Alone Together

Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash

I’ve spent much of my life dreaming of meeting the man who would be my life partner. After hearing stories of people who “just knew” and found “the one”, I anticipated the day when I’d meet that one person who would change my life. 

I wanted someone who believed in me, challenged me, and made me better. 

I wanted someone who saw the good and the bad in me and loved me anyway.

I wanted to be chosen by someone who I chose back.

I remember a coworker telling me when I was 25 years old that “life didn't start until I had my kids.” I’ve heard countless people say their spouse “makes them a better person.”

And I’ve wondered when I’d meet the person who would make me better. I questioned how long it would be until I was “at my best” and “my life truly would begin.”

I imagined how great it would feel to be loved unconditionally. Binging TV shows and cooking dinners together. Having someone to talk to about my day, vent about work, or confide my fears in.

I desired someone who made me feel loved and who made me feel seen. Someone to laugh with and cry with. To be my champion through this crazy thing called life that no one really told me would be so hard at times. 

To find all of this in a life partner, to be wholly and completely comfortable with someone felt like a warm fire I craved to curl up beside.

In nearly four decades on this Earth, I have never found that long-term in a romantic partner. I could make excuses, share possible reasons why, or crack jokes to deflect the fact it’s never worked out.

But here’s what I have found to be my truth.

Nearly everything I had hoped to find in a husband I have found in my friendships.

I have people in my life who see my ugly and choose to keep showing up for me anyway. I have people who check in on me, challenge me, comfort me and see me.

I have found incredible humans also uncoupled, and their single statuses normalize mine – I feel more at peace and a sense of calm knowing I’m not alone.

I have a neighbor who turns my AC down when I’m about to come home from a long trip away without me ever asking. When I walk into my apartment and am greeted by a cold rush of air, I can’t help but smile and feel loved.  

My other neighbor joins me for morning yoga or runs around our local park, holding me accountable for taking care of my body and making healthy choices.

I spend most summer nights on the weekend at the local drive-in with another friend, eating popcorn he brings in old blueberry buckets from the Farmer’s Market, nestled in the back of my Subaru or in chairs out front as we enjoy a movie on a giant screen under the setting sun.

My neighbors pop in and out of my place for a host of reasons, making my one-bedroom apartment feel more like a home bursting with its own unique family.

And one of my closest friends shows up to make my favorite meals when too much time has passed since we last hung out, and together we laugh until our stomachs hurt in a child-like joy that makes me feel fully and beautifully alive.

It’s nothing substantial or fancy, but it’s the combination of a million little things that give my life meaning. All around me others are walking alone and yet for this moment – we’ve merged together and I’m grateful to be in synch.

The things I longed for in a husband I realized I am not missing out on in my life - it just looks a little different than I’d thought it would.

It’s like instead of having a single steady source of income, I have multiple revenue streams coming in throughout the month.

In place of physical intimacy, I have friends I can openly grieve with. They help me shoulder the loss of the potential and possibilities of each failed relationship. They ease the pain of futures imagined and erased before they were ever realized. They share their discomfort of facing life alone, of grieving a life of possibilities we’ve yet to meet.

For years my greatest fear has been dying alone. When asked this question, others have said spiders or speaking in public or snakes. Since my early twenties, my fear was never experiencing a life with a family of my own. A life of growing old with the love of my life to share it with.

But recently that fear has subsided. In its place is a calm and comfort quietly replacing it. It’s a recognition of the love I have for myself. The love I feel from so many around me.

The days I thought would be filled with changing diapers and helping with homework have been replaced with card nights and weekend adventures with friends who feel more like family.

I know how it looks today can’t last forever. That in the grand scheme of things, sooner rather than later, one of us will embark on a different journey. A new path. A different direction. A relocation to a new state. A purchase of a home. Finding a forever love.

I know the space I occupy with those around me today is likely not permanent like the love of a marriage or my own family.

But I’m learning to stop looking so far ahead. To shift my focus from what life could look like years from now if nothing changes to allowing myself to soak in the present. And I find myself just grateful for exactly where I stand, even if it’s miles from where I thought I’d be.

I am humbled by this chapter in my life. For the community of friends and incredible single women I’ve come to know.

So many people associate being single with being alone.

Truthfully, in this moment, I feel the furthest thing from alone.

Because at the end of the day, I’ve found a community of people are experiencing life far differently than they’d imagined.

And we’re making each other better. We are living big, beautiful lives that have already started.

We are alone, together.

And it’s a truly beautiful thing.

Photo by Lucia Macedo on Unsplash