My Ex-Life

by Stephen McCauley

thought of the attainment of self-esteem as similar to aging with dignity—impossible but worth striving for nonetheless.

Yes

Julie had always been bad with time zones and directions and dates.

Me too

She’d had the misfortune of being talented and capable in many areas without being expert in any of them. This, he’d noted, makes one interesting when young but usually, when middle-aged, disappointed. Or a teacher.

His desire to be helpful was one he’d naïvely mistaken for lust back when he was less resolved about his sexual leanings, just as, years later when he was more resolved, he’d mistaken lust for affection, admiration, and even love.

Money is easier to dispense than affection, even for the most miserly.

had enough life experience to know that making assumptions about the relationships of others was like forming opinions of books you hadn’t read: tempting, but pointless. On top of that, it always backfired.

Among the many hypocrisies of the “religious” was the fact that they viewed god as omnipotent, but treated Him like a ventriloquist’s dummy by putting their words and crackpot beliefs, prejudices, and unfounded biases into His mouth whenever it suited their purposes.

“Any you’d recommend? I wouldn’t mind a lobster roll.” “I’m vegan.” This word had become ubiquitous and absurdly trendy. She supposed there were a few young women with anorexia who kept to this diet, but otherwise it had to be lip service. “I have a theory, Clarke. Want to hear it? There are no male vegans. There are men who say they are to appear more sensitive to their girlfriends or anyone else they’re hoping to lure into bed with them. Once they’re on their own, they’re in a drive-through line at Burger King.” “McDonald’s,” he said.

Profound for my generation

“I’m famous for my burgers, Clarke. We didn’t have vegans when I was your age, dear. We had macrobiotics. I don’t know where they all went. We didn’t have gluten intolerance, either. We had hypoglycemia. I’ll bet you’ve never heard of that.” She didn’t care what she sounded like. They still had a long way to go, and she was enjoying herself. “We had aerobics, not Pilates. We didn’t have different layers of gender.

We had Martina Navratilova and no one thought anything of it.” “You didn’t have Uber.” “No, o...

But there was nothing she could do to change it now. She had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and hope that somewhere along the road, her mother would meet her, and see that she was, despite everything, still her daughter.

There’s just the place, David thought, where you’re happiest and most at ease and unpack your bags once and for all. The pretty, imperfect, unimagined place you decide to call home.