Here is a thing for which I am having difficulty finding words, so I am writing as swiftly as possible so as to not cloud things by trying.

We begin with an anecdote, some identifiers altered to protect their privacy: a friend of mine, an on-line friend, whom I have known for approximately two years, is getting a divorce. Her husband left her. On Christmas eve. In October he confessed to having had an affair of approximately fourteen months duration, which had slipped under her radar because he travels for work. They wept, embraced, he swore to give up the other woman for good, swore he would seek help for his depression, he was a changed man, they would attend couples therapy, their love would stand this test. Their pre-teen son, who has a neurological disorder, claims to understand his dad’s choices; I do not, in light of what happened next.

What happened next happened two days before Christmas. The husband slipped up, was caught calling the other woman on his cel in the garage. My friend sat in the car with him and asked him to please choose. The next morning I got an e-mail: her husband had agreed to end the affair. He’d chosen his family! Their home, their dog and ferrets, their kid. My friend was in tears of joy. It was the best Christmas present she could have imagined, she wrote.

Yesterday evening, another e-mail. I opened it this morning at work in cheerful anticipation, expecting news of the reconstruction, of their happy Christmas together. Instead I read that he had indeed called the other woman on the 24th, as requested, but had come back into the bedroom and said, “It’s over. I’m leaving.” And began to pack a suitcase. Confusion reigned: “You’re leaving… me? Us?” For it was so. “You can’t ask me to pick. That only means I love her more for not making me pick.” He took only the contents of his suitcase. “Are you coming back for the rest?” “No.” He even insisted on leaving his car; they waited an hour together in the living room for the cab he called.

My friend is an evocative and talented writer; I felt her grief, anger, and betrayal as she described sitting there in front of the TV waiting for the cab to come and end their marriage. There was no scene, no tears or accusations this time. That was around noon. Nani and Nana (on her side) were expected to arrive around three, driving in from just across the state line. My friend declined to describe the time that had passed between her e-mail and that terrible hour of waiting – how had she dealt with his sudden absence at Christmas? Explained it to her parents? What had their child thought? Did she pack up his stuff? I can only imagine. She merely asked me to send good vibes, since she knows I don’t pray.

I haven’t yet responded, though when she reads this she will know that I’m thinking about her, and what happened, with the greatest introspection and anxiety. That there is nothing I can say to express the depths of my concern, or my admiration for her grace and fortitude.

And so what has happened to her has changed something small but significant inside me, much like the death of a friend or the death of an ideal. My new year’s resolutions seem, well, petty now that I have been so rattled by her disaster. They seem silly, juvenile, untenable, in no position to better my life or my constitution. And they make it painfully clear that I am to a ridiculous degree sweating the small stuff, rather than putting any thought into the my own small and strange existence.

So, I wipe my long list of petty new year’s resolutions off the slate, delete them from my USB key with the racecar sticker on it. Instead I resolve to keep in closer touch with the people who mean the most to me, rather than sending them one-liners on Facebook. I resolve to lay off the things least hip to my wellbeing, both mental and physical. And I resolve to do my damndest to let the small annoyances in life roll off my back, since it is becoming increasingly obvious that there are bigger issues in the world and I may be better prepared to survive the traumas of life if I go in with the right mindset.

Who knows, maybe I’ll make less of a gong show of 2009 with a shorter list of resolutions, though they may be harder to keep. Any improvement over my lousy attitude in 2008, right?