Lonely, Alone with Me.

The other day I was fixing something on our bike.  I say our bike, because Ziggy and I ride this sort of tandem bike; where a little tyke bike is attached to my big person bike.  As I was turning this screw, I negligently pinched my pinky finger and it hurt real bad.  I screamed (amazingly enough I refrained from explicative’s) and I ran into the house moaning.  Ziggy followed me, all concerned and as I was applying ice and cool water I began to cry.  Sob really.  And without really thinking I cried out, “this is why I want a partner!!  I am so tired of doing this all by myself!  I want help!!!”   The tears streamed down my face and this sort of deep sorrow welled up from inside.  And I looked at Ziggy, startled and I realized that no one was coming to save me.  No one was going to help me.  It was just me.  And him.  It was us.  And that is the way that it is.  How long it will be like this, I don’t know.  But it is this way now and there isn’t anything I can do to magically to change it.  I must accept this reality.  And it was then that I realized just how desperately I’ve been seeking a partner.  I haven’t been seeing my real reality at all.

I mean for a long while there I thought that if I did my hair a certain way, or if I dressed a certain way or if I lost weight or if I did just this or just that, that I’d meet him.  The “guy”.  And I know that there isn’t really any “guy” at all.  I mean, sure, of course, I’ve got to remain positive and believe that he exists some place out there in some other plane, some extended version of my truth.  But he isn’t HERE.  NOW.  I am alone.  Siddhartha (one of my favorite books, thank you Johnny) explained that when someone seeks, it often happens that his eye only sees the thing that he seeks.  He sees nothing and takes in nothing because he sees only what he seeks.  Seeking means having a goal.  But finding means being free.  Huh... find???

I walked to the beach last night.  I’ve been sort of sad lately as this realization has been sinking in.  As I walked, I cried and I thought about my life.  Am I having a mid-life crisis, really?  I mean, am I really doing that thing that 40-somethings supposedly do when they realize that close to half of their life is nearly over? Am I assessing my life for value and substance?  Scrutinizing my friends and acquaintances with a bit of spicy envy?  Comparing myself to others?  Judging my experience based upon the latest Comso or People Magazine spotlight on every day lives of the rich and famous?  Am I really doing this?  Really?

Yes I am.

You see, I am not like most people.  And sure, I know you are saying, well, we all are unique in our own way.  But seriously, when I look around at others in my immediate circle I see people with family living relatively nearby.  I see extended families who go out of their way to help each other.  I see best friends from high school arranging play dates for their children.  I see college sweethearts, heck, high school sweethearts pawing each other in the grocery store.  I see good friends who’ve known each other for a long time.  I don’t have any of that around me.  I am completely alone.  And to no fault of anyone but myself.  I created this reality.  Through a series of calculated and innocent acts of defiance I have virtually made myself completely isolated.  The only exception is Ziggy and well, he's not even with me full time.  

I have memories of me, being awakened in the middle of the night, sobbing in the corner of my dormitory hallway by some floor mate frustrated with the incessant noise.  What was I doing?  Crying because I was lonely.  What about the time I skinny dipped by moonlight at Moon Dunes Beach in Lake Tahoe, alone?  Or the time I camped out in a thunderous hail storm in the Sierras, again alone.  No, that time I was with a friends dog, Allagash.  Maybe it was my 30th birthday when I camped out in the woods near Lake Tahoe and burnt all my old journals.  Or the time I went to Eastern Europe, alone. Or the summer I spent on a survey crew in West Virginia where we lived in an old farmhouse with no running water or electricity and during the day I’d be totally alone for hours under the ancient wild cherry trees of Otter Creek Wilderness, high as a kite wondering what in God's name was the name of our crew leader.  Or in Argentina, a city of 13 million, again, alone.  Maybe it was the time I took a road trip across 10 western states, alone.  Or when I’d go to music festivals, with a bunch of people, but they’d find me, hours later, tripping out, dancing, alone.

Are we seeing a pattern here?  I have learned that patterns are inherent realities of nature.  They cannot be altered from their organic state, but they can be modified or disturbed in tendency and form.  Their substance remains intact.  Am I product of my patterns of behavior or am I a pattern in and of itself?  Was I sent here to learn the life of living in such a disturbing pattern or was I here to disturb this pattern that was set in motion?

And you know the worst part?  People have tried to befriend me, members of the church invite me to all kinds of events and parties and even just to hang out and what do I do?  I defer, I delay, or I discount the invitation as bullshit.  Why?  I will let you answer that because I think I am too ashamed to write down what I really feel.

The truth is I am 40 now and I am realizing that I have made choices and gone down certain roads in my life that have led me to these consequences.  I see that I have traveled far from my path of origin and those experiences, certainly have made me who I am today, but have left me far from my home.  I am uncertain how I will ever find my way back again.

Again, Siddhartha said, “we are not going in circles, we are going upwards.   The path is a spiral and we have climbed many steps.”

So, for those of you who read my blog and then actually see me in person, please don’t mention this blog.  Don’t apologetically invite me over for tea.  Don’t try and take me in like a lost stray cat.  I hate cats.  This is a cathartic experience.  Putting it all on paper and then releasing it off into the Universe.  For me, writing is sacred.  Just let me be.  Let me sit with this for a spell.  Let’s see what I find.