It’s my first weekend alone. Not my very first of course – although you might be surprised to know how very few nights alone I have had in my life. I know I was. I’ve never lived alone, you see. At times I considered it, but it just never seemed economically viable, so I always shared my accommodation with other adults. And then over the last 14 years I shared my space with the Bear and our children.
So, now the children are staying with their father, and I am alone. I walk outside to get my journal. The moonlight blankets the landscape like frost. A summer frost. It is late for me, after 10pm. After 12 months of waking up at 4:30am or earlier, my bedtime has grown correspondingly earlier as well. But I am not so hungry for alone time anymore, and it has been noted that being ratshit at 8pm isn’t particularly useful or necessary. Especially since the kids have got a good half hour or more of awake time left after that in these long summer nights.
So I am going to bed a little later and getting up a little later as well – and really, 5:30am is a much more reasonable time. While it is still before sunrise, the sky is lightened by its touch. In other words, it’s not pitch black, and I can actually see the path when I walk to my office.
So it’s just me. I don’t really know how I feel about it yet. I think I’m waiting for my emotions to coalesce into one or at most two nicely identified emotions, but the reality is quite different. I experience the full gamut of every emotion it seems, all day long. Take today:
- 5:30 a.m. I walk through mist and pearly skies with my black dog.
- Go to much loved local festive market early and alone (but not lonely let me tell you).
- Buy a perfect pair of black halter neck swimmers, boy leg, sooo cheap and many, many herbs and plants for my garden.
- Eat a huge organic doughnut while listening to funky ethereal music.
- Swim at the beach on my way home in my new swimmers and have a shower to wash the salt off.
- Come home to a cool, quiet, clean house – and a load of new sand in the sand pit.
This was a good morning, and I felt free and happy, strong, independent and brave.
Then there’s these ones:
- I catch a glimpse of my face in a mirror at the markets and see it all spotted from rosacea brought on by stress and think sadly, poor face.
- I run into a mutual friend at the beach with his kids. He asks me honestly how I am and asks if he can hug me. I nearly cry.
- The afternoon stretches on, hot and empty. I wonder if this is all my life will be now – dry and empty of life and love. Surprisingly, this thought does not fill me with great joy.
- I am confused and uncertain – what have I done? Is this the right choice?
- I am angry and resentful – it wasn’t in my life plan to be a single mother living in a tiny rural village. How dare this happen?
- I over analyse – when I am happy I feel guilty, and when I am sad I feel confused, and when I am angry I tell myself to shush.
Emotions flit past me, brushing me with their butterfly wings, but they seem reluctant to land. So maybe I’ll just sit here a while, long enough for those emotions to settle, and no matter what it is, I will let it sit with me a while, without judgement. You know?