I am sitting here in the quiet of my own space wondering what in all the world I should do with all the spare time I have. You know, the time that stretches in front of me into the horizon of the unknown. I hadn’t thought there would be this narrow and dark void I would be walking along, not now when things should be settled, peaceful, and maybe a bit brighter than they are. But here I am, staring down a future that feels uncertain and frequently terrifying.
No one knows how many hours they have to spend on this earth, how many breaths they will take, how many “I love you’s” they will say or hear in their lifetime. No one knows how slowly the sand will run through the hourglass of their life or how each grain will be spent. The best any of us can hope for, we will be present and gather the grains of our misspent youth as lessons for a richer and better-spent
journey during the remainder of our lives.
This year I lost a sibling and a friend. I am watching as another friend slides into depression while another is gripped by dementia. I am struggling with these losses. This year, I have had to reconcile myself to the idea that some of my longest-lasting friendships have changed, even fallen away. I miss them, and some of this is my fault as I push myself deeper into my own spaces and my own comfortable isolation. I recognize my reluctance to create human connections for what it is, knowing that each time I try to step out, I feel judged, rejected for my imperfections, and sometimes used. I realize my trust in humanity is diminished by my history. Unfortunately, my recent experience with stepping outside hasn’t changed my mind.
So, I sit here in the space I have created for myself. The silence stretches endlessly except for the music I play to suit my mood. What I have noticed;
- When people call these days, they want or need something from me.
- My email is filled with requests for money or sales pitches.
- Potential lovers are not interested in more than themselves and their instant gratification.
Where does that bring me? Despite having spent my entire adult life taking care of everyone around me, I will be the only one to take care of me as I walk the last part of my life. It is daunting; it is a painful realization. Some mornings, when I have had a rough night, when I have had nightmares or seizures, when I haven’t had enough sleep, I resent the hell out of this prospect. Some mornings, I wonder how I got here, and then I consider all the ingredients poured into me and think, well, perhaps this is my portion. After all, I don’t come free of scars, bruises, and demons I dance with; it isn’t easy to get through my walls, I don’t let many know I might have a weakness or be vulnerable.
A decade after my divorce, I find myself staring down that road and saying this wasn’t the plan.
Unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned. Twice in this decade, I thought I had found that person who would stay, walk beside me, and partner with me as an equal. I was wrong; in the end, they were there for what they could get for themselves. At the end of the day, I was always wrong. Ultimately, I learned that broken trust breaks something inside of us that isn’t easily repaired.
So, don’t mind me. I am trying to reconcile what I wished for and what I thought my life would be with the truth, the reality of where I am. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect any of it. I resent it and am trying to create something different, but first, I have to learn to accept there will be no one beside me, no one to soothe me on a bad day, no one to help me walk through pain, no one to drive me in the dark, no one to hold me when I cry, no one to ensure I get through a seizure. It might take a bit of time to accept a reality I wasn’t expecting, but like everything else, I will get there; I don’t have a choice.
It’s hard when our realities change. When creating new expectations for ourselves, we must shift how we see our world and ourselves. So don’t mind me; I am just over here getting my head straight.
We all have those days when we simply want to stay in bed, pull the covers up and hope that the world will pass by quickly. Everyone has those days. Most of us don’t give in; we put our feet on the floor and get on with it, whatever it is. We know better than to give in to the inclination to hide from the world, no matter how much we wish for a day without the noise. We roll out from our cocoon of safety and plaster on an acceptable look of interest, even a smile, at the appropriate times throughout the day. We hide behind our walls of social acceptability and apologize to others for our moments of snappishness while inside, we howl and wail.
doesn’t do a damned thing for me, and your demand is just another powerplay that I no longer give a damn about.
It would be best if you minded your business. All these people with thoughts on how others should ‘look’ really do try my patience. It is no wonder I have retreated further and further into my introversion over the years. Yes, my hair is nearly all gray now. I stopped coloring it almost three years ago during COVID. I am sixty-five years old and have earned that silver for the love of all that is holy. I am not trying to fool anyone into believing I am ten years younger. As for the rest, why? That is an honest question, why should I wake in the morning to don make-up that does not make me feel better about myself, so others are comfortable with my public face? My one concession, I have tattooed eyeliner; it saves me time. As for the rest of my tattoos, why does anyone need to express an opinion? First, I love my art; second, some of my art covers scars that I found far more offensive; finally, all of my art tells the story of my life. I have tattoos to help me heal, but it is, frankly, no one’s business. Why do people believe they can judge and speak their judgment? All I can say is mind your business, walk in my shoes, spend even a week in my life and then talk to me or just shut the fuck right up.
him, I think he cares that we speak to him at all, that we have a relationship and come with our hearts open, even when we are afraid, or angry, or hurt. I speak to God, I also pray. These are separate things and possibly misunderstood by many. When I pray, I do so in private; I pray for those I love, I pray for those who need prayer, who need healing, who need to be lifted up. I pray for patience and grace for myself because I do not have much of these things. I greatly resent those who would tell me how to speak to God or pray; you do it your way, and I will do it mine. Thus far, God has not sent a lightning bolt to smite me for my irreverence.






































