I feel lonely. It was my birthday today, so a hard day not to think back to where I was a year ago, five years, a decade… 

I am struggling with what to do in terms of work, knowing that my chosen path as a freelance writer is not enough to take care of myself and my kids, and, increasingly, feeling it’s not enough to take care of my soul either. There is so much about it that I love – the freedom, the opportunity to be curious and find answers, the chance to talk to people I’d never meet otherwise. And yet… An interview I heard last week detailing a girls’ school in Afghanistan stirred me. There is something else out there I’m meant to be doing. The not knowing adds to my loneliness.

I am trying very hard not to struggle with the lack of a partner in my life. I am trying to just be with it; to take advantage of this time to focus on my kids and the work issue. Still, it was an effort not to sulk today – and I didn’t entirely succeed – at the fact that I spent my birthday engaged almost entirely in activities that were about and for my children. It drizzled all morning. We went to “Up!” when I would rather have watched an adult film (the fact that there weren’t any showing at this particular cineplex made that a little less sad), and then had pizza for dinner when I’d rather have had a salad and some wine.

But my children – exhausting as they are – are the best gift ever. Ever. This morning before she was even truly awake, Bea opened one eye and groggily mumbled, “Happy Birthday.” Hugging me goodnight, she said, “It wasn’t much of a birthday, was it?” I winced, thinking how prescient my 8-year old can be. “Hey, I got to spend time by the water. I saw a movie. I was with the two most special people in my life. That’s a pretty fine birthday, don’t you think?” She smiled. And finally, I believed it, too.

I know that I was lonely when I was with Alex but in a different way. Sometimes being in a relationship can stave off loneliness or help you to ignore it. But when it becomes too large or looming to ignore, the shortcomings of the relationship seem that much clearer. On our last vacation together, I was so aware of the silence between us, of the ways in which I no longer recognized him, or him me. 

Walking along the beach tonight, as the kids dug holes, I declared aloud to the waves, “I’m not doing that again.” [Meaning to be lonely while in a relationship.]
“I will find a way to be okay with my solitude.”

On one hand, I really hope that I can make this so. On the other, I hope that I’ll be in a much better place when my next birthday comes around. Perhaps that’s hypocritical of me?