The Queen died yesterday while I was at yoga. My heart dropped when I heard the news even though I'm not a fan of the royals. The last time I cared what happened to them was when Princess Diana lost her life in a car wreck. I sat on the stoop of our pink shotgun double - the house where my son was born - Times Picayune in hand, stunned. If things had gone better with Charles, would Di now be Queen?
Yesterday, I was thinking about dying myself. The day prior I was once again blindsided by a man. After our third date he texted to say he thought me beautiful and loved to spend time
with me. I wasn’t physically attracted to him then. After one more date and my sending him an essay he asked to see, something shifted, and he lost romantic interest – at the very moment I started to see him in a new light. I remember thinking, “I could really love this guy.”
I think he had started seeing someone else before our final date because I wasn't available the weekend he texted his attraction. Not knowing, I began to ideate on all the things we would do together, a lovely new world of not being alone.
When I figured out that Henry and my feelings were not in sync, that my fantasies had gotten the better of me, my heart dropped into my belly. I had to sit under the trees outside my office and just be. The loss felt unfathomable: unexpected, hurtful, a repeat of other stunted relationships since my divorce over six years ago.
In these moments, my solitary state feels highlighted as if that’s all I am – a container of loneliness. I talked to a couple friends and my sister on the phone and texted with my ex-husband. He’s the only person who checks in on a daily basis and I am grateful.
Yesterday my mood upon waking was scary. A hangover from being dumped the day before. While walking the dog I concentrated - as much as possible - on the luxurious 75-degree breeze and the quality of light on newly blossoming shrubs celebrating the end of summer. All of which reminded me that another birthday, winter, and holiday season are around the corner, and I am without a partner.
Last year I met Ramon after my b-day and we were able to feel somewhat coupled by Christmas, but six-months in I couldn’t wait for him to get his mess out of my house.
Sometimes it seems I fare worse and worse with age. Or my options are worse. Or the world is worse. I can feel so disconnected that there seems to be no remedy. All the hours of meditation, therapy, and growing older appear useless.
At yoga yesterday I didn’t even have it in me to make eye contact – much less chat - with the woman on the mat next to mine. I am generally shy, but when feeling loved, I become another person. I wanted that relaxed, laughing person back - please I thought, "Let me trade this tight tense body for something soft and supple."
And then, when I got home from class, I was driven to write. Some instinct made me stop washing dishes and pull up a blank page on my computer. I melted into the couch as the joy of self-expression renewed me. I rediscovered my fearless nature on that page; understood that when talking to friends or chatting up men online leaves me flat, I have an inner source of healing.
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Today I woke with a clearer perspective. After vacillating yesterday, I picked up my phone this morning and unmatched Henry (with just a tad of retribution!). As I made my way through the early hours, I understood without fear my vulnerabilities...
Refilling my weekly pill organizer (emblematic of a body which a hundred years ago would likely not have lived to the ripe age of 62 due to its delicate genetics), I noted I should get the regular woman’s multi and not the over 55 version because I need the extra folate and iron.
A greying former beauty, I remain as vain - and clueless on to how to find a man - as ever. It feels demeaning to take dating apps seriously, and pointless to go to bars where I will certainly attract an alcoholic.
How does one act one’s age when one’s age is passee? When the younger generations are running the world? I understand now why my mother at 72 said she barely recognized humanity. It was no longer her world, her apple.
When death is closer than birth and it costs big bucks to maintain a semblance of youth, how does one seek love with dignity? Queen Elizabeth never found herself in this predicament, but no doubt she would have handled it with aplomb.
I haven't danced since the shut down in 2020. At least not on a regular basis. It gave me pleasure but also anxiety. Would I be asked to dance? Would my dancing measure up? Generally, the answers were yes, but not always.
I keep trying however, hoping an outgoing eligible gentleman will show up on the river trail, at meditation, yoga, or in a writing class – those places most dear to me. Wouldn’t that be grand?
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