While visiting my dad and stepmom over Thanksgiving, my stepmom said something about how I've had "an interesting life." I can't remember what we were talking about that led up to that comment, but it was a nice compliment to get from her. I couldn't help, however, being both sad and happy at the same time. Happy that I've had some modicum of cool stuff to have experienced and tell stories about..... yet sad that the juicy, fascinating opportunities/experiences seem to be decreasing. My life has become....boring. When did that happen? I'm starting to wonder if this is why I rarely write anymore. Nothing intriguing or inspiring to write about.
When I was in my 20's, the world felt like my oyster. I was scared shitless when I moved to Chicago, but it was a pivotal turning point in my life....the Katie that took risks, adventures, and pushed beyond her comfort zone. I met people at school, at work, randomly online, randomly in coffee shops or bars, and through friends of friends. It felt effortless. I worked at a bookstore that included getting to work book signing/celebrity events. I worked at a methadone clinic helping hardcore heroin addicts try to overcome their nasty addictions. Through these experiences, I found myself always thinking about something and having a constant craving to write about experiences, ideas. There was a time I was writing daily. I had something to say on a regular basis, sometimes it was even inspiring or thought provoking.
What I don't understand is how different my life feels a decade later. It depresses me. Mainly because I feel like I'm in a world of neither here nor there. There's a part of me that loves the fun I had in my 20's, yet has different interests and priorities than I did back then. At the same time, I look around me and the majority of my family and friends are married (and now with children). I'm struggling to find meaningfulness in my life outside of work. The weekends come and go, most of which I spend by myself. No one really calls me or genuinely shows an interest in hearing what's on my mind (and there's SO much on my mind, if people only knew). Even when I spend time with others, most times I don't feel like they really see or hear me. It's more what I can do for them. It's hard to find someone who will genuinely listen, someone who really wants to know me on a genuine and deeper level. I feel completely disconnected from any intimate relationships.
I've never been so conscious of my singlehood as I am in my 30's. I am starting to hate being alone all the time. I am lonely. My birthday is in a few weeks and I'm not even looking forward to it....
When is it going to be my turn? Will it ever be my turn? I really don't understand. I'm pretty amazing, if I do say so myself. I'm pretty. I'm smart. I'm independent. I'm kind and caring. I'm witty. I'm friendly. Granted my life feels boring at the moment, but I blame this pretty much on the fact that Seattle makes it difficult for me to be the kind of social butterfly I was able to effortlessly be in Chicago. I wish I knew what to do to make my life interesting again. Do I need to move back to Chicago to get it back?!
I know I can't change anyone except myself. I'm just melancholy that I've tried so hard with making changes in my life this year and there's no one in this city with whom I can share it (friends and/or boyfriend).
I miss the feeling of being special to someone. I also miss the feeling of someone really wanting to know what I think about something. I'm still the ever intellectually curious person who just needs some inspiration and very much needs her 'interesting life' back.....
Showing posts with label being alone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label being alone. Show all posts
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Aloneness and the 'invisible'
Loneliness and aloneness may not necessarily go hand in hand. You can be alone and content. You can also be lonely and disappointed in a room full of others...or in a particular relationship. I don't know about anyone else, but when I was younger (and less wise than I am now) I falsely believed that the opposite of aloneness was the key to love and happiness....that in togetherness there could be no loneliness. So why is it that as an adult I see more loneliness connected to relationships than to being alone? Is it because society wants us to hold on to these skewed beliefs and keep us dependent on relationships to falsely 'fulfill' our wants and needs? I partially think so. But to what extent are our wants and needs truly being met when it comes to relationships vs. in aloneness?
The media, the government, religious dogma, and other social institutions indoctrinate us into believing that you cannot do it (ie, live your life) alone....and if you do, it will be a long and difficult ("lonely") road. As someone who lives her life 'alone,' I can attest it can be more difficult in some ways....BUT I also must add that I feel less loneliness by myself than I feel when interacting with or having relationships with others. It may sound strange, but the loneliness I feel when I'm in some way 'invisible' to a friend, family member, lover, or colleague is incredibly stronger than any kind of loneliness I could feel sitting in my apartment in my own company. What do I mean by 'invisible?'
