Skip to main content

Celebrating Love in the Lonely

Most women my age have kids, grandkids, husbands, ex-husbands, etc. I have none of that.

I have a ton of dating stories that never fail to entertain at parties, but just don’t work well in one-on-one situations. It would be easy for me to feel down — especially on Valentine’s Day — but I’m determined not to do that. 

Instead, I’m celebrating my life because I have a lot to be thankful for...

  • My family is well. They’re not perfect, but I love them and they love me.
  • I have friends that keep me laughing and sane.
  • I have a wealth of experiences that make me smile.
  • I don’t have baby daddy drama or kids who drive me crazy..
  • I have a job that I was able to keep in the midst of the pandemic.
  • I have faith in a God who loves me in spite of myself
  • And because I’m alive, I have another chance to get what I want and deserve.
Happy Valentine’s Day!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

He's Gone...For Real

My uncle died. He actually ceased to live. I don't know how to handle this. Even though he was my mother's brother, he was so much more than that to me. He was the coolest cat on the block, He set the standard that every man had to meet. He was the one I compared every man in my life to. For all intents and purposes, he was my de facto dad. I am stunned. I feel like someone knocked the wind out of my body. I grew up watching him. If he sat up straight, I wanted to sit up straight. I once caught him standing up to pee. I thought I'd do that when I grew up, too. (You can just imagine that conversation). That's the thing...he never shied away from my craziness. When I discovered what a father was -- at the tender age of five -- I purposed in my heart to find one for myself. I asked every man I knew, including him, if they'd be my daddy. He said, "I can't be your dad. I'm your uncle." When I pressed, he gently explained that he already had a significan...

A Middle Aged Rant

I am single. I’ve never had a husband. I’ve never given birth to a child. I’ve never lived with a man over six months. I am 54. I’m not classically pretty. I’m overweight. I’m not very tall. My brother says I’m a unicorn. My friends are kind enough not to make me feel small. My mother mentions in passing that she wants me to find a husband. I try not to be sad about my state. I’ve lived a life that some would find enviable. I had my dream job, met and interviewed great people, made great friends, and traveled all over the world. I have a new career that I find oddly fulfilling. Men don’t always like that. Some of them are jealous because I’m not easily impressed. Some are jealous because I’ve done things they haven’t. Some are jealous because I’ve lived on both coasts. I don’t know what to do. I can’t change my life – not that I want to. I can’t change my past – not that I want to. I can’t change myself –not that I want to. I just want someone to see me, not the image I present. I want...

I Own My Tears

I own my tears. I used this as a hashtag on a Facebook post. I was talking about the movie, "The Fault in Our Stars." If you've seen it, you know what I mean, and I won't spoil it for you. Of course, you know me -- it's deeper than that. I need to say it out loud... I own my tears. New Boo meant the world to me. He really did. Our relationship meant the world to me. It really, really did. And now it's over and he's gone -- seemingly for good. That makes me cry more than I want to, and more than I have ever imagined I would. And while I hate it, I need to do this. I need to mourn this thing in its entirety because it has truly changed my life. I own my tears. I own the fact that I am hurt. I own the fact that I'm mourning a relationship that I wanted to work more than life itself. I wanted to be a part of a couple, and eventually a family. That may well happen for me one day. Today, though, it doesn't look likely. So yes, I cry. And you ...