The Singleton Inquisition first came for me while I was shopping for skis at a Seattle sporting goods store. I was 29, and just out of a seven-year relationship, a breakup that precipitated a move from New York City back to my hometown.
A handsome outdoorsman with a full head…
When my husband proposed to me, I was 49 and never married. He was 57 and a widower. While the content of our lives would fuse, mingle and blend, one thing would remain the same: my name.
I always thought there was something a bit mutton-dressed-up-as-lamb about a middle-aged woman…
Today I’m fully vaccinated. Watch out world, here I come!….
(I wish you could hear how loudly my husband is laughing at this.)
As it turns out, I’m putting my toe very tentatively, slowly, warily back into . . . what exactly? — normal life? No. Gathering with people indoors…
When I was about five, I’d sit in front of a mirror and stare at myself. Stare and stare and stare at a small brunette body sitting on the floor in front of a full-length mirror that ran the length of a bedroom door. …
We’re all the same person, walking and wandering home —
look, the eaves how they slope into the cracked streets of
our neighborhoods. Cars drive over them — honk honk —
to hospitals and offices, to restaurants and airports.
Small bodies slip into the world; more bodies roar out
Consider, for a moment, these ordinary British phrases:
“Fancy a coffee?”
“Fancy dinner this weekend?”
“Fancy a run?”
Here in America, where I live, these questions would be posed differently. Watch the leads:
“Would you like to get coffee this week?”
“Are you free to have dinner on Thursday?”
The second time I lived in New York City was short. Seven months compared to the previous seven years. I left for good in 1996. Between those two residencies, I spent three years living in Seattle, with all those trees, lakes, mountains, and accessible recreation. …
If I could just accept myself for who I am. If I could just accept him/her/they for who they are.
Oh, the longing to be someone better — but consider:
What do we really want from a state of acceptance?
What does not accepting give us that is so hard…
In my mid-40s, when I was still single after many years of being single; when I continued to hold a Never Married status in a society where people pair up and marry, I often turned to the big scratchy question of Why?
Why was I single? Was I not circulating…
It starts like this: a sunny Monday morning, the birds chirping, the air crisp, a fun weekend over my shoulder, a day filled with promise.
Then I go and ruin it.
Why? Because I spend too many hours wondering:
What to do? What should I do right now? Next? Writing…