I’m getting used to being alone.
And even as I think about that thought in my mind, I shy away from the word “alone”. I feel like it automatically makes me sort of pathetic. But I don’t fell pathetic. Maybe it’s just the word it’s self. I feel like there’s a negative connotation that goes with the word. That it means I’m less. It’s a weird thought though, because I don’t feel less.
I’m laughing as type this up because I can think of a few things that I am less of.
I’m less sad. I’m less lonely. Im less angry. I’m less afraid. I have less axiety. Less stress. Less tear soaked pillows. Less silent car rides. Less dirty looks when I’m having a bowl of Lucky Charms at 10pm.
I’m less worried about myself. Less worried how I’m viewed be others. Less worried about my worth. So if anything I have less of, it’s the weight of worry I used to carry.
One my most favorite books, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, talks about seeing the value of life in the small moments. Finding the good things in between life’s big moments. If you’re constantly scanning the horizon for the high points, you’ll miss out on so much.
The other night, I sat in my bed after my kids had fallen asleep and browsed my collection of photo memories my phone creates. And I’ve realized, I’ve created a good life for myself. I smiled to myself in my dark room, my face lit up from blue light from my phone, with my chest growing tight. Most of the montages I watched were from this last year. And most of my pictures were of happy kids. A happy me, with make up on and a smile on my face. We were in the keys, or dancing in the kitchen, petting horses, eating dinner together, dancing in hot dog costumes, singing at concerts, watching rainy days, riding in the car on the way to school, making shadow puppets on bedroom walls, or I was out having drinks with friends.
It’s not that I wasn’t paying attention before. I feel a lot more present in my life than I was before. I think that maybe just seeing those times clumped together, it kind of opened my eyes a little more to how much my life has grown in the last 20 months.
So, enough about the mushy stuff. Let’s get to the embarrassing stuff.
So, my daughter decided to wash her feet…in my bathroom sink. Even though there are two showers in the house, a hose outside, and a giant lake in my backyard, she decided my bathroom sink was the place to wash whatever calamity that was growing on her feet. Well, wouldn’t you know it, my sink caved in. Wanna know how much I know about putting a sink back in?
NADA.
But, Im winging this whole single parent thing, so off to Lowes we went. Do I know exactly what Im looking for?
Nope.
Do I know how to put apply the schmear I bought?
Nah.
Do I have any adult at home to help me? Again, no.
But I did it. I sat, struggling, yelling at my son to grab my book collection to stack underneath the sink to hold it up so the shmear I put on can dry enough to hold my sink up. I must thank my Hunger Games, collection, Bob Goff and Francis Chan for using their books as sink support. You da real MVP.
I woke up the next day, very excited because when I removed the books, my sink stayed up!
For about 10 mins. The shmear didnt dry all the way. I attempted to put it up again, but realized the reason it fell when the feet washing happened, was because there was a crack from the top along the rim. So I crammed my books back underneath the sink, applied more schmear and left it. That was 3 days ago. I haven’t taken it down to see if it worked. Can’t take that kind of disappointment.
Why do I share these little fails from my life? #1, cause I think it’s funny.
#2 It helps me to unload these little nuances from life and not be weighed down by them.
Sharing these real life, mundane dramas helps me to realize that this is my life. The beautiful orange and pink sunsets and the tacky sink schmear that I still have staining my skin, 3 days later. All of its good. All of it matters. All of it is grand and grimy. And I like it.
Being alone, while it may sound sad, and means I have to do things alone, doesn’t make me less. It allows me to branch out with my feelings and touch and grab and blindly reach for things and places Ive never reached out to before. Being alone has helped me grow and there’s a ton of perks.
Making out with a stranger at the bar a few weeks ago? Perk. Oh, but he was super cute though.
Working from home and not having to put on a bra? Perk.
Spending the day with my friends for a friendsgiving and watching while they get random pieces of their body pierced? Perk.
Eating Lucky Charms for dinner? Perk.
I’m done with the cloudy thought that just because I’m alone means I have less. I have gained so much in the last year of my life. Remembering the strangers I’ve met, the selfies I’ve taken, the memory of standing on the side of the road with my gf at 1am with a flat tire, drinking the most amazing purple drink and having the most amazing time on a date with someone new, bringing my very first orchid back from the dead, making out in the car, signing my name on the dinner checks that I pay for when me and the kids go out to eat, the times I’ve woken up with last nights mascara still on, the texts that make me smile and scream and kick my legs like a flipped over cockaroach, the warm snuggles on Saturday mornings under the covers from my daughter, and when my dogs are looking up at me when I shake the treat bag. All of it matters. All of its amazing. And all those experiences are mine. And they are mine alone.
1 Comment