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By wistful Date: 2004 Oct 16 Comment on this Work [[2004.10.16.01.43.10420]] |
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In six days, I will be 38. And I've had way too much time to think about this. As I watched the lithe young things stalking the streets of Tokyo in their too-tight jeans and high heels, their shagged haircuts and funky socks, I realized: I'm no longer young. But I'm not old. However, I am old enough, now, to see the years ahead may very well be without children of my own. At least, not from this tired, yet-barren womb. I never wanted to be a single mother, and I still don't. But as I realize I may never be a mother at all, I mourn that. That lost of potentiality, of a whole range of emotions, of highs and lows, which you can only experience through growing another soul inside you, and bringing this new light into the world. No, I'm not wallowing in self-pity. But I can take a moment to grieve before I dust myself off and face the future. Those girls in Japan make me feel big, and heavy, and tired. I lost weight just thinking about them, in a sympathetic attraction/repulsion response. But if that inspires me to finally drop the last 15 lbs I've been talking about for five years, or get to the level of fitness that I've always aspired to, so be it. I have the time now: no shows, no commitments, no relationship. Just time. The loneliness on those quiet nights on the other side of the world was bottomless. The ache I felt for my lost love! And lost not because he does not want to be with me. Lost because I could not be myself, and be happy, with him. So full of judgments for a Buddhist. Running away so fast as he professed his love. Those kinds of contradictions can be abusive, if they're aimed at you. I can't say I'm unhappy; I've lived life completely on my terms. And the world has been good to me. My friends are numerous, warm, and bright. Ha! I make them sound like twinky lights on a Christmas tree! But I'm blessed by whatever powers that be, and I am not ungrateful. I love to sing, and people are willing to pay to hear me. That's a wonder and a gift right there. My cats cuddle me at night, and when that's not enough, I have other friends who will cuddle me through the night. Good job, great home, a myriad of interests and time/cash enough to pursue them. But these anniversaries always feel like an inflection point, a reflection point. Where do I go from here? How will I grow? Where will I look for inspiration, inside myself, and in the world? How is my presence on this world contributing to the general good, and (perhaps selfishly) my own? Proudly self-involved, this reflection. As for a love... who can think that far. I check myself daily. Am I ready to look? No. Am I ready to think about being ready? No. I'm ready to just be myself, maybe. Not look, not press, not eagerly pursue a relationship to some semblance of permanence. I want to be shocked by my capacity for joy, contentment, connectedness, fulfillment, while here, on my own. And who knows? Maybe myself, more fully-realized, will prove to be the siren song for a true partner. And if not, maybe I won't mind a bit. |