Falling rain outside my window but all in all I know
It's gettin' better every day
Soon the sun will shine through my window, when it's gonna come
You know I really couldn't say
But I know it's gettin' better everyday
--Gettin' Better, Tesla
When Glenn and I first separated, one of the things I knew I'd miss most was intimacy. Not sexual intimacy--the universe, as well as everybody else in the world, knows we haven't had that kind of intimacy almost since we got together (sex does NOT equal intimacy)--but everyday couple kind of intimacy. I knew I'd miss sitting next to Glenn on the couch, nestling my body into Glenn's in bed at night, going grocery shopping with Glenn on Sundays, walking the dogs with Glenn afternoons and nights, making dinner together, making decisions together--making life together. I knew, every time we separated, that if we stayed separated, these were the things I'd most miss.
On top of this knowing, there was worry. I worried not only about the absence of the intimacy Glenn and I shared, but I worried about the possibility of never finding that intimacy with another person again. I worried that I would be forever by myself, destined to trod the earth lonely and sad. I looked at single people that I knew and I wondered how they could stand it--being alone, in my opinion, was the worst thing imaginable. I just didn't understand how anyone could do it or why anyone with the ability to not do it, would.
My sister, for example--let's look at her. She's been separated from her husband for about five years, and in that time, at the time of Glenn's and my separation, she'd dated one person briefly. I would question her all the time. Wasn't she lonely? Wasn't it awful not to have someone? Didn't she want somebody to do things with? And she would answer me, no, it wasn't awful. She could do what she wanted when she wanted. She had friends. She wasn't alone. And I would think, God, I don't know how she could stand it. Eating alone, watching TV alone, sleeping alone. I would think to myself that just for the reason of not being alone, I would stay with Glenn forever.
Well, you all know how that turned out.
Maybe this behavior is normal for newly single people, or maybe it's just me and my afraid-to-be-alone anxiety, but when Glenn and I first separated, I looked at almost every guy in existence as a potential replacement. This one was kind of cute, that one was kind of smart, this other one was pretty funny, and that other one was awfully nice. Every guy was scrutinized, evaluated for keep-Kelly-from-being-by-herself material. It was ridiculous. It was pathetic. It was exhausting. Somehow, though, over the past four-and-a-half months, I stopped looking and started living. And I didn't even know it until today.
Today, the being alone thing? I don't really mind.
Today I was out grocery shopping by myself. For years and years Glenn and I did our shopping together--first Target, then Whole Foods, and Publix next--and when I started going by myself, it was devastating. The grocery store(s) was definitely one of the places I felt the absence of Glenn the most. I'd walk up and down the aisles at Publix, looking at the bottles of barbecue sauce we'd read all the ingredients for, the artificial sweetener he bought instead of Equal, the guy at the seafood counter who Glenn said I had a thing for, and I'd miss him so much. I'd listen to the eighties music they play in my Publix and think about how I used to tell Glenn they should turn the lights down low and blast the music at night, making grocery shopping a club-like experience and people would love it. I'd push the cart by myself, cross the items on my list off by myself, and I'd sulk and feel sorry for myself and feel so horribly alone.
Today things were different.
Today grocery shopping by myself was just that. Grocery shopping by myself. Just like last night going to bed by myself was only that. Going to bed by myself. It wasn't a call for sadness, it wasn't a call for depression, it wasn't a call for wanting to slit my wrists. It was just me going to bed with my dogs and myself.
Today I realized that what I've realized over the past four+ months is that being alone isn't so bad.
Today I realized that being alone is better than being with someone who makes me feel alone.
Today I realized that for the first time since I was four, I'm not interested in anybody--no crushes, no coveting, no diabolical schemes.
Today I realized I'm just a girl with two kids and two dogs living her life.
Today I realized I'm actually going to be okay.
It's gettin' better every day
Soon the sun will shine through my window, when it's gonna come
You know I really couldn't say
But I know it's gettin' better everyday
--Gettin' Better, Tesla
When Glenn and I first separated, one of the things I knew I'd miss most was intimacy. Not sexual intimacy--the universe, as well as everybody else in the world, knows we haven't had that kind of intimacy almost since we got together (sex does NOT equal intimacy)--but everyday couple kind of intimacy. I knew I'd miss sitting next to Glenn on the couch, nestling my body into Glenn's in bed at night, going grocery shopping with Glenn on Sundays, walking the dogs with Glenn afternoons and nights, making dinner together, making decisions together--making life together. I knew, every time we separated, that if we stayed separated, these were the things I'd most miss.
On top of this knowing, there was worry. I worried not only about the absence of the intimacy Glenn and I shared, but I worried about the possibility of never finding that intimacy with another person again. I worried that I would be forever by myself, destined to trod the earth lonely and sad. I looked at single people that I knew and I wondered how they could stand it--being alone, in my opinion, was the worst thing imaginable. I just didn't understand how anyone could do it or why anyone with the ability to not do it, would.
My sister, for example--let's look at her. She's been separated from her husband for about five years, and in that time, at the time of Glenn's and my separation, she'd dated one person briefly. I would question her all the time. Wasn't she lonely? Wasn't it awful not to have someone? Didn't she want somebody to do things with? And she would answer me, no, it wasn't awful. She could do what she wanted when she wanted. She had friends. She wasn't alone. And I would think, God, I don't know how she could stand it. Eating alone, watching TV alone, sleeping alone. I would think to myself that just for the reason of not being alone, I would stay with Glenn forever.
Well, you all know how that turned out.
Maybe this behavior is normal for newly single people, or maybe it's just me and my afraid-to-be-alone anxiety, but when Glenn and I first separated, I looked at almost every guy in existence as a potential replacement. This one was kind of cute, that one was kind of smart, this other one was pretty funny, and that other one was awfully nice. Every guy was scrutinized, evaluated for keep-Kelly-from-being-by-herself material. It was ridiculous. It was pathetic. It was exhausting. Somehow, though, over the past four-and-a-half months, I stopped looking and started living. And I didn't even know it until today.
Today, the being alone thing? I don't really mind.
Today I was out grocery shopping by myself. For years and years Glenn and I did our shopping together--first Target, then Whole Foods, and Publix next--and when I started going by myself, it was devastating. The grocery store(s) was definitely one of the places I felt the absence of Glenn the most. I'd walk up and down the aisles at Publix, looking at the bottles of barbecue sauce we'd read all the ingredients for, the artificial sweetener he bought instead of Equal, the guy at the seafood counter who Glenn said I had a thing for, and I'd miss him so much. I'd listen to the eighties music they play in my Publix and think about how I used to tell Glenn they should turn the lights down low and blast the music at night, making grocery shopping a club-like experience and people would love it. I'd push the cart by myself, cross the items on my list off by myself, and I'd sulk and feel sorry for myself and feel so horribly alone.
Today things were different.
Today grocery shopping by myself was just that. Grocery shopping by myself. Just like last night going to bed by myself was only that. Going to bed by myself. It wasn't a call for sadness, it wasn't a call for depression, it wasn't a call for wanting to slit my wrists. It was just me going to bed with my dogs and myself.
Today I realized that what I've realized over the past four+ months is that being alone isn't so bad.
Today I realized that being alone is better than being with someone who makes me feel alone.
Today I realized that for the first time since I was four, I'm not interested in anybody--no crushes, no coveting, no diabolical schemes.
Today I realized I'm just a girl with two kids and two dogs living her life.
Today I realized I'm actually going to be okay.
