(I'm not posting Loverboy. That song was played ad nauseam in 8th grade.)
I used to go out constantly, including weeknights. I belonged to running clubs, softball teams, kickball teams, wine tasting clubs, beer drinking clubs, book clubs, film clubs, participated in fundraisers and festivals, and acted in countless plays. I had so many interests at one time and pursued every one of them diligently for over two years.
I was trying to fill my life with meaning by filling it with a flurry of activity--both intellectual and at times obtuse, and as time wore on, I found myself less and less stimulated by all this activity. These events were usually coupled with drinking and drinking establishments. The novelty of being that connected was quickly dissipating.
The truth is, I was trying to avoidl loneliness and panic--I admit it, and was desperately trying to find my place in the world. Being out with people meant I was in demand and therefore my life mattered. I recall much of it being mundane or at least repetitive, and I know now that's because I was not committed to the moment.
There could be many reasons I was not really present--I was worried about my problems, I was thinking about other people (person), I truly was not stimulated by my companions, or perhaps I realized that I was simply partaking in escapism when what I was craving was meaning in my life, essence.
I made a conscientious effort to let go of excessive social engagements in early 2008 as an effort to find my most authentic self. I decided that finding the essence required careful observation and selection, and that taking in too much at once would result in saturation of experiences, where no one experience was meaningful. I also decided to go this journey alone.
"Solitude is at least as important as fellowship."
I found that quote in a newspaper a long time ago when I was in my early twenties and a newlywed and taped it to the wall over my desk. (It hung over my Brother word processor that I bought from Service Merchandise.)
The funny thing is that back then I read it as an excuse to be alone all the time and live a sheltered life. I was alone most of the time because I was living in a new city--one that wasn't exactly a place known for its stimulating night life or arts scene (Salt Lake City), at least at the time, and I really didn't know how to go out and do things. I had just gotten out of the military where all I had to was open my door, and I'd have friends down the hall and things to do aplenty, especially when stationed in a foreign country.
My husband worked nights and weekend nights, and a big part of me felt that I shouldn't be out having fun while he was working, but another part of me would wonder if that was just an excuse to not overcome shyness and social anxiety. I didn't feel cool enough, educated enough, or interesting enough to be meeting the kind of people who interested me. They were better dressed and going to college and fixing up apartments in old houses. I wasn't happy. I was living in social fear and not leading the life I had imagined I'd have when I was little girl--poetry readings and music and loft parties and garden parties.
The years wore on, and we moved many times, from the west to the deep south to the midwest and back to the deep south and back to the midwest, and the next thing I know I'm in my late thirties, and my marriage had ended.
And all of a sudden I wasn't afraid anymore, or rather, I no longer let fear dictate to me. I had no time to be afraid. Time was ticking. The truth is, I was desperate. I had to get my life back. My twenties, my thirties that I spent on the outside looking in, or rather, on the inside looking out, as it were. Like that D.H. Lawrence story "The Rocking Horse Winner" and the social-climbing mother: "There must be more money. There must be more money."
Except for me it was "There must be more life. There must be more living." I often thought of the lyrics from the song "Little Miss S." by Edie Brickell & New Bohemians about the tragic empty-souled coquette:
"You've got a lot of living to do with that life."
So for the latter part of my thirties and early part of my forties, I tried to live life to the fullest by cramming full every moment of every day and night.
After a few years, it seemed I didn't even have the energy to even try to get excited about my outings. I was no longer in the moment. I might have been living, but I was somehow not living my life. I was living the ideal of how I thought life should be: Parties + Popularity + Importance = Living.
Forcing myself to stay home at night would force me to be alone and probe for that authenticity my life was missing. It was my deliberate first step toward not just living life, but living the life I was meant to lead. One in which I could be in the moment. It might sound like I was right back where I started, but I wasn't. My solitude was deliberate and grounded in belief instead of fear.
I used the time effectively and purposefully.
I joined an expensive gym. I went to classes most days of the week and most weekends. I rewarded my efforts with spa sessions--not manicures and massages but hydrotherapy, saunas, and steam baths.
