One Hundred Degrees of Solitude
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“So, Sondra, why aren’t you
married?” Bonnie questions my back. There I am, lying unclothed on a bed,
needles poking all over me, getting an acupuncture treatment for sciatica and
related pains.
How can I answer? Her question
triggers feelings of discomfort, squirminess. But I don’t dare squirm with
needles poking out all over. Okay, yes, the squirmy came from inside, not
outside. Still.
I’m asked this question a lot.
Almost everyone I meet has asked me why I’m alone. Alone is not the norm. The
rule is two by two, right? Two birds, two bees, two elephants, two iguanas.
Adam and Eve.
Now and then, like when sitting on a bench at the Plaza
Friday night, watching the couples stroll, holding hands, young couples, old
couples, two by two, I ask myself that question, “Why am I alone?”
“It’s not my choice,” I answer. Yet,
it must be my choice. I am alone.
I like marriage, sharing joys and
sorrows, sharing. Life is not cakes and roses, at least not in my experience.
Going it alone is exponentially more difficult than pulling as a yoked team.
I’ve been alone many years. I’ve not
met a man I want to team up with, at least not after I’ve gotten to know him. Maybe
that street has two lanes. I’m awfully independent. I have opinions. Makes a
lot of men of my vintage very uncomfortable. So, let’s say no two of us have
met who want to pull as a team.
But maybe, that is begging the
question. I wonder if the question behind the question, is, “How can you do the
things you do, live in a foreign country, travel, do everything by yourself?”
Generally followed by, “Aren’t you
afraid?” Ah ha—the real question!
Now that one I can answer. Let me
illustrate my situation.
The rainy season started last week.
It was like Somebody drew a line on the calendar. Up to Monday, every day beamed
unremitting heat and sunshine, dry, dry, dry as dust. Then Monday night the Mother
of all Storms hit, drenching us with refreshing rain.
Every night the sky opens up, washes
and rinses and squeezes until the clouds are wrung dry. Most nights flashes and
booms accompany the downpours.
Last night the Grandmother of all
Storms visited, gifting us with an explosion of thunder that quaked the bed
beneath my back. I lay, holding my breath, eyes wide open, heart pounding, skin
tingling. Fear!
Lightning and thunder, these
mountain storms, don’t scare me. But at the same time, some moments are scary,
if you can see the difference.
That’s what being alone is like for
me. I’d rather have a partner holding my hand when life lights up the sky and
quakes the earth. But I don’t. I’m not afraid. But sometimes it is scary. If I
let fear rule my life, I’d never do anything. What? Sit and knit?
Bonnie, if you really are simply
curious why I don’t have a man, I could say, “I grew up old-school. Men seem to
not lack for partners and in today’s culture it is okay for a grizzled old man
to sport a teenage girl on his arm. I’m realistic. Nobody, young or old, is
knocking on my door, floral bouquet and diamond ring in hand. Maybe I want too much but I can’t imagine this
seventy year old woman going through life with a partner who does not, cannot
share similar life experiences. Now that would
be scary!”
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
June 23,
2016
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