9 months ago
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Dispatch From A Velveteen Lined Rut
The stories I tell, and they're true mind you, would have any old body singing my praises as a woman who has cracked the code on the good life. And I would chuckle, nod and whole-heartedly agree. Except I don't really live in adverbs. And when I take the time to sit all by my lonesome, it is better described as hole-hearted.
Yes, I earn a semi-competitive salary, doing work that is creative and mostly dictated by me on a schedule that is flexible with a community of family and friends that make sure I can travel.
But any story is only worth the subtext. The secrets lining the vivid panorama are that I am often lonely for adult companionship. No, I don't mean getting laid. I mean a real partner in crime so I don't have to have exclusive rights and responsibilities to having my back. Or covering the costs required to make now and then happen. Being a single parent means you attend lots the family mandatory events but generally are not included in the extra curricular social stuff- the weekend outings, the summer fun. The good news is that my Dare Devil Daughter is a magical human being, so she tends to be included. The not so good news is that the feeling you remember from being excluded when you were 14 years old and couldn't help but internalize as a fatal flaw? It comes out of hiding when your favorite social media timeline reveals that you were not included in the most recent fill-in-the-fun activity.
And now our house is small so we won't really be hosting any get togethers. I get the feeling that the local moms (Dad's won't come within 10 feet unless their S.O. is in tow) find me amusing (I would) but don't consider ours a friendship worth pursuing beyond pick-up and drop-off overlap.
I get it. We are all taken up with having our lives and there aren't many resources for accommodating the skill of bringing on a third wheel. People like even numbers. Truth be told, it simply doesn't feel good. Then it gets overwhelming when I want to dream of a time when I am eligible for such camaraderie, or even the option to do it on my own and it occurs to me that raising a child on my own in the Bay Area working for a non-profit...means that we are just getting by and that sailboat or weekend cabin or mortgage are not likely.
Unless I work my ass off on the MIRACLE. Yes, I am an optimist and I believe. Except I'm exhausted and I'm suffering from short-sightitis and dog-ass-tired more often than not. I'll get over it. I'll get fit. I'll get the pages written. I'll get out there. My unicorn is looking for me just like i'm looking for him. Just not tonight.