Slipping into Sunday
After living alone for a month, I'm ready to deliver my verdict on the matter: It stinks.
Oh sure, there's independence and freedom. I can come and go as I want, leave dishes in the sink, even walk around naked if the spirit moves me. But the truth is that I want someone to know where I'm going, I always wash the dishes and I never walk around naked. Last week, the loneliness of being alone seemed to overwhelm me. Wednesday, I made dinner, straightened up the place, watched TV, went to bed. Thursday I made dinner, straightened up the place, watched TV and went to bed. I thought if life kept moving forward in such a predictable pattern, I would lose my mind. I can only cook so much and my apartment can only be so clean. Is this how spinsterhood starts? The elaborate meals for one served on a coffee table with Alex Trebek and three smart people as my only companions? Twenty years from now, will I be sitting in the same place, eating the same meal and wondering what happened to my life?
As the storm of loneliness brewed in my mind on Friday, I consulted my older and wiser sister for advice. "You need to learn how to be alone without being lonely," she said. I think my remark was something like "Right. OK. Like that's possible." I liked her follow-up advice ("buy a fish") better. But over the weekend, I couldn't stop thinking about being alone without being lonely. Can it be done? What could I do to make it happen?
Lucky for my sanity, I spent Friday night and all of Saturday in the company of some great friends, which took my mind off the fact that all I have to go home to at night is a tidy apartment and a freezer of food that begs to be boiled, baked or sauteed. When I went to bed on Saturday, though, I was staring down the barrel of a long Sunday alone. Just me. All by myself.
But somehow, Sunday surprised me with its pleasantness. It didn't bother me. I went to a church I attended years ago, and as I slipped into the pew, I felt clothed in the comfort of the familiar. After three years, the minister was still the same, the same couple sat in front of me and the same gentleman sat across the aisle. There were signs that time hadn't stopped—a graduate was honored that I remembered as a giggly junior high student—but the feeling of peace was still there. And I let it wash over me.
After running some errands, I treated myself to my ultimate Sunday guilty pleasure: sitting in the sun and reading while I listened to the baseball game on the radio. Then I took a little nap and went for a long walk around the beautiful streets in my neighborhood. As I walked and looked at patches of lovingly tended flowers and well-manicured lawns, I realized that this aloneness wasn't all bad. With any luck, one day I'll own a home of my own and my hands will be caked with dirt from my own flowerbeds. I'll have neighbors who will come over to talk while I trim weeds along my sidewalk. I'll have a dog to take for a walk. Maybe I'll even have a husband to drink tall glasses of iced tea with while we watch the kids play in the yard.
But right now, it's just me and I think I'm going to be OK with that. Sure, sometimes I feel like I'm going to be alone forever, but if Sunday is any indication, I can be alone without being lonely. (It's weird how older sisters are almost ALWAYS right!) I can enjoy daydreaming, meeting new people, doing new things. I can sit in the sunny side-lawn of my apartment building and enjoy the bright hues of May. I can buy cookies without worrying that someone else will polish them off while I'm gone.
I think the problem is that I expected my newfound independence to be an immediate success, something like jumping into a cold swimming pool--a moment of shock followed by hours of good times. Instead, the reality seems that I'm standing on the edge of the pool, inching in bit by bit. Like a long Sunday, its something I'm slipping into. It might take some time, but I think I can do it. I'll just keep trying until I can get the whole way into the pool. Until then, though, I'll have a very clean apartment.
Oh sure, there's independence and freedom. I can come and go as I want, leave dishes in the sink, even walk around naked if the spirit moves me. But the truth is that I want someone to know where I'm going, I always wash the dishes and I never walk around naked. Last week, the loneliness of being alone seemed to overwhelm me. Wednesday, I made dinner, straightened up the place, watched TV, went to bed. Thursday I made dinner, straightened up the place, watched TV and went to bed. I thought if life kept moving forward in such a predictable pattern, I would lose my mind. I can only cook so much and my apartment can only be so clean. Is this how spinsterhood starts? The elaborate meals for one served on a coffee table with Alex Trebek and three smart people as my only companions? Twenty years from now, will I be sitting in the same place, eating the same meal and wondering what happened to my life?
As the storm of loneliness brewed in my mind on Friday, I consulted my older and wiser sister for advice. "You need to learn how to be alone without being lonely," she said. I think my remark was something like "Right. OK. Like that's possible." I liked her follow-up advice ("buy a fish") better. But over the weekend, I couldn't stop thinking about being alone without being lonely. Can it be done? What could I do to make it happen?
Lucky for my sanity, I spent Friday night and all of Saturday in the company of some great friends, which took my mind off the fact that all I have to go home to at night is a tidy apartment and a freezer of food that begs to be boiled, baked or sauteed. When I went to bed on Saturday, though, I was staring down the barrel of a long Sunday alone. Just me. All by myself.
But somehow, Sunday surprised me with its pleasantness. It didn't bother me. I went to a church I attended years ago, and as I slipped into the pew, I felt clothed in the comfort of the familiar. After three years, the minister was still the same, the same couple sat in front of me and the same gentleman sat across the aisle. There were signs that time hadn't stopped—a graduate was honored that I remembered as a giggly junior high student—but the feeling of peace was still there. And I let it wash over me.
After running some errands, I treated myself to my ultimate Sunday guilty pleasure: sitting in the sun and reading while I listened to the baseball game on the radio. Then I took a little nap and went for a long walk around the beautiful streets in my neighborhood. As I walked and looked at patches of lovingly tended flowers and well-manicured lawns, I realized that this aloneness wasn't all bad. With any luck, one day I'll own a home of my own and my hands will be caked with dirt from my own flowerbeds. I'll have neighbors who will come over to talk while I trim weeds along my sidewalk. I'll have a dog to take for a walk. Maybe I'll even have a husband to drink tall glasses of iced tea with while we watch the kids play in the yard.
But right now, it's just me and I think I'm going to be OK with that. Sure, sometimes I feel like I'm going to be alone forever, but if Sunday is any indication, I can be alone without being lonely. (It's weird how older sisters are almost ALWAYS right!) I can enjoy daydreaming, meeting new people, doing new things. I can sit in the sunny side-lawn of my apartment building and enjoy the bright hues of May. I can buy cookies without worrying that someone else will polish them off while I'm gone.
I think the problem is that I expected my newfound independence to be an immediate success, something like jumping into a cold swimming pool--a moment of shock followed by hours of good times. Instead, the reality seems that I'm standing on the edge of the pool, inching in bit by bit. Like a long Sunday, its something I'm slipping into. It might take some time, but I think I can do it. I'll just keep trying until I can get the whole way into the pool. Until then, though, I'll have a very clean apartment.
1 Comments:
Whew, it's a good thing you said three smart people. If you had included Alex in that tally, then I'd really have to start worrying about you.
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