Not giving up . . .

A summer storm has interrupted the predictable sunny days of August in Southern California. My bedroom window wide open, the curtain pulled aside, I lay on my bed listening to the rain dance on the back patio and I welcome the rush of cool air. The book I’ve been reading rests on my chest, and I close my eyes. Rainy nights are lovely and lonely. I imagine couples cuddling on couches binge watching their favorite shows, drinking wine by candlelight, or simply lying in bed listening to the rain. While I am certain there are some folks complaining about clogged rain gutters and leaky roofs, romantic images fit my narrative tonight. 

I reach for my cell, hoping to see a missed text, an invitation to hang out and weather the storm. Nope, nothing. Everyone is hunkered down for the night. I toss my phone aside and stare at the ceiling, preoccupied with loneliness. It’s human nature to seek belonging. I am lucky to find it in the company I keep, family, and close friends. In their presence I am filled with their familiar, predictable, and reliable love. I soak it up. In their absence, I dip into my reserves, fill in the lonely spaces, and remember I belong. 

When I spend time with married friends, they often tell stories in hilarious detail about the quirky rituals and habits of their significant others. Crazy making behavior they’ve endured for years. The laughter fades, we catch our breath, and the conversation turns to stories of sweet gestures, and tender moments that come from years of partnership. I am envious. Then someone says, “I wouldn’t trade my person for anyone,” followed by a collective happy sigh. All agree, they cannot imagine being single in late midlife, out in the world looking for a mate. Now it’s my turn to sigh. I don’t like to think about it either. 

My desire to couple up has always been strong and often misguided. There were years of heartache and lessons. I was certain my fifties would be the decade in which I’d find my person. When it didn’t happen, I opted to pursue my big dreams solo. I was proud of my accomplishments and even prouder to discover I could find joy on my own. Still, at every milestone, I secretly wished for someone by my side, sharing a life. I’ve seen it played out in all its messiness and beauty, it’s what I want. 

I can’t make love happen. It takes time, and I’m stuck at the starting gate. My prospects are dismal, and my loneliness quotient is high making random offers of tenderness and intimacy so tempting. I’m wise enough to understand the shallow and fleeting nature of casual connections, and romantic enough to wish them into something more. My anxious heart gets high on all that false reassurance, but it isn’t fooled anymore. Sometimes I surrender because it’s lonely out there. 

It’s okay for me to want more than I have, to want to be someone’s person. I used to believe that only well adjusted, secure humans had the capacity for building lasting love. I thought I couldn’t find it because I hadn’t made myself worthy, evolved, and whole. And that’s just bullshit. When the right person comes along, they know a good thing, and they don’t let it go. 

As much as I love overthinking, it’s time to clear my head before I sleep. I find the rhythm of the rain once more and let its steady patter comfort me. Deep breaths, prayer and meditation put life back into perspective, and lull me into peacefulness. 

I’ve proven I can do anything I put my mind to . . .

Anything . . .

I’m not giving up. 

Xoc