and more fulfilled than I've ever been in my life. I wake up invigorated and happy, next to my soul mate. Yes, I said soul mate.

I remember days of discontent and lifelessness. I try to let go of the regrets, mainly the regret of not spending my life with Michael. We both know we were meant to be together since the beginning, which brings up the question of soul mates.

When I was 8 my brother took me to the World's Fair in New York. It was so exciting, to hop a bus from Connecticut to New York with my 18-year-old brother Steve, free from our father's control. I have a wild imagination and fantasized that Steve was my date. We arrived at the Fair and I was in awe over the exhibits, especially Michelangelo's Pieta. As we stood on the people mover, approaching the statue, a boy around my brother's age, dark hair and horned-rim glasses, came toward me on the opposite side and smiled at me. I smiled back and fell in love at that moment. My fantasy redirected from Steve to this young guy. I never forgot him. Michael lived in the same town as the World's Fair. I keep a photo of Michael at 18, standing in front of the big World's Fair globe on my desk. I always believed that my crush on Woody Allen that followed was sparked from this young man's smile.

When Michael was 13, he remembers a little blond-haired girl on Brighton Beach who was visiting. She cast a very big smile in his direction and he never forgot her. He told me this story and I remembered a trip to Brighton Beach with my father. I took out a picture of myself from back then and Michael let out an ear-to-ear grin. "It's you," he said. He keeps that picture framed and kisses it often.

I would see this dark haired Woody Allen character again at 23 when I needed a job and walked into his office. I was hired. Something about this guy was special. I always knew it. He says the same thing about me. I left a few years later but the years couldn't keep us apart.

Romantic fantasy? Maybe. I believe that Michael is the split-apart that Plato spoke of.

It's been nearly two years since our marriage and nearly three since we moved in together. I look at him, and he at me, every day in awe. Our friends and family tell us we inspire them on a romantic level that can't be explained. He walks in the door and I run to his arms after missing him each and every minute that he's gone. He thanks the universe every day for our life together. We crawl into bed each night and feel love that goes beyond explanation.

I'm tired of hearing the next best selling shrink turned author telling you how to fix your broken marriage or relationship. Nothing could have fixed our past marriages and we both knew they were broken a few short weeks into the marriage. If you're with someone who doesn't make your heart sing and your soul melt, maybe you’re "split-apart" is still out there. Leave now and make every effort to find them. Your happiness depends on it.

"Each of us when separated, having one side only.... is but indenture of a man, and he is always looking for his other half." Plato from the Symposium