It started at the age of 30. I secured my freedom on the road to becoming self-sufficient. The delicious thrill of being on my own, living, thinking and having time for me.
I was married at the age of 24. The first two years was stella. The last four years were like scenes from Dante’s Inferno. At the age of 30 with the help of my family and friends I escaped.
Twenty three years later, four degrees, one self-published novel, three successful seasons singing first Soprano with the New York City Downtown Chorus, and a supporting role in the Christian play “Oh Lord Why did I get Married?”
Hooray you say job well done.
So, why do I feel like a failure? Years of working three-part time jobs to pay for college and to keep a roof over my head. The end results I haven’t gotten that high paying dream career I worked so diligently to have.
I thought at this stage I would have a better partner to settle into a long-term loving relationship. Another pipe dream lost. The final blow I live in a state (New York City) where the landlord’s greed rules and even though everyone’s money is the color of green, if a person is white and can pay higher rent they are privileged to live in the best neighborhoods.
I am faced with making the choice of sharing an apartment after living in my own space for twenty-three years. I ask myself over and over, How can I co-habitate with a stranger? I am a clean freak, who likes a quite home, a peaceful home is important for me to keep my sanity.
OMG. The fear of seeing someone’s boyfriend coming out of the bathroom in his underwear. Someone eating my food or secretly going through my belongings. The real estate market is such that living on one’s own would require working a tremendous number of hours to cover the rent alone.
Today, I had an appointment at a roommate finders’ agency, the realtor asked me” what am I willing to give up to acquire a place where I can have all my belongings with me, and to make a fresh start.”
At this present moment, I don’t know how to answer that question.
What say you?
My son says, “Embrace the transition,” Well i say, ” excuse me for having a moment of insanity.” It’s been 22 days since I was ousted from my home of six years. I’ve never been without my own SPACE. I’ve relocated from one place to another but always to a place of my own for me, myself and I plus a pet or two. I’ve never had a roommate. The word roommate scares me and sends me into a place in my head that I don’t want to visit. I’ve lived alone for 23 years. It wasn’t easy at first this living alone. I was divorce at the age of 30 after six years of marriage. I made many adjustments like: learning to cook for one, how to sleep on both sides of the bed, to keep the mattress from getting lopsided. Eating alone and coming home to an empty house was the most difficult part of being alone. The bed is colder in the winter without the warm of that extra body. Over the years I had my own version of roommates’ dog, cats, three parakeets, a turtle named Franklin and a fish called bear.
I buried myself in establishing a career as an educator, developed my skills as a writer, playwright, and singer. Mother of one fabulous son and grandmother of three, at the age of 53, I can’t call myself homeless, but it feels like I am. A friend and her 24 years old fresh out of Boston College son took me in. So, what all the fuss? I have a good roof over my head, my own room with AC, close to the bathroom, and in an area of the house that is quiet. It’s only the three us, we have different schedules very much like ships passing in the night. It took me 10 days to unpack and to personalize the space I now live in. I can’t say home, I either say the space I sleep in or the place I live for now.
I feel like a caged bird. I miss lying across my sofa and channel surfing. I miss my weekend Saturday breakfast tray in bed and the afternoon nap. Or coming home siting in my favorite, big, black, leather chair and relaxing with a glass of Merlot and listening to Joseph Hayden’s Mass in the Time of War. I feel like I’m tip toeing around. I worry if I made too many trips to the bathroom, or kept the lights on too late blogging, reading and grading papers. As soon as I arrive there I would prefer to go directly to the room I sleep in, but not to seem anti-social I sit in the dining room and chat.
I have spent 23 years of my life living alone. Besides having the occasional boyfriend. I dwelled in my own space alone. My son says that I should embrace learning how to live with other people. He has a point. I just might end up with a roommate, I live in New York City and the rents are $$$$$$$$$$$$. Living with a roommate scares me more than living alone.
Stay tune for more…………………………..