Singularity
Confessions, The Elders, Whatnot Comments (11)
My grandmother recently turned 89 and is alone for only the second time in her life. The first time was following my grandfather’s untimely expiration, which was mere days before the wife of a former bridge partner decided to make her way to the beyond. The two surviving broken hearts found each other in mutual loneliness, married less than a year later, and doted on one another for 20 more years until he died last November. She was able to do what an increasing number of women seem to fail at regularly these days, that being to find not just one, but two good men in a lifetime. Still, this woman who taught me so much about how to live is now asking me for advice on how to live alone.
My cousin and I are both convinced that we never would’ve survived our childhoods had it not been for our upbringing by our grandparents, brief though it was. He’s well into his forties now, happily married for over a decade and an amazing father to four equally amazing kids. He has become for them everything he missed growing up, coming to marriage late by virtue of being extraordinarily picky for good reason. He married, I didn’t. I went into the military, something for which he’s intimated a passing regret for not having experienced. Maybe we see in each other our alternate lives. I don’t know. What I do know is that we understand each other, he and I, and we place our grandmother upon a pedestal on which she would not approvingly sit, such is her humble nature.
For the longest time, I was passionate about nothing. This drove one particular ex-girlfriend insane, as passion for something seemed to her a prerequisite for being alive. I commented once that if this were the case, she was the blondest necrophiliac that I’d ever met. That she laughed was a testament to her sense of humor and had I been more in tune with myself, I might’ve seen in my statement the red flag being concealed by my flippancy. What I dared not tell her was something that I would dare not admit to myself for another four or five years. My aversion to opening myself up to such intense feelings for anything meant subverting a defense mechanism long since honed to perfection. I used to feel like disappointment couldn’t spoil a party to which it wasn’t invited. This, of course, is hogwash; disappointment sits in every unlit corner of our lives playing solitaire and waiting patiently.
The word ‘loner’ is wielded like an epithet by a society more intent on gazing at other people’s navels rather than studying their own. I recently read a book of essays called Party of One: A Loner’s Manifesto and had the sort of uncomfortable reaction of self-recognition one gets while casually flipping through the DSM IV and stumbling into the ‘Neuroses’ section. I’d always considered myself too much of a chameleon to be pigeonholed as the textbook loner, as I enjoy being the most outgoing bastard on the planet when the occasion calls for it. And yet, most of my primary pastimes have admittedly always been basically one-man shows: Golf, climbing, running, flying, hiking, destroying houses, rebuilding them, etc. Now it seems that I’ve finally found my passion in biomedical research and to my complete lack of surprise, it’s primarily a solitary endeavor. I, alone, am responsible for my success or failure, thereby alleviating the dangerous prospect of having to rely on anyone else. A very dark point of view, I know. One lighter passage in this book left a deep impression and may end up printed upon business cards for me to hand to those looking for explanations as to my feelings on dating:
Meeting an assembly line of maybes has as much appeal as severe sunburn. Opening lines, small talk, seem repulsive-and we haven’t even mentioned pursuit….For loners, spending time with strangers, again and again, a stream of strangers, not merely to get it over with, but to discern whether someday you will put your tongue in this person’s mouth, is the definition of surreal.
Of course, there’s a great deal more to it than that, which is what grandma was asking: How do you live alone? And I can’t bullshit someone who used to change my diaper. So, the answer that serves as the foundation for so many other answers: You have to be more frightened that the alternative will end up being worse than actually being alone. I recall her looking at me for awhile before finally saying, ‘Well, that sounds like a