"Invisible" is when you are communicating with or in the company of a friend, family member, lover, or colleague and not once in your interaction were you asked (from a place of thoughtfulness or meaningfulness) how/what things are going on in your life, your thoughts or feelings (about anything really), or your own wants and needs in life. "Invisible" is when the other person talks and talks and talks (usually about him/herself), not giving you a chance to contribute to the conversation or steer the conversation to something more worthwhile. "Invisible" is something I feel when others don't notice when I drop off the radar from time to time (ie, when I don't post anything online, call, or text). "Invisible" is incredible loneliness I feel when I'm upset and want to find comfort in a conversation with a friend, but the friend doesn't return my call nor comprehend the depths of my emotional pain to even bother responding. "Invisible" is how I sometimes feel being surrounded by people who are married and/or who have children when the spotlight is on married and family life (there's no opportunity to be in the spotlight when you're a childless, single woman in her 30's).
No matter how much quantity time we may spend with others we care about, how much of that time do we really see or take the time to really know (and furthermore, understand) the other person? How much of our conversations embody genuine intimacy, a peek into the essence of our deeper selves? When it is intimate, how often is there opportunity for the intimacy to be two-sided (both individuals getting a chance to share something about themselves)? It seems like there's too much 'blah, blah, blah' and superficial chatter. Most people have no problem 'taking' in their relationships, yet few can master the art of giving and listening.
As long as this continues to be the norm, I will continue to prefer being alone to being in the company of any lonely (aka "invisible") relationship.
PS....I absolutely love this video "How to Be Alone." This sums up (to me anyway) the positive aspects of being alone, perfectly and succinctly.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7X7sZzSXYs
The media, the government, religious dogma, and other social institutions indoctrinate us into believing that you cannot do it (ie, live your life) alone....and if you do, it will be a long and difficult ("lonely") road. As someone who lives her life 'alone,' I can attest it can be more difficult in some ways....BUT I also must add that I feel less loneliness by myself than I feel when interacting with or having relationships with others. It may sound strange, but the loneliness I feel when I'm in some way 'invisible' to a friend, family member, lover, or colleague is incredibly stronger than any kind of loneliness I could feel sitting in my apartment in my own company. What do I mean by 'invisible?'
"Invisible" is when you are communicating with or in the company of a friend, family member, lover, or colleague and not once in your interaction were you asked (from a place of thoughtfulness or meaningfulness) how/what things are going on in your life, your thoughts or feelings (about anything really), or your own wants and needs in life. "Invisible" is when the other person talks and talks and talks (usually about him/herself), not giving you a chance to contribute to the conversation or steer the conversation to something more worthwhile. "Invisible" is something I feel when others don't notice when I drop off the radar from time to time (ie, when I don't post anything online, call, or text). "Invisible" is incredible loneliness I feel when I'm upset and want to find comfort in a conversation with a friend, but the friend doesn't return my call nor comprehend the depths of my emotional pain to even bother responding. "Invisible" is how I sometimes feel being surrounded by people who are married and/or who have children when the spotlight is on married and family life (there's no opportunity to be in the spotlight when you're a childless, single woman in her 30's).
No matter how much quantity time we may spend with others we care about, how much of that time do we really see or take the time to really know (and furthermore, understand) the other person? How much of our conversations embody genuine intimacy, a peek into the essence of our deeper selves? When it is intimate, how often is there opportunity for the intimacy to be two-sided (both individuals getting a chance to share something about themselves)? It seems like there's too much 'blah, blah, blah' and superficial chatter. Most people have no problem 'taking' in their relationships, yet few can master the art of giving and listening.
As long as this continues to be the norm, I will continue to prefer being alone to being in the company of any lonely (aka "invisible") relationship.
PS....I absolutely love this video "How to Be Alone." This sums up (to me anyway) the positive aspects of being alone, perfectly and succinctly.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7X7sZzSXYs
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Lonely and Alone
My mom and I arrived in Chicago one late night in December 2001, a few days shy of my 24th birthday. I was struck by the lights that shimmered from the high rise buildings as we rounded the bend of Lakeshore Drive towards the Belmont Ave exit. Bitter cold, one's breath was visible with even the most minute exhale. After deciding on a studio apartment at 432 W. Belmont, we quickly unloaded my meager belongings. Mom helped with the process of unpacking and making apartment 304 resemble that of a cozy "home." We crossed things off our to-do list as we hopped on and off Chicago's buses and trains, which was a totally new experience for both of us. I remember being worried that if we didn't step on and off of the "el" platform quickly enough, the automatic doors would close in on us. I had never been on a subway train before.
On my birthday, Mom and I laughed about the drama that ensued between a cab driver and passenger as we ordered our popcorn before "Vanilla Sky." Bundled up in our coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, we sought refuge in my apartment and the heat that steamed from the old metallic radiator underneath my window.
