Miss Being on My Own
Maybe I love freedom too much.
I love being and traveling by myself. No one to talk to. No one to distract me from the present moment. No one’s schedule, food preferences, and energy levels matter besides my own.
Five years ago I was the girl who couldn’t even go to a restaurant or the movies by myself. I hated being alone. In fact, I hated being lonely. I couldn’t be with myself. I didn’t like or know my own company intimately. I didn’t know what to do with it. I craved companionship, relationship and to be with people.
But then I packed all my shit into two suitcases, quit my job, dropped my half-boyfriend and started traveling solo and working remotely. That year changed my life.
Fast-forward to today where I am a married woman to the man I deeply love, we have a 4-month old baby and are settled down for a while in Australia. Today I crave time alone, time with nature, time with myself, my work, my soul.
We always want what we don’t have.
I forgot how to be alone. I sometimes miss making my own decisions on where and what to eat, places to go to and how many cigarettes to smoke. I miss lying on the couch in old pajamas (which my husband should probably never even see) stuffing my mouth with ice-cream. Lots of ice-cream and preferably three flavors at a time.
I miss hating the world by myself. Those specific moments when I felt betrayed and convinced that the world owes me something. Being sure that one day the world will pay for being so unfair. One day my savior will show up. One day justice will prevail.
I miss getting drunk (or high) on my own and thinking about all my past boyfriends. I miss smoking cigarettes just to see how much smoke I can get in and out.
I miss living by myself. My couch and I were best friends once.
Only my bedsheets knew all the dirty secrets buried in them. They would never betray me. I would pretend that washing them at really high temperatures next day would wash out all the regrets and my broken heart shreds that have fallen out piece by piece from these bedsheets.
I miss being single. Having the whole apartment to myself. Organising my clothes, shoes and being in my own mess. I miss bringing boyfriends home knowing that there would be no obligations the next day. Or actually risking obligations. Because, who knows, maybe he would be “the one?”
I miss drunk flirting. Damn, I even miss the occasional throwing up from too much drinking. I miss the hangovers. That’s how you know “it was all worth it.”
I sometimes miss getting lost. I miss discovering new places, new flavors, and new foods on my own. Without feeling rushed and guilty. Without having the intense need to share this moment with someone else.
I miss getting lost in designer stores and galleries for hours without noticing how time passes. Buying whatever the hell I want without worrying about the monthly budget or running any financial decisions by him. I miss buying stupid sh*t that I will never use and that amazing expensive pair of shoes “just because.”
I miss wasting money and living month to month on a paycheck. Oh, the thrill of getting that lump sum in my bank account… My palms getting itchy just thinking about all the things I would love to buy but in reality, couldn’t afford.
I miss talking to my glass of wine. I miss having girlfriends over and talking for hours about HIM. About Olga’s HIM, about Ksenia’s HIM, and about Naomi’s HIM. Because every girl has the right to be obsessed with HIM at any point in time.
Funny enough, that same HE doesn’t ever become your husband. Simply because you just don’t marry a man who breaks your heart in so many little pieces that even the best “heart vacuum cleaner” in the world won’t be able to find and suck them all in.
Simply because HE, who has wasted your time and your energy, was himself not ready. But wait… all this time and energy wasn’t actually wasted because it has gone into one of those yellow recycled bins for you to learn and grow out of this processed material. For you to understand that HE was just a mirror and all your tears were necessary to understand that you have been the one living in this false reality of “I’ll change him. I’ll wait for him to be ready. Just another week and he’ll wake up to the reality that in fact, I’m the best woman for him.”
(And oftentimes he does wake up to this reality only to realize that it’s too late.)
And if by miracle, you were indeed to marry HIM, eventually your paths would one day just go different directions. And then both of you would end up sitting on this crossroad deciding how to separate the remaining mortgage payments, pets and children.
So it’s better that way. When we all just cry and talk for hours about HIM and move on so we can learn, heal and grow up and, eventually, become emotionally free from men.
And this is when the true HE arrives in our lives. The HE who will cherish you and love you as you should be loved. Without restriction, without walls, without defenses. Just the full you. Because now you love yourself in the same way.
Ah, the mirrors. Thank you for showing me the way.
And while living a solo life is amazing in a way that’s only so amazing to a married woman, living solo leads to a path that is just that…
SOLO.
Eventually, you crave a union of hearts, bodies, and values. I don’t know why. I guess we’re wired this way.
You want to sleep curled up in his arms more times than you want to sleep alone. You want him to carry the heavy stuff more times than you have to lift it yourself. Simply because he can and he knows you’re fragile. Not in the weak sense fragile but in the sense that he knows you’re a girl and girls don’t do the heavy lifting. Some do but that would be a different kind of a relationship.
You want to feel protected by him more times than you want to protect yourself. How nice it would be to relax and know that no matter what, he will be by your side and he will take care of you, your children and your sanity if shit goes down. You know you can do it all on your own but why would you if HE, who asked to be the keeper of your heart, takes more pleasure and power in doing it.
You also want to make decisions with a partner more times than you want to make decisions by yourself. Simply because two minds are better than one. And because he has indeed wise points and additions into your thinking and perspectives that you never thought about. You want to come home from a hard day and have dinner ready and get some foot massage (and possibly an orgasm) more times than you want to do it on your own…
You want to share that cigarette and that wine glass with him. Your heart craves companionship and desires to create. A family, a home, a future.
But once in a while, rarely, even if you have all that togetherness, you still HAVE TO experience the solo lifestyle. Just to feel the difference. To see how great it is again. To buy that pack of cigarettes for $20 and smoke it with a delicious glass of wine ALL BY YOURSELF. Just because you can. Just because you’re free to choose.
And every time you come back renewed.
To go out with your single girlfriend and feel the attention of other men. To see it in their eyes and feel wanted. To secretly giggle inside from the fact that you still “got it” and only if they knew you have a 4-month old at home waiting to be breastfed.
Married life can somehow erase these emotions because we start taking it all for granted. That first smile. That first touch. That first night when I put on my high thigh stockings and my heart was racing so fast I thought it would jump out and run away and never return.
Being heartless is not great. Being a lost heart running through empty streets at night is worse. But you remember those moments, you hold on to them dearly and you try to recreate them in any way you can (preferably not only in your memory.)
But you also stay together because you notice all the things that are much better with him around. That life, in general, is much better more times when he is there to take care of you, figure things out and make you laugh. Just because you can feel his absence and you start missing it and you want to go back immediately.
And, if for any reason, you’re not missing him and you don’t want to go back… Then, we have a problem. Then, you should probably still go back but then pack your bags again to never return. Or you figure out why you don’t desire to return again.
Either way, the grass is always greener on the other side. It’s what we do with our lawnmower that matters.
I’m planning to go for some social salsa dancing next week (with a possible hangover next morning.)
Where are you going to take your lawnmower?
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