Living Alone, Chapter 2

The trouble with living alone is that there's no one to stand between you and your loneliness - it must be confronted. Time and again I ask myself, What am I making this mean, that I sleep alone every night, that I watch romantic movies with no one's arms around me, that I feel this deep longing for a man's touch, a strong hand to simply brush the hair out of my eyes?

I'll tell you what it does not mean. It does not mean that I am unworthy or unlovable. It does not mean that there is something wrong with me or that I will be alone for the rest of my life. It doesn't even mean that I must change in order to be desirable, yet my fear makes me believe all those things and more. I stumble on the lies of a child too often made the scapegoat for a parent's misery.

I have spent the better part of 54 years polishing myself up that I might be acceptable, that I might be judged as worthy of love. Both of my parents have long been dead so there is no one to tell me if I'm shiny enough. No one but me. But, it isn't a matter of assessing whether or not I've proven myself, whether or not I've used enough elbow grease in my polishing. What is needed is simply the truth: I have only ever been human.

So, I will put down the jeweler's rouge and take a good look in the mirror. I will tell the truth about the woman I see there; I will say that she is an honest and caring soul. I will see and say that she is someone I appreciate, someone I want to listen to and walk beside. And when I do, I will know that it is enough just to be with myself.