Nothing new in this post. It’s just me spinning in the same old spot.
In my twenties, I thought I knew it all. Even though, deep down, I knew I didn’t. There were many adult things I did not want to grasp. Stocks. Home ownership. “Murder, She Wrote.” Still, I had a clear sense of how to foster a loving relationship. Even if said relationship was only a hypothetical. I did not date ANYONE until I was twenty-five.
In my thirties, I may have actually known it all. Seriously. Everything clicked. Real relationship with a seemingly perfect partner. Heritage house. Pet. Job with growing leadership responsibilities. Potential everywhere! I was set for life.
Or at least until my forties. Relationship? Gone. Not a single hopeful sign in that area. House? Got one, but it’s a dead weight that I cannot seem to shake. It’s like the Hotel California: You can check-in anytime you’d like, but you can never leave. Job? It’s gruelling and utterly thankless. There is no time to savor a moment of success as more crises demand URGENT attention. Crises that began from the actions of others. I am the professional sanitation worker, expected to clean up everyone else’s mess. Pet? One of my beloved dogs died in March and I still miss him terribly, but at least I have my other one to be nonjudgmental, to pretend I am the greatest thing since sliced bananas, to get upset when any other dog seeks my attention. (Yes, dogs dig me. Gay men? Not so much.)
Life is now as much a puzzle as it was in my teen years. I am left with a long list of questions, but at the top of the list is, What happened?!
I know I have many changes to make, but the waiting is maddening. When will my house sell (if it sells)? When will I be approved to return to the U.S. (if at all)? What kind of peon job will I get while I strive to make it as a writer? And will I make it? Will all the changes turn out to be foolish in retrospect?
If there is someone for everyone, where is my guy? What if he has lost his way due to the ex-gay movement? What if I leave Vancouver when he was here all along, always walking the seawall ten minutes before or after me? What if he’s in L.A. and settles for someone else before I get here? How long will I have to sigh longingly as moviemakers lead me to believe Mr. Right is a fender bender away?
What if there really isn’t someone for everyone? Why shouldn’t I be one of the have nots?
No more questions, please. I have enough uncertainty despite decades of experience. To modify a common expression, the more I live, the less I know.