I was at the glass studio tonight and one of the women there (aka new friend) said to me, “You’re a writer, right?” Without thinking – because that’s how I usually respond to questions – I said “Yes”.
And then this other part of my brain, the part where the thinking happens, went “Whhaaatt?!” And then I backtracked and explained what my “real” job is and that I only write as a blogger.
But saying I was a writer just felt so … right. Maybe the unedited part of my brain was onto something. Because there is a part of me that has to write. I don’t always have to share but sometimes I feel the need to write like there is a presence in my chest demanding to be given shape and form and to be released. Kind of like those creatures in Alien that burst out of people’s chest.
Except that the writing process, while equally messy, hasn’t yet resulted in my death. Yet.
OMG, did you see what that guy wrote?
I’ve been having trouble writing for the past week or so and it’s because this post has been growing in my chest, or maybe in my heart, and my fear has been making me not want to let it out. So, inspired by the courage of Sigourney Weaver, I am taking a big breath and am going to let it out.
Decided not to shave my head, though, in case it was a bit more Britney Spears than Sigourney Weaver.
I started this blog as an exploration of what it meant to be single and happy in a world that tells me that these two things don’t go together. That being single means being lonely and that the state of single-hood is a sad but hopefully temporary place when you’re young and a sad and pitied place once you are too old to be in the game.
And here’s the green and scaly fear. If I put out a blog about being single and happy am I closing the door on ever being part of a couple? Or, maybe more accurately, will I be perceived as closing the door? Am I saying to the universe and the twitter verse, I have given up on love, see how much I don’t care!
Not that I’d want to write a blog about being lonely and single and looking for my perfect soul mate. I’d rather be dead on that table.
Although, to be fair, Sex and the City did make A LOT of money!
I also don’t want to always have to be happy. I mean, the worst thing a single woman can be is single and NEEDY!
But, the truth is, I AM lonely sometimes. I have days when I feel like the cold meaninglessness of this world leaves me disconnected and invisible. And when I finally crawl into bed at night I just need to feel warm loving arms around me to reattach my heart and my spirit.
I’m not sure where this leaves me or my blogging. It’s clear it’s not just about being single and happy.
But after some serious pondering – and a late night viewing of Alien – I think my writing might be about being visible.
Being visible in this exploration of how to be singularly happy with who I am right now. Being visible with stories of single-hood that aren’t just about waiting for couple-hood.
Because I think the most important relationship I will ever have in my life is the one that I have with myself. And, turns out, myself is actually a writer.
Feel free to quarantine me now before any more of us become infected.