Thou shalt not....
It is as old as human civilization.
In the code of Hammurabi it was punishable by drowning. In the Torah and the Qur'an, by stoning. In Christianity, merely thinking about it condemns one to guilt and sin.
It is illegal in 22 of the United States (though seldom enforced). In the state of Michigan, you can be imprisoned for life. In Wisconsin it is a Class I felony. In Maryland you pay a $10.00 fee. In the military it is a court martial offense.
In some places, such as Saudi Arabia, it is still punishable by death.
A survey taken two years ago by the University of Chicago's National Opinion Research Center shows that slightly more than 11 percent of women and 21 percent of men admitted to having done it during their lives.
King David did it. Alexander Hamilton did it. Tiger Woods did it.
I've done it.
I suppose that there are those who really do imagine when their young that they will, someday, commit adultery - but I have to tell you that it never occurred to me. Even when it was happening it seemed surreal, like something being done by someone else. I imagine that it felt that way to my wife too, though for her there was no other person around to take solace with.
I bring this up because I recently discovered that my ex-wife is still living in Eureka, and works as an artist here. I could run into her any time - on the beach, at the grocery store, at the mall, at an opening, at an art fair, at the farmer's market. Knowing this brought up old memories of that time when I was married to one person and having a relationship with another person.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.
Best because I was in the middle of something miraculous (and yes, I used that term advisedly, particularly in light of the 6th/7th commandment), something truly outside my experience. I felt heady and wind-tossed and free. I felt like I had met a soulmate. It felt so good, so right, like it was meant to be.
Worst because every moment with that new person, experiencing those new feelings, was betrayal of promises that I had made, and made in good faith, before the person I was marrying, before the community of my family and friends, and before God.
It is difficult to describe it as a whole - I just don't think there are any words in English to specify a feeling that is at once so gloriously moving, so spiritually uplifting, so powerful that it makes you want to weep tears of joy just to BE in that moment, and is at the same time so unexpected, so awkward, such a violation of your promises, your relationships, and even your self-image that you just want to hang your head and cry for the shame of it. And because always, in the back of your mind you are thinking about two people you care about, and knowing that sooner of later you will have to tell one of them "I'm sorry, you aren't the one."
I remember one thing that preyed on my mind a lot at the time was the realization that someone in this whole thing was going to get horribly, horribly hurt - and that someone wasn't going to be me. I had the win-win choice. I could go back to the safe relationship, or I could embark on a new one. I wasn't the one likely to be left standing alone when the dust settled - but I was going to be the one who got to choose who was. I got to make a completely conscious choice about who of two people, both of whom I cared about, I was going to hurt and reject in the end. How could I treat my new beloved, my soulmate, the woman who filled me with radiance, that way? How could I treat the woman I had made so many promises to, had shared 10 years of history with, had entered into a special covenant with that way?
In the end, of course, I chose. But thinking back on that choice now still makes me queasy. It simply wasn't and isn't part of my conscious picture of myself that I can be the sort of person who makes choices or takes actions for my own self-gratification that will result in such hurt to another person.
Over the years I have tried not to think about it too much. It seemed to fade into obscurity, particularly when I was living in Seattle. But being back here brought back memories of that time, even before I discovered that my ex-wife was still living here. I've been thinking about it for a week. And here's what I have decided.
1) the past is past. Everyone makes mistakes, and even when we make the right decision that is sometimes going to hurt someone. If I had a time machine and the ability to go back and do some things from that time differently I might do so - make the transition easier, be more compassionate, I don't know. But it's moot - what's done cannot be undone. I am sorry that I hurt my ex-wife, I really am. But I am not sorry that the situation worked out the way it did. I may not have made the perfect choices, but I made the right choices for myself.
2) Continuing to feel guilty is a suckers game. I don't mean that I should forget that time because I don't think I shouldm but letting the decisions of the past crush the present and the future is a waste. For me to fail to make the best of the situation doesn't improve anything, it only means that whatever hurt I caused, whatever pain I inflicted, ultimately was in vain.
3) That said, it's better to know. I don't know what has become of my ex-wife in these last years. I can postulate scenarios all I want, but in the best way to resolve the situation is to find out. I have a website for her - I should contact her. Maybe not right this moment, but soon. Even if she wants nothing to do with me, despises me and hates me (and lets be clear - it is her right to feel that way if she so chooses) then at the very least I am letting her know I'm around so that she doesn't get blindsided by ME in the grocery store sometime.
So there it is. I have, in the past, done a bad, bad thing. But everyone in their past has done some sort of bad, bad thing. Maybe some people reading this will think less of me for this one, and it is your right certainly to do so. Perhaps you have been wounded by this sort of thing in the past and still bear the hurt. Perhaps your religious views speak out against what I did, and mark me as an immoral person. Perhaps you just grew up in Wisconsin.
Regardless, this is part of who I am, and I may as well accept it, integrate it, learn to live with it, and learn from it. I adore my wife. I wouldn't trade my relationship with her for anything. My ex-wife too retains a special place in my heart and I wish for her only good things and happiness. I regret, deeply, the hurt I caused her. But I cannot regret the outcome, except perhaps in some of the finer details of its execution.