I joined Netflix thinking that good cinema would entice me to stay home, and started renting, you guessed it, subtitled and indie films and gritty cable shows. (My faves are Treme, The Wire, and Six Feet Under.)
I started writing plays. And that changed my life forever.
I dated. A lot. Usually with disappointing results.
I made new friends, but mostly acquaintances, whom I would quickly lose to attrition.
I started attending events alone. And meeting new people at those events, many of whom were traveling artists and who would have a profound effect on me.
I discovered indie music. And that changed my life forever.
I traveled alone to romantic, exotic, and potentially dangerous countries, and met adventurous, fascinating, and romantic people. (And some potentially dangerous people.)
I chalked up some good, lasting memories with people I cared about.
I did road trips to nearby cities with my running group.
I reunited briefly with my ex-husband, which healed wounds that I feared would never stop festering--wounds I feared I would constantly have to numb by constantly being active.
I gave up dating for a very long time. I embraced not only being alone but being single. More importantly I began to see myself outside this dichotomy of single or coupled, and saw myself as my self. And that changed my life forever.
And one day, when it was the last thing I was looking for, love came knocking on my door.
And when it did, I had this amazing life of my own that was ripe for sharing.
Sharing. Not giving up.
I didn't give up my life. And I didn't give up my solitude.
My life now is as much my own as it is my relationship, and I cherish both, but lately I am realizing just how vital it is not only have but to cherish my personal life. I have to take care of my life. Treat it with respect and gratitude, even Mondays, even Tuesdays in February, even late Sunday summer nights when I can't sleep. I choose not to dread weekdays and don't do the countdown til Friday. I felt that such sentiments amounted to hating about 5/7 of my life!
I see my partner only on weekends. We have wonderful times together. But right now I want to talk about a different kind of love life, and that is simply loving life.
Mon-Thur nights belong to me, and I love them. I protect them. I choose carefully for them. I work hard for them. I do not share them unless it's for a very good reason--a really good concert or a really good friend.
After work, I go home and walk my dog, which gets my blood moving, especially on cold days when I'm tempted to hibernate, or rather---hiber-eat! (Being supremely lazy and eating junk or quick food.)
Then I go to the gym and do a class or two (Spinning, Body Pump, Pilates, Ripped, Zumba, Kickboxing), or go swimming, run some laps, do some cardio. On nights when I have lots of time, I'll follow the workout with a long session rotation in the jacuzzi, sauna, and steam room. This is the biggest treat I give to myself. Sometimes I really don't want to work out, but I'll motivate myself with the promise of a sweat lodge, where some initial discomfort becomes an exercise in focus, a meditation, and an amazing sense of well being. Afterwards, it's a cold plunge and a warm shower, and it's as good as intoxication for me, even though it must be just the opposite--instead of taking toxins in, I'm releasing them all through sweat, and in my meditation I also release negative thoughts that crowded my day. Instead of intoxicated, I'm untoxicated.
When I get home, I cook dinner for myself. Dinner used to be Tostitos and wine or beer at the height of my social days. I now make a point to actually cook something for myself, the same way I would for a guest. If I don't prepare healthy and appealing food for myself, then I am telling myself that I am not worthy of the treatment I give to others. I must treat myself at least as well I treat others.
One of my goals was to cook more dishes this year, and I've been experimenting and reading up on nutritious foods. I make fish, salmon croquettes, salads with homemade dressings, chicken, pasta, quinoa, freekah--all manner interesting foods from Saraga International Grocery. Going into that store is like going on a field trip!
After dinner, I clean up, then check email and websites, and check out new bands to book, then settle down watch something on Netflix--usually an indie movie or a show from cable--then I write, sometimes I pick up my guitar, and then I get in bed and read. I won a Kindle at a work function last year and always have two-three books going.
Lately, I've been on a rock-bio kick. I read Shawn Colvin's Bio Diamond in the Rough. Then I read Sting's Bio Broken Music, and Tori Amos' bio Piece by Piece.
Puzzlingly, I recently finished Got the Life by Fieldy, who is the bassist for Korn. This is puzzling because not only am I not a fan, I can't name a single song by them nor do I have any friends who have ever mentioned being a fan. How did I choose this book? I guess I like books about addiction. Now for some reason I am reading My Cross to Bear by Greg Allman.
