I’m weird, one of my best times for getting inspired to write is during housecleaning. I think it’s a procrastination thing. I wasn’t planning on posting, but I checked my comments and one made me think. Then I started doing the dishes, and snap, crackle, pop, a memory kicked in, and next thing you know, I sat on down and got crackin’.
It’s not until you’re single and you’re all right with it that you finally realize just how much of society is centered around fitting in and joining the club — getting married, getting laid, getting validated. Society pats us on the back when we find ‘someone’ and if we’re single, we’re told to look at ourselves and find what’s wrong with us, not what’s wrong with them.
Maybe, just maybe, we’re fine. Maybe, just maybe, they’re not good enough for us. Maybe, just maybe, we’re holding out for something better.
I’ve come to learn the hard way that being comfortable with being single is one of the biggest challenges we can face. It’s so easy to run into the arms of someone “who’ll do” instead of toughing it out alone. It’s so easy to stay the course of least resistance in a relationship that doesn’t deserve your commitment. Getting laid is a breeze, if you set your sights low enough.
We’re scared of being alone. I remember my mother breaking down in tears several months before her death, before she even got sick, when she accidentally got stinking drunk (the first time I’d ever seen her drink more than a glass or two of wine) on my birthday and was throwing up and was horribly hung over the next day. I took care of her, cleaned up after her, washed her vomit-stained comforter, and anything that needed doing. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “I’m not scared anymore… I’ve been so scared that no one would look after me when I got old and sick, and now I know I don’t need to worry about that.”
I think we all ultimately know that fear. God knows I’ve been intimate with it.
We’re a tribal society, despite how uncivil we can sometimes be to each other. It’s our heritage, our legacy. We’re in it together… so being alone is something seemingly incongruous to human nature. But we need to know we’re able to handle it, and so few of us ever really try to learn if we can.
We sometimes fail to see how much society conditions us to need the approval of others – from report cards as kids, job reviews as adults, and every fucking time we use our debit cards, it’s all about getting approval. When you’re single and alone, who’s there to give it to you? Who’s there to tell you in the night that everything’s going to be all right?
You. Just you. Me. We’re self-contained, but everything about our society tells us we’re not. It’s a struggle. It’s hard. Never underestimate the difficulty of going it alone, but also, never ever underestimate the wonder of making it work. There is nothing more rewarding than that night when you realize there’s no one in the world that could make you feel better than you feel right then, right there.
Loneliness will always find you, though, but it will always leave you, too. It’s like a tide. It ebbs, it flows, and you just need to find the rhythm.
Tag Archives: not lonely
Christmas Night Musings of Aloneness, a la Bridget Jones
(Ed. Note: In my semi-drunken/contented state last evening, I wrote this and spontaneously published it without editing it. I awoke, and suddenly thought “what have I done?” and then saved as draft, suspecting I might’ve been too open. I’ve since received some very thoughtful, considerate emails, which leaves me thinking I should keep it up… although I’m not too comfortable with that, but it’s really great to get comments like those. Thanks. If you interpret this to think I’m really lonely, then don’t — I’m not. I’m just aware of my aloneness, and that’s an altogether different matter. Without further ado…)
Steff is drunk. Why, a Christmas tradition, no? GayBoy and I get together each Xmas eve to drink, and eat, and be merry, and to watch an “anti-Xmas Xmas movie.” What is that, you ask? A film that contains Christmas, but is not about it. For example, Gremlins, Die Hard, etc. This year? Bridget Jones’ Diary.
Some days, I feel like Bridget Jones. I belt out alongside classic “Ain’t you lovin’ me yet” type songs, just like Bridget. I flap my lips and say the most inappropriate things at the worst times, oh, so fucking often, really. “Flippant” is an adjective which often precedes my name. I have gotten into boatloads of trouble for saying what occurs to me in each and every job I’ve ever held. I watch cheesy films, drink a little (much), and sometimes wallow in my singleness. I often deliberate before a date about whether it will result in getting laid, and whether I should wear the sexy panties, or the “granny” panties that will hide my figure under my clothes, but be oh, so unattractive should said clothes be peeled off in a heavy makeout session on the floor.
BJD is one of those “time of the month” classics with obscene insights into the single girl. I remember working in the bookstore, and whenever someone was looking for a gift for a 25-40ish woman, I’d simply open the book to any random page, scan it, read a short snippet, and presto, sold. Why? Because it’s true. Because as many good things there are about being single, there’s ultimately something shitty about not having a warm body next to you in bed. That’s not pessimism or cynicism, it’s realism. There’s something blissful about having warm skin within reach when you’re under the covers, and we all know it. That smell, that feel, that knowledge… it’s all so very good.
And there’s no worse morning to wake alone than on Christmas, as Armistead Maupin wrote in his San Fran classics, Tales of the City. But you know what? 24 hours passes, and it’s Boxing Day. Presto, life goes on.
Although there’s nothing I want more than to not be single right now, I have to say, I’m all right with it. I’d love to wake up on Christmas with some 6’+ god of sinewy pleasure lying next to me, with an orgasm on order, but there’s something appealing about rolling out of bed on my own, to a hot bath and a pot of coffee, and not one iota of bullshit to deal with, lazy clothes at hand, and the ability to be my “worst” self on a day that really deserves laziness.
You all read this blog for whatever reason you’ve found to be here, and that’s great. Welcome to it. I write it for my own reasons. In a lot of ways, this is a journey to a new place for me, regardless of where I’ve been before. That place isn’t really something I’m comfortable sharing as of yet, and I’m proud that I know where to draw the line when it comes to divulging the secrets of Steff, despite my quest to become vulnerable at will during this past year.
I’m caught up in the spirit of what I consider to be this season, that of self-reflection, but also, that of willing change — what with New Years and its resolutions fast on our heels. While I’ve been reflecting plenty on here of late, there’s been far more screaming in my mind that I’ve kept to myself, and will continue to do so, for the short-term, at least.
Whatever the stressors, whatever the frustrations, there’s something unforgettable that I love about this season, single or not. I love the feeling of being conscious of my values, of knowing my wants, my needs. I love the spirit of giving that comes this time of year. I’d love to share that giving in every way with a man who deserves a little getting, but since I can’t, I’ll have a hot bath instead, and maybe indulge some dirty thoughts I’ve been nursing.
And y’know what? That’ll be just fine.