Being Alone

My husband and son are going camping this weekend, at the Great Sand Dunes National Park with the boy scouts.

I have a confession. I have not been alone for a weekend for . . . oh, about 17 1/2 years.

Sure, DH (Dear Husband) has been gone for a week here and there, but I had a child to care for, so--not alone.

I’ve never really had a problem being alone. As I was growing up, I cherished the time spent alone reading in my room. I thrived once I graduated college in my own apartments. I moved to Virginia without knowing a soul, made friends, and loved my job in theatre. I moved to Mississippi without knowing a soul, set up an apartment, and happily worked my job in theatre. I moved to Indiana and ended up being alone, and eventually that was fine too. These moves never seemed unusual to me, they were just part of life. I made friends in each of those places. Some are still with me, some stayed with me for a while, some were gone the minute I left town. I enjoyed the adventure, the challenge.

Sometimes I miss the adventure, but I don’t miss the moving. The point is, I was used to being on my own. It’s amazing how easy it is to loose that feeling, without realizing it. I don’t get a great deal of alone time now-a -days, just a few hours here or there. But an entire weekend?

I’m still not afraid of being alone. I will admit that my Parkinson’s provides me with certain physical and mental challenges that are making me a bit nervous. My rational mind knows I will be okay, though. I have several books to read, a blanket I am trying to crochet (I have 2 1/2 squares done), movies to watch, friends coming over for lunch. Also, remembering how independent I used to be inspires me for this weekend.

Strength comes in so many forms.

Everyone, in my opinion, needs to learn to be alone. It’s a skill, one I think I need to refresh. You need to take time to be alone and at peace with your own thoughts, your own patterns, your own hobbies. You need to learn to care for yourself (as best as you are able), to know yourself and love yourself for who you are. Without that, how can you live your life with someone else?

There is a play called “Talking With”, it is a series of monologues. One is called “Marks”. It is the story of a woman who did everything in life that she was “supposed to”, and her husband got bored and left her, saying she had nothing left to give. So she started going to singles bars, until a man that didn’t get his way cut her face. It was then, she says, that people started to notice her. So she decides to wear her life on her skin, and starts getting tattoos. Each one reminds her of someone or sometime in her life. This is the way her life has marked her. She ends by telling us to let your life mark you, because sharing and interpreting these marks is what we call love; when there are no more marks to share, the love is gone.

Don’t be afraid to be alone, to take time to be by yourself and discover who you are. Don’t be afraid to let that time mark you. Let life mark you.

Salud.

Kathie