Tonight I am alone.
I am house sitting. And dog and bird sitting. I just watched the movie Elizabethtown and cried on the couch. With the dogs at my feet.
Alone.
It's been six months now--since the great debacle of 2013. It's been six months of making sure I am surrounded by people. By my parents. By my co-workers. By complete strangers. By college kids. By foreigners. By my sisters.
I have gone out of town almost every other weekend for six months straight. Really. Only twice have I stayed in town two weekends in a row. This has resulted in not only an entirely depleted bank account, but also an uneasy, discontent inner struggle with simply being. . . still.
I love being single. I love being single. I love not having to answer to anyone. I love living for myself and not having to worry about someone else. I love the feeling of boldness, moxy, sex appeal, regained independence--the pure courage that comes from looking life in the face and doing it on my own. I love being FREE.
I do not love being alone.
I do not love not having a person to share life with. To share delicious food and independent films and road trips and future world travels with. I do not love not having a person to people watch with, and to hop into a car with two total strangers and rideshare from Fayetteville, Arkansas to Los Angeles, California. And I absolutely do not love not having a person to share the holidays with. The ugly Christmas sweaters with. The stocking stuffing with.
I do not love waiting tables either. Not even kind of.
But I do love my Little Hills family. I love that half the staff I work with is in high school. It makes me feel 16 again. . . ish. I love that my food is everyone else's food and everyone else's food is mine. I love that all food and drink is shared, almost 100% of the time (Lexi--thanks for NOT sharing your sweet potato fries last night as I starved the night away). I love that we sing in the bev-room and rake up piles of leaves as if we're going to jump in them just to pass the time and give ourselves something to look forward to (even though in reality we know none of us will be jumping into a concrete pile of leaves). I love that I am working under some of the kindest, most caring managers I have ever had. I love that I work on a historic cobblestone street. And I love that the majority of customers are not only from out of town, but often from out of country.
I love that I am listening to "Montana" by Youth Lagoon right now.
Phenomenal.
I love that I was able to go on a hike today with my entire immediate family. All here in the U.S. All here in St. Louis, MO. For the first time in ten years. And although there are a lot of things I don't love about life right now, apparently there are also a lot of things I do.
More than being alone means physically not being with another person, it means being alone with my thoughts--which, quite honestly--is what terrifies me most of all. But it is during those times I am forced to face my fears. To analyze my current state of being. To dig deep into myself and find what it is that steals my Peace. What makes me feel alive. What breaks me down. Who has hurt me. Whom I have hurt. How I have lived well and how I have fallen short. And how to live better. . .
I don't love being alone. I don't think I ever will. But I hope to learn at least-- to be still.
I am house sitting. And dog and bird sitting. I just watched the movie Elizabethtown and cried on the couch. With the dogs at my feet.
Alone.
It's been six months now--since the great debacle of 2013. It's been six months of making sure I am surrounded by people. By my parents. By my co-workers. By complete strangers. By college kids. By foreigners. By my sisters.
I have gone out of town almost every other weekend for six months straight. Really. Only twice have I stayed in town two weekends in a row. This has resulted in not only an entirely depleted bank account, but also an uneasy, discontent inner struggle with simply being. . . still.
I love being single. I love being single. I love not having to answer to anyone. I love living for myself and not having to worry about someone else. I love the feeling of boldness, moxy, sex appeal, regained independence--the pure courage that comes from looking life in the face and doing it on my own. I love being FREE.
I do not love being alone.
I do not love not having a person to share life with. To share delicious food and independent films and road trips and future world travels with. I do not love not having a person to people watch with, and to hop into a car with two total strangers and rideshare from Fayetteville, Arkansas to Los Angeles, California. And I absolutely do not love not having a person to share the holidays with. The ugly Christmas sweaters with. The stocking stuffing with.
I do not love waiting tables either. Not even kind of.
But I do love my Little Hills family. I love that half the staff I work with is in high school. It makes me feel 16 again. . . ish. I love that my food is everyone else's food and everyone else's food is mine. I love that all food and drink is shared, almost 100% of the time (Lexi--thanks for NOT sharing your sweet potato fries last night as I starved the night away). I love that we sing in the bev-room and rake up piles of leaves as if we're going to jump in them just to pass the time and give ourselves something to look forward to (even though in reality we know none of us will be jumping into a concrete pile of leaves). I love that I am working under some of the kindest, most caring managers I have ever had. I love that I work on a historic cobblestone street. And I love that the majority of customers are not only from out of town, but often from out of country.
I love that I am listening to "Montana" by Youth Lagoon right now.
Phenomenal.
I love that I was able to go on a hike today with my entire immediate family. All here in the U.S. All here in St. Louis, MO. For the first time in ten years. And although there are a lot of things I don't love about life right now, apparently there are also a lot of things I do.
More than being alone means physically not being with another person, it means being alone with my thoughts--which, quite honestly--is what terrifies me most of all. But it is during those times I am forced to face my fears. To analyze my current state of being. To dig deep into myself and find what it is that steals my Peace. What makes me feel alive. What breaks me down. Who has hurt me. Whom I have hurt. How I have lived well and how I have fallen short. And how to live better. . .
I don't love being alone. I don't think I ever will. But I hope to learn at least-- to be still.
