Miss Independence
This weekend I went up to Toronto for a conference called "Time Out For Women" (which, as a nod to my cousin Cade, I gotta admit, I could really see Brooke White taking a starring role in about 2 years...but that's another story). Originally, I was going to go with a bunch of ladies from church, but that is not what happened.
One by one, each one of the ladies who signed up to go dropped out. By Friday morning at 10:00 a.m., I was the last lady standing. Thus, my instant and unexpected dilemma: I didn't want to go up to the big bad city (actually, Toronto is about the nicest, most lovely "big city" I've ever been to, but that, too, is another story) by myself, but I really, really wanted to go to this conference.
So, I had a decision to make: head to Toronto on my own, or stay home. That doesn't seem like that big of deal, does it? Truthfully, about 18 months ago, those prospects wouldn't have daunted me, not even remotely. I would have hopped in my car and headed north. I admit to some serious girl-power pride, but I decided a long time ago that the longer I waited for my ship to come in, the more I kept missing some pretty fun boat rides (are you with me through that extended metaphor?). The term "alone" felt like such an ugly badge; I refused to have it identify me. Through my twenties and on into this beautiful decade that is my thirties, I never let the fact that I was "alone" keep me from doing what I wanted. I've gone to dinner by myself, I've seen more than a few great movie premieres on my own, and I've experienced Tokyo, London, and New York City by myself.
I really prided myself on my sense of independence. But always, at the back of my mind, a question lingered: am I really independent? or am I trying to prove something to the world that keeps trying to tell me that I'm not much without a ring on my finger and a spouse by my side?
By the time I got married at the ripe age of 33, I had pretty well convinced myself of the former, not the latter, option. Wow, I thought, I really am sooo strong and independent! I guess I admire those qualities in others, so I tried really hard to develop them in myself.
Then I woke up.
On my first airplane ride (airplane ride, mind you, not even a full-day trip!) without Trent I started crying in the airport. I'm talking serious tears rolling down my checks as I wobbled my sad little luggage through the San Diego airport. Never mind that I was going to see my husband in about 6 hours. I just felt so destitute...so alone...
Are you gagging yet?
So, now it's more than a year later, and I've had to have some serious "come to Jesus" moments with myself. The nagging questions continue: was my independence more of a banner to carry than a true personality trait? Or, am I just going through some sort of newlywed-needy phase and in a short time that wildly indepedent woman is going to reappear? Can I blame this (as well as my current weird food habits, tendency to sleep in, and overall strangeness) on pregnancy? Or, here's an even better question: what if there were a healthy middle ground where I actually balanced independence with a good measure of vulnerability? What if I could just be without having something to prove?
The end of this portion of the story is that I was able to find a ride up to Toronto and I didn't have to miss the conference, although I did go with 2 total strangers, who I found to be completely delightful. And the conference was phenomenal. So, it all worked out for the best, sort of...
Hmm. Anne Morrow Lindbergh says that we all need to relearn how to be alone. There's a lot to be gained from solitude and being comfortable in your alone-ness: not to the point of leaving society altogether, but at least to the degree that we are comfortable enough with ourselves that we don't need others in order to know, or define, who we are. There's a delicate balance here, and I'm experiencing some serious pendulum swings. However, what I know for certain is that eventually I'm going to find that great middle ground. Until then, I gotta go listen to that Kelly Clarkson song...
One by one, each one of the ladies who signed up to go dropped out. By Friday morning at 10:00 a.m., I was the last lady standing. Thus, my instant and unexpected dilemma: I didn't want to go up to the big bad city (actually, Toronto is about the nicest, most lovely "big city" I've ever been to, but that, too, is another story) by myself, but I really, really wanted to go to this conference.
So, I had a decision to make: head to Toronto on my own, or stay home. That doesn't seem like that big of deal, does it? Truthfully, about 18 months ago, those prospects wouldn't have daunted me, not even remotely. I would have hopped in my car and headed north. I admit to some serious girl-power pride, but I decided a long time ago that the longer I waited for my ship to come in, the more I kept missing some pretty fun boat rides (are you with me through that extended metaphor?). The term "alone" felt like such an ugly badge; I refused to have it identify me. Through my twenties and on into this beautiful decade that is my thirties, I never let the fact that I was "alone" keep me from doing what I wanted. I've gone to dinner by myself, I've seen more than a few great movie premieres on my own, and I've experienced Tokyo, London, and New York City by myself.
I really prided myself on my sense of independence. But always, at the back of my mind, a question lingered: am I really independent? or am I trying to prove something to the world that keeps trying to tell me that I'm not much without a ring on my finger and a spouse by my side?
By the time I got married at the ripe age of 33, I had pretty well convinced myself of the former, not the latter, option. Wow, I thought, I really am sooo strong and independent! I guess I admire those qualities in others, so I tried really hard to develop them in myself.
Then I woke up.
On my first airplane ride (airplane ride, mind you, not even a full-day trip!) without Trent I started crying in the airport. I'm talking serious tears rolling down my checks as I wobbled my sad little luggage through the San Diego airport. Never mind that I was going to see my husband in about 6 hours. I just felt so destitute...so alone...
Are you gagging yet?
So, now it's more than a year later, and I've had to have some serious "come to Jesus" moments with myself. The nagging questions continue: was my independence more of a banner to carry than a true personality trait? Or, am I just going through some sort of newlywed-needy phase and in a short time that wildly indepedent woman is going to reappear? Can I blame this (as well as my current weird food habits, tendency to sleep in, and overall strangeness) on pregnancy? Or, here's an even better question: what if there were a healthy middle ground where I actually balanced independence with a good measure of vulnerability? What if I could just be without having something to prove?
The end of this portion of the story is that I was able to find a ride up to Toronto and I didn't have to miss the conference, although I did go with 2 total strangers, who I found to be completely delightful. And the conference was phenomenal. So, it all worked out for the best, sort of...
Hmm. Anne Morrow Lindbergh says that we all need to relearn how to be alone. There's a lot to be gained from solitude and being comfortable in your alone-ness: not to the point of leaving society altogether, but at least to the degree that we are comfortable enough with ourselves that we don't need others in order to know, or define, who we are. There's a delicate balance here, and I'm experiencing some serious pendulum swings. However, what I know for certain is that eventually I'm going to find that great middle ground. Until then, I gotta go listen to that Kelly Clarkson song...
Comments
love you. mmm gramma.
Being alone sucks in another city sucks. Unless of course you can see the Rocky Steps. See my blog at cadehbryant@bloggspot.com.
Love AML and her wisdom. Solitude feels better I have decided the older you get...
Great post, Liz. Thanks for your thought-provoking insights!
The realization that you have found someone that you can finally pour yourself into is awesome and also terrifying. After giving yourself to someone you have to stand guard for a while before to see that they aren't going away, that they can be trusted with your heart and that you don't have to be close by to (figuratively and literally) to make sure they don't screw it all up.
All that just takes time. You are closer to the center than you think. Good job.