What I feared the most is turning out to be an amazing gift
There are moments of real happiness that I didn’t expect to find. In fact, many moments.
Sitting in the Hollywood swing under the crab apple tree, my face dappled with golden sunlight, a bowl of fruit on my lap and my little dog contentedly lying next to me.
Making myself a salad with tomatoes we grew at home, organic greens, fresh mozzarella and black olives.
Going to the pantry for a second huge cookie made with real butter, fat chocolate chunks and macadamia nuts, enjoying every bite and not feeling guilty at all.
Going for a last walk at 9pm under the stars, the night air still warm from the day, made even more special by knowing that warm nights are numbered. Fall is lingering in the air, and it’s coming closer every day.
Reading in bed for way too long.
Having to take my time in the morning with making coffee, using the only available coffee apparatus I can find in the kitchen: a French press. The process of boiling water, spooning fresh coffee grounds into the press, letting the boiled water cool for 30 seconds, slowly pouring the water into the press, letting it sit for 4 minutes before slowly pressing down is oddly soothing. I do little else but wait for the coffee to brew, inhaling the beautiful aroma that’s filling the kitchen, one of my favourite smells in the world.
I drink the first delicious cup while reading a couple of blogs, and then I get dressed and take Lily for a morning walk.
I love mornings. The world is still quiet, everything looks fresh, there are few people out and about and you can think undisturbed. I’m always most creative and hopeful in the morning, simply happy to be alive.
But I keep forgetting about the magic of early mornings. At home I have fallen into a habit of sleeping later and later, whiling away the hours in bed instead of getting up. There’s no reason, it’s just a bad habit – but one that I have a hard time breaking.
I remember talking to a friend who used to have a husband working away for two weeks at a time before coming home for two weeks. She absolutely loved it. It was the best of both worlds: having “your person” (to quote Meredith Grey) to share life’s happy and messy moments with – but also having lots of time for yourself. I nodded and smiled and thought I understood, but now I know that I didn’t.
You have to experience it for yourself.
I have never lived by myself. I went from my parents’ house to living with roommates during my college years to moving in with Richard. When I went to Wales by myself for six months at the age of 24 I was living in a hotel room, which was the closest I ever had to living alone, but not quite the same as living in your own house.
Now, at the age of almost 39, I live for the first time in a house that’s mostly my own (my roommate is the one working opposite to me, so whenever I’m working she’s off and out of town) – and I enjoy it way more than I ever thought possible.
I was afraid of living alone. I love being married, I love Richard, and I love our place. Having all that cut down to 50% instead of 100% was terrifying. And the first few rotations were rough. The day before leaving home is rough. The Monday after Rich leaves is rough.
But I’m learning to love it in a way I didn’t expect. Being responsible for no-one but you (and a corgi) is incredible. It feels positively decadent! I like only taking care of a small house instead of a large farm. I plan small outings every day to fill the time after work, like returning empties, dropping off the recycling that has accumulated in our little house, buying small amounts of food that fit in one bag, making a special occasion of going for coffee by myself, a trip to the library, a little stroll through town.
I spend most of my time by myself, and I find that I like my company. I like dreaming and making up stories in my mind. I like eating by myself (something I didn’t know before!). I like creating my own routines.
Life feels slower but also in sharper focus. The colours are brighter, food tastes better, and my restlessness is slowly easing up. I’m getting calmer.
I’ve been living in a daze all summer. It was filled with people, and whenever there were no people, I lived in a stupor. I stopped doing the things I love doing, I’ve developed bad habits, I got lazy. I didn’t live on purpose. When you are in a long-term, loving and comfortable relationship, it’s shockingly easy to do. You stop making an effort with your appearance. You rarely plan special outings with your partner. You feel like you deserve to rest after you have achieved your life’s dream and have nursed your husband through the longest illness of both your lives. But the rest has turned into lethargy, the sweet relief into restlessness, and the pleasure of doing nothing has turned into a pain.
I wanted to shake myself out of it, but I couldn’t do it. My depression came back stronger than it has in years. I was drowning.
None of this is my husband’s fault. It’s not another person’s responsibility to make you happy; you have to find it in yourself. In fact, he is the consistent factor in my life that always makes me happy; I just needed to find my own source of happiness again.
Turns out, what I needed was change. A change of scenery, a change of my habits, and a swift kick out of my comfort zone (that had gotten quite uncomfortable). I needed to be shaken awake – and now I am. There is a thrill to discovering new places, new faces, and most of all – myself again.
I know that I need to be busy in order to stay sane, but knowing and doing are two separate things, unfortunately. Once my active nature has ground to a halt, it’s incredibly difficult for me to get going again (as I’m sure you know from personal experience). Maybe that’s what life is all about: figuring it out over and over again.
Being in this new, heretofore unknown living situation is turning out to be exactly what I need: a chance to face my demons, to be uncomfortable enough to make some changes, and to come back to myself, better and stronger than before.
Change is good, my friends!
xoxo Miriam
In case you missed it:
A tour of my She Shed is up on the blog!
I shared Richard's and my Enneagram types - they are so accurate. (I'm a 4, he's an 8)
My monthly round-up is also up: August was a lot - really glad it's September.
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Vol. 57