Warts and all

One of my dearest friends and I recently had a long talk about something. What we were talking about was that place we come to in life when we wonder if anyone could ever love us, warts and all? She, however, is married to a great guy who does love her “warts and all.” She is also considerably younger than I am.

I was married to a wonderful man for 30 years. We had three children that we adore, and today, though apart, we are friends and love our grandchildren dearly as well. He has gone on with his life as well he should have and I have my own life here. It is perhaps more than a bit of an unusual life. I will be 64 at the end of April. I have had a lifetime of challenges that set me apart from the world and though today, healthier and better balanced than I ever have been, well, you know, one wonders what they might really have to offer, if their “package” might be paltry at best and a little too peculiar at worst? And the thing is, I’m not looking. But, well, you know, one does wonder.

And as I sit here with my pugs around me, snorfling and snuffling, and tenderly reach down to caress them, here at the computer with piles of books around me doing the work that is not only my passion but also my heart work, the work that I am dedicated to, have long been dedicated to, the work that really is woven so intricately into the fabric of my days it would be nearly impossible to separate it out, I wonder where another person could possibly fit? When do we come to that place in time where we actually say, with confidence and certainty, “Yes, I will spend the rest of my life alone.” Inasmuch as everything I have said above is true I also know that I’m not there yet.

Yesterday on Facebook a friend, who wrote that she “is a happy and proud single lady who plans to stay that way,” shared something that kind of took me aback.

“People who have been single for too long are the hardest to love,
because they have become so used to being single, independent,
and self-sufficient that it takes something extraordinary to
convince them that they need you in their life.”

That sounds terribly sad to me. I suppose I am self-sufficient because I have to be. I live alone and I love my solitude, my way of living and being and doing things, but I do, at times, get lonely. I don’t really think of myself as independent, which may be strange but there it is, and though the relationships didn’t last and a few ended badly enough to make me afraid to ever try again I loved being in love, loved sharing my life with someone else, loved talking over morning coffee, reading The Sunday New York Times together, watching movies, holding hands, and talking about our dreams. I have a very dear friend who is my oldest and dearest friend. She has a beautiful decades long relationship with her husband and I love to hear about the things they do together. They are an inspiration. I think, I feel, that I don’t want to live out the rest of my life without that, but I surely don’t know how to find it, how to integrate another person into this life I have, and would I really want to? And then there are the warts. And all. And it’s so easy to romanticize this sort of thing. Especially when I know that I have a lot more freedom and peace in my life than a lot of the women I know who would call themselves happily married but struggle with the fact that they never have time alone just to be. They have dreams and envy my life alone, but it comes at a great cost, I can assure you. What is the answer? I do not know.

I wonder if this is an existential quandary? “Crisis” feels too strong a word. But I am at a point in my life where I have been as if waking up from a long sleep, where I am trying to figure out who I am now and what my work is to be in the world. How could I not, also, wonder about this? I am not dead yet. I have feelings, longings, desires. People go on decades longer than where I am now and love, have passionate relationships, get married in their 80’s and 90’s. I think part of it for me is an insecurity born of financial insecurity. What do I have to offer? Many things, but not that. And it feels like I wouldn’t be bringing something of equal value to the table. I was not someone who would have ever “married for money” in the sense of joining with another person just so they could “take care of me,” in fact I gave up the only financial security I had ever known when I left my marriage. I would have to love deeply and passionately and sincerely, even if the other person had more financial means I would have to know that I, too, brought something of great value to the relationship. It is my nature to give, to love, to tenderly care for, to nurture. Is who I am, is what I have to give, enough? I feel very timid and shy just writing that. I fear that I could not ever be enough given my circumstances.

This is huge. This is far too much for one blog post on a Saturday afternoon, but there you are. These questions arise, when they do, because a whole human life is waking up at a time and a place and in a way that spans many areas, and one seeks answers in every direction. It is all so big it overwhelms me, it makes my head ache, but there you have it, it won’t go away. This post, I know, is a rhetorical question. I’m not sure there is an answer.

No, I’m not sure there is an answer, but I had to ask it, I had to put it out there. And so I have, and now I feel very alone, and small, and vulnerable. I think I need to stop here. Yes, that’s enough for today…