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.

Living Alone, Chapter 1

As of Sept. 27 I've been living alone for the very first time in my life. There's certainly a lot to like about it: no one sitting in my favorite chair or turning off my music or eating the chicken I was saving for lunch. But, these are just the petty annoyances of living with another (a teenage child to be specific). The real joys of living alone for me are found in moments of deep thought and self-reflection, in blissful endorphin baths that I seem to experience only when perfectly and utterly in communion with myself, my whole self and nothing but myself.

I've made discoveries within and embraced new ways of being in the world at large. I've learned that in seeing and knowing myself I have also experienced loving myself, something that has eluded me for years. You can't just say, "I love myself," and have it be true. And it isn't enough to take good care of myself, to have strong boundaries, or to put myself first even; none of those things have ever made a difference for me. But, rather it was opening my eyes to see the woman I am, allowing my heart to acknowledge the truth, understanding that it is neither ego to know one's goodness nor humility to deny it - these are the changes I've made in myself.

These are my new choices and they have delivered the sweetest love I could ever hope to know.

Trust

Trust is such a challenge for me. I go along believing that I'm trusting someone or something only to find out that I never really did, that I had been silently waiting for the inevitable let down.

I want to trust, really I do. And I try to be open and friendly and even vulnerable. It doesn't require any courage at all for me to bare my soul to others; I can do it without blinking an eye. It's believing that it will make any difference in how open and vulnerable they are in return that is the problem here. And ultimately it's about trusting that they won't betray me in their effort to protect themselves from harm, real or imagined.

It doesn't feel good to admit that I don't have faith in very many people, but there it is. Maybe people are afraid to risk being themselves, afraid of being judged, rejected, belittled. I am, too, but every once in a while I try - I reach out my hand, my heart, my hope. Knowing how satisfying it is to connect with another human being on a truly intimate level, I cannot give up completely.

I know that to be accepted one must be accepting, to be loved one must be loving. Could it be that in my not trusting, I am not trusted? Is it true that my waiting for the let down actually precipitates it?

Have I not inspired faith that I can and will love you when you bare your own soul to me? Can I tell you now that I will, I really will? Is that enough for us to try?

Just Me

Last week I watched yet another movie about love, romance and the challenges inherent in being vulnerable with another human being. Toward the end of the movie, a band played "Let's Get it On" by Marvin Gaye and I, much to my own surprise, burst into tears. The song speaks to me of surrendering oneself to love and I cried for what is missing in my life, aside from sex I mean, something that has been missing for years. And then I wondered if it is so much missing in my life as it is missing in myself (this distinction being meaningful to me if not to you), missing not just from my heart but from my everyday be-ing. A long time ago, the promise of love was replaced by the threat of wounding and I have to say that I'm really tired of living like this, beneath the sword of Damocles.
I am reminded of that contemporary call to arms "Be the change you want to see in the world," …. or more aptly "be the change you want to see in your life." I want to see hope and trust and love in my life. I want to see those things in me, but more so I want others to see them in me. I want to take the time to allow myself to think and feel and act with integrity and passion, to act with presence and awareness; and I want to allow others to see me this way. No rush, no urgency, no fear. Just me.

Tears I Have Shed

Even though cast away, each tear leaves behind its own healing trail smoothing the way to the next level of self-awareness and wisdom, evidence of its role in spiritual alchemy. I wish it didn't have to be so devastating, wish the smelter's fire did not blind so thoroughly, suffocate so alarmingly, even in its brevity. And yet I know that it is exactly and only the incineration of all that has gone before that makes rebirth possible, the intense heat forcing the slumbering seed to rupture, releasing its long held promise of love in a singular and powerful burst of faith and surrender.