I’ve never lived alone.
Oh, I’ve lived in places, and in situations, for short periods of time, where it might be said that I was alone, but even then, I really wasn’t.
Obviously, I lived with my parents for the first years of my life, till I went to college.
Then I lived with a roommate, in a dorm, for the year & a half that I spent at college.
Then an apartment with 3 other girls for a handful of weeks.
When I left there, I went back to my parents’ home through the summer, until I moved to New Jersey for 2 months to live with a family as their nanny.
Until I found out I was pregnant with ElderDaughter, and, once again, moved home for a short span, until I could get a place of my own.
The remainder of my pregnancy, I lived in a small house that my parents owned. That is probably the only time most would call it living alone. But even then, I wasn’t really, because I was carrying another human being around with me.
Ever since then, I’ve always had kids, and lived with 2 different husbands at different times, for the different spans of our marriages.
Yes, my Onlyson still lives with me, at least until he graduates from high school next spring. But he spends a good amount of time with his father – most weekends, and the lion’s share of the summer.
So, you might say, this summer I’m practicing living alone.
And I can’t decide whether I like it or not.
I get to do what I want, when I want.
But I do it alone, with no one to talk to.
I can stay up as late as I want, and be as loud as I want.
But there’s no one to enjoy the fun stuff with.
I control the remote, and I can keep the house exactly how I want it. Things don’t get up and walk away when I leave the room. (Unless the cats decide to get ornery)
But there’s no one to share the chores with, I’m responsible for all of the work.
I can buy exactly the food I want to eat, and nothing else.
But there’s no reason to cook, because I’m eating alone.
The dog is always happiest when I come home.
But…I can’t share my day with her & have her tell me funny stories about hers. (The cats are whiners. They only bitch about the food bowl being too low, or why don’t I ever let them outside?)
I like being on my own, sometimes. No “Moooooommm! Mom. Mama. Mommy!” No demands & needs, no asking where this or that is.
But…no one to hug. No one to smile with. No one to cry with. No one to joke around & be sarcastic with.
There has to be more than this.