Christmas was strange that year because it was just the two of us, but mom didn't want me to be alone. Neither did I. A big part of me wondered how I was going to manage this whole 'alone in the big city' venture I had boldly decided to undertake, as I was afraid to be alone. What if someone breaks into my apartment or robs me on the street? What if I get lost and end up in a bad neighborhood of the city? What if no one wants to talk to me or get to know me? I'm all by myself. What will I do? These were the anxious thoughts that ran through my mind. Yet when I waved goodbye to my mother as she stepped onto a bus the day after Christmas, I thought about times I have been alone.
I am the only product of what came of my mom and dad's marriage. My parents divorced before I could even form a memory of having seen them together. I have no recollection of them as a couple. It has always been Mom or Dad, not Mom AND Dad. As young as seven years old, I had boarded more Delta, American, Southwest and Northwest airlines by myself than any other kid I knew. Traveling from the northeast to hot and humid Tampa, Florida every summer, I would gaze out the window, read a book during flights, and chat with friendly neighbors on the plane. I impatiently awaited the long, dreadful layovers in big cities like Atlanta and New York City, but being served peanuts in a shiny airline package more than made up for it.
Bouncing from Chesapeake, Virginia to Panama City, Florida, to Kingwood, Texas over the span of four years, I had become almost a natural at the role of "the new kid in town." What if I get lost in the halls of the cavernous school? What if my classmates think I'm weird or not cool enough? What if I don't make any friends? What if I miss the bus?
I remember frequently feeling like I was always alone, even when I was surrounded by other people (including family). Sometimes I would stare out the second floor bedroom window of our home in Kingwood with tears welling up in my eyes, wondering when I wouldn't feel so alone anymore. .....Or was it lonely?
Perhaps what I was really afraid of that first night all by myself in the Windy City was not of being alone, but of being lonely. I had spent a majority of my childhood feeling lonely, but my twenty-four year old adventurous spirit was allowing me a powerful opportunity: I could be a strong, independent adult, alone without being lonely.
There's lonely and then there's alone. Chicago taught me there is a difference between the two.
On my birthday, Mom and I laughed about the drama that ensued between a cab driver and passenger as we ordered our popcorn before "Vanilla Sky." Bundled up in our coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, we sought refuge in my apartment and the heat that steamed from the old metallic radiator underneath my window.
Christmas was strange that year because it was just the two of us, but mom didn't want me to be alone. Neither did I. A big part of me wondered how I was going to manage this whole 'alone in the big city' venture I had boldly decided to undertake, as I was afraid to be alone. What if someone breaks into my apartment or robs me on the street? What if I get lost and end up in a bad neighborhood of the city? What if no one wants to talk to me or get to know me? I'm all by myself. What will I do? These were the anxious thoughts that ran through my mind. Yet when I waved goodbye to my mother as she stepped onto a bus the day after Christmas, I thought about times I have been alone.
I am the only product of what came of my mom and dad's marriage. My parents divorced before I could even form a memory of having seen them together. I have no recollection of them as a couple. It has always been Mom or Dad, not Mom AND Dad. As young as seven years old, I had boarded more Delta, American, Southwest and Northwest airlines by myself than any other kid I knew. Traveling from the northeast to hot and humid Tampa, Florida every summer, I would gaze out the window, read a book during flights, and chat with friendly neighbors on the plane. I impatiently awaited the long, dreadful layovers in big cities like Atlanta and New York City, but being served peanuts in a shiny airline package more than made up for it.
Bouncing from Chesapeake, Virginia to Panama City, Florida, to Kingwood, Texas over the span of four years, I had become almost a natural at the role of "the new kid in town." What if I get lost in the halls of the cavernous school? What if my classmates think I'm weird or not cool enough? What if I don't make any friends? What if I miss the bus?
I remember frequently feeling like I was always alone, even when I was surrounded by other people (including family). Sometimes I would stare out the second floor bedroom window of our home in Kingwood with tears welling up in my eyes, wondering when I wouldn't feel so alone anymore. .....Or was it lonely?
Perhaps what I was really afraid of that first night all by myself in the Windy City was not of being alone, but of being lonely. I had spent a majority of my childhood feeling lonely, but my twenty-four year old adventurous spirit was allowing me a powerful opportunity: I could be a strong, independent adult, alone without being lonely.
There's lonely and then there's alone. Chicago taught me there is a difference between the two.
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