(One thing about leading this authentic life is being honest. I like my indie and subtitled movies and the symphony and literature but I also love books about rock stars who climbed to the top, screwed up their lives, then got a better life...hmmm, I'm sensing a theme.)
I still try to stay connected to my world even on my precious me-days. Sometimes, it's dinner with a friend, a sneak peak of a new movie, a jazz club (we have a really good one called The Jazz Kitchen), a poetry reading, an indie concert, or a trail run with my running club. I guess you could say I sprinkle these activities like sugar--and know just the right amount.
A big part of my socializing in the past was drinking. I let go of much of that. A big part of my nightly routine was enjoying a glass of wine, as a ritual, as a token of gratitude for a day well spent. But it seemed more an more that one glass became two and two became three, and at three, I am no longer actually sober.
Since the first of the year, I've kept no wine in the house. Some nights it's a bit of struggle, but most nights I'm okay with just a little mindset. I especially crave it when I make an especially good dinner. I've even extended the no-drinking to some weekends, and I feel good about this. In all these rock bios I'm reading, the one thing they all agree upon is that alcohol and drugs do not make you a better writer--they make you a worse writer and performer.
I didn't really start drinking until after I was divorced. I found that while under the influence my social anxieties disappeared. And in time, I found that the alcohol wound up obfuscating whatever good memories I was so desperate to create in the first place.
Being in the moment means being sober and aware. It's something I need to do, and doing it for myself makes me feel good about myself.
Now, what is missing? I don't play guitar enough. It's the one thing that I really love, the thing that might be my biggest thrill of all, and I don't do it. So I had to make a goal and write it on a calendar. Feb 28. It's a Thursday. I'll know five chords by heart and will play them in lightning quick succession, not like I do now. E....20 seconds later G....14 seconds later D....11 seconds later C....14 seconds later A. It's written on the calendar, and I'm writing it here, so it has to happen, otherwise, I will be saying to the world and myself that my dreams are not worth pursuing. Now I don't have big guitar dreams other than be able to play well and write some songs.
My only complaint about weekdays these days is that there are not enough hours in the night for all the fun things I want to do.
On weekends, I still prefer to be out and about, seeing friends, going on trail runs, going on camping trips, going to or hosting dinner parties, going on road trips, seeing films, plays, concerts, and galleries, going to bonfires and barbecues or swimming with friends, going on long bike rides, and going to festivals.
At least two weekends per year, I sequester myself in my study. I come home from work Friday, change into gym clothes, go to a class, then come home and make a big pot of cabbage soup. Once it gets dark, I light some candles in my study, turn on some instrumental music, and I start writing. And I don't quit writing until I have a draft. I stay up all night. I turn off my phone. I don't check email. I leave the house only to walk my dog. This cabbage soup/writing weekend is now an official part of my process, and I look forward to it with each new script. It's just one of those things where I feel I am truly taking care of my needs, even if it means ignoring everyone and everything else in my life.
"Solitude is at least as important fellowship."
It means something completely different to me than it did when I was too afraid to venture out into the world.
Now, I've got the best of both worlds. I live deliberately, go to work, do my chores, pursue my hobbies and passions, and on weekends...I go to poetry readings and galleries and parties (sometimes even in lofts!).
How am I doing, Edie?
And look at that. Just learned something new. "Little Miss S." is about Edie Sedgwick.
Here are some foods I've yummed lately!
Pasta Toss
Cook 2 oz. whole wheat spaghetti
Drain and drizzle with olive oil
Toss in sauteed spinach or zucchini or any vegetable
Toss in a few walnuts or an oz. of feta cheese
Top with 3 oz fish or chicken
Lots of freshly ground pepper
Basil
Drizzle all with balsamic vinaigrette.
Spinach Pear Toss
Saute 16 oz fresh spinach in garlic olive oil
Lightly saute sliced pears in a little lemon juice
Saute a tablespoon of walnut pieces
Saute or blacken 3 oz chicken breast or fish
Lots of freshly ground pepper
Red Pepper flakes
Toss chicken, pears, walnuts in garlic olive oil
place on bed of spinach
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