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Starting in the Middle

I back the car out of the driveway slowly. "I'm ready to retire." The thought drifts in quietly. I laugh softly in rejection of it, check the traffic and pull onto the street.

Maybe I'm just tired of my job. I offer myself the excuse, but reject it before the thought is finished. It isn't the job. It is - I turn on the left blinker, check for traffic and turn left - my life. I just don't like my life so much right now. There isn't anything per se wrong with it. It is just bland, like soup. And how often can you eat soup without screaming?

I'm forty-seven. Oh God, I'm forty-seven! Shouldn't I be more at forty-seven? I check off the things I am at forty-seven. Divorced. Five grandsons. My children love me. My grandsons adore me. I have a lot. I am a lot. Just not happy. But that's not a requirement, is it?

How many people do I know that are really happy? Not many. By nature, I have always been happy. I've never had to work at it. But now? Now I have to MATHEMATICALLY figure out how to be happy. I have to COUNT my blessings and remind myself to be thankful, and my own words are empty before I even finish the thought.

I liked it when I was happy for no reason at all. I liked waking up feeling like something exciting was going to happen; even if it was nothing but making a carrot cake. There was a time when carrot cake could make me smile.

Was I pitiful for being so simple? It didn't feel pitiful. It felt right. Now I go through the day mechanically. I smile in the appropriate places at the appropriate people. I make it back home, struck by the mindless repetition of the days.

I've come so far. I've learned so much. Now - when my mind is better educated to make good choices - why am I not happy? In that part of my brain that knows things - I know without a doubt that it's because I'm alone.

I want to stand in someone's arms and be held for a long time; just held. Images drift back. Not that I would go back. But forward seems so empty. This is not me. I was born happy. Where have I gone?

I suppose it's the modern choice: Live alone and be oftentimes lonely, or live with someone and be oftentimes lonely. There have been so many modern, cynical views expressed about relationships. On any given day you can sit in a beauty shop and hear one woman sigh about being lonely, and another one sigh and say, You're lucky!"

Though I pride myself in having my feet on the ground, I don't want to pull my head out of the clouds. I want - no, I insist - in believing that great relationships exist, and there's one for me. I like romance, I like happy endings! I like laughing, teasing, cooking, and philosophizing with someone special. The most critical component that has been lacking in my relationships is the philosophizing. Philosophizing takes someone who is open minded and ready to examine new ideas. Not too set in his ways, courageous enough to have an original thought, strong enough to hear mine.

And intimacy. I want intimacy that doesn't feel cheap. Intimacy that includes daily doses of hand-holding, arm-in-arm walking, neck-nuzzling, hair ruffling, cheek-pecking, and fanny-slapping.

Oddly enough, it has taken lo these many years, and heartaches, and soul-searching self-talks to clearly define what I'm looking for. And now that I know, I'm not ready to give up. I'm too young to completely content myself with spontaneous coffee dates and wine parties with the girls. I have a lot of love yet to give away. I still have sacrifices I'm willing to make, and plenty of tingles waiting just under my skin.

Start over? It doesn't feel like starting over to me, it feels like starting for the first time.

Learn more about this author, Jerri Akins.
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