“Table for One”
This is for all the women in my circle who are alone by choice - Divas of Uniqueness, Sisters in Solitude, Queens of Incomparable - strong, independent women who not only embrace our Aloneness, but Celebrate in it.
“Is it just you this morning?,” the waitress inquires, as I take a seat - by myself - at a table for four in the not-so-crowded restaurant.
“Yes, it is,” I say, more than a little defensively.
“Alone.” (I hear George Carlin’s distinctive voice, low and soothing, saying the word and emphasizing the sound with about six extra syllables.....”Allllloooooonnnne”)
As I travel around the country on Bessie, there are two comments I hear frequently:
“Did you ride that all the way from Florida?” which I will address in another chapter, and
“Are you by yourself?,” which is code for ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE IS NO MAN WITH YOU??’
The word ‘alone,’ in this context of course means without the accompaniment of a man; without a chaperone, as if its the Victorian age for God’s sake!
I prefer the definition of ‘alone,’ to be ‘solitary,’ as in a chosen course of one’s life. ‘She finds glory in the calm of her solitary life.’
I also adhere to the following synonyms and related words for ‘alone:’ only, incomparable, solo, insulated, and unique. I especially like the last one - UNIQUE - that’s mine, the definition of ‘alone’ that I will own. The best compliment I’ve ever been given is when a female friend called me, ‘unique.’
“Unique’ is someone who buys her first motorcycle at the age of 54, then proceeds to spend most of her time riding - over hill, over dale (or was it Bob?), and everywhere in between..... ‘alone.’
Why are solitary women so unique? Why - in the new Millennium - does our society place such a stigma on strong, independent women who are not attached? Women who are not accompanied by a man? Women who - for whatever reason - have chosen to be alone? Most of my circle of solid women friends are alone for two reasons: Divorce and Death. Some of us date, but shy away from any co-habitation or God Forbid ReMarriage, for good reason as well; finances, grown kids, geography, possessions, comfort zones, life goals - its just easier at this age to send them home when you’re done with them. And I don’t apologize for that perspective; I enjoy the hell out of a man’s company for dinner, movie, live music, riding, intimacy, and an occasional weekend getaway...beyond that, no thanks.
I am not afraid to live alone.
I am not afraid to sleep alone.
I am not afraid to dine alone.
I am not afraid to travel alone.
I am not afraid to walk into a movie, concert, play, or any other public venue, alone.
My list is endless.
I am not afraid to sleep alone.
I am not afraid to dine alone.
I am not afraid to travel alone.
I am not afraid to walk into a movie, concert, play, or any other public venue, alone.
My list is endless.
I can do a run through of my past and realize the countless times, the infinite number of hours I have spent alone. And it doesn’t make me sad; the thought itself is comforting, nostalgic, melancholy.
From a very early age I felt ‘different,’ like I somehow didn’t fit in anywhere; not defective, just apart, remote, like I was functioning in a different dimension most of the time. My earliest memories of grade school are uncomfortable; I couldn’t wait to leave school and take refuge in my bedroom with my books. And in this fifth decade of my life, not much has changed. I loved the ‘solitude’ of my books then and I love the ‘incomparable aloneness’ of my books now.
The face of the isolation morphed into something different as I got older. It was the age of ‘Peace Love and Rock n Roll,’ the availability of drugs and alcohol made it real easy to ‘isolate,’ to be ‘alone,’ and I grasped the opportunity with both hands. The late ’60’s was fertile ground for experimentation; but not without its irony in terms of single women. It seemed the ‘goal’ of way too many girls in my high school class was to get married - not college, not travel, not a career - just get married, reproduce, repeat. And when I recoiled from that like I would a hot flame, I was branded as ‘different.’ And fifty-some years later.....I’m still recoiling, and I’m still considered ‘different.’
I am a seeker, not a conformist. I viewed the confines of a relationship - marriage - as limiting in scope, suffocating in breadth, and impossible intellectually. And I still do. Psychologically, I equate marriage with Authority and I have ‘issues’ with Authority. I have two children from my second husband; once we procreated, I couldn’t see life beyond the confines of the marriage. Therefore I raised my daughters ‘alone,’ getting by with a little help from my friends.
When both of my daughters were finally in college, the aloneness closed in on me more acutely than ever…a double edged sword cut a swath across my heart…I had to learn to let go of them, and I had to learn to let go of what I had been…I find myself frequently having to re-define myself just to be comfortable in my own skin. Undoubtedly it wasn’t about being ‘alone,’ it was - and is - about traveling another ‘passage’ in life. That rebirth, redefining as we age, as our parents age, as our children age....we emerge on the other side and yes, once again, I have chosen to be alone. How do I know its a choice? By looking at the bodily debris strewn out behind me over the years. I have had - and continue to have - productive relationships with some wonderful men. And those men who stay in my life are those rare creatures of the opposite sex who are not intimidated or otherwise emasculated by my presence. They know precisely when to ebb and flow in my life and I adore them for that awareness.
“The life I have today is a direct result of the choices I have made along the way.” And you know that you have actually chosen to be alone, when you realize you are truly comfortable in it.
Traveling on my bike - alone is the euphemism for traveling through life - alone. It’s just easier; the older I get the better I like ‘unencumbered’ as not only a state of mind, but a state of being. I have no fear; it is the fear of ‘aloneness’ that makes us desperate women and desperate women are not attractive. Desperate women compromise their true self.
I love it when I roll into the Traveler’s Inn on the North Shore of Lake Superior and register for a room; the receptionist sees the Florida tags, sees the box checked ‘1,’ looks up at me, peers around me, and inquires, ‘are you by yourself?’ I smile, give a little sigh and replay, ‘yes, thank God! I lost the bastard about 300 miles back!’ Or walking into the busy restaurant and asking for a table, listening to the perky little waitress chirp ‘is it just you??’ I smile and say, ‘yes, but I’m optimistic.’
And I am; when that angel with a broken wing presents himself in my life, I will be receptive. When the man who can walk into my life and compliment it - not complicate it - presents himself, I will be receptive. But I don’t wait, I choose. I choose to live life, not put it on hold.
There is something that happens astride Bessie at about 85 miles an hour for me; the sound of the motor is like thunder in my ears, the vibration of machine and road is like an electrical charge that travels from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. The wind is not so much rushing over me as it is enveloping me, creating a wind tunnel effect, blurring the periphery vision, forcing me to fine tune my focus to the immediate field of vision in front of me. It is my emancipation, it is the crescendo of ‘alone,’ it is just me and the machine, it is where I chose to be.
“Persons tend to think and feel exclusively in one mode or the other and in doing so tend to misunderstand and underestimate what the other mode is all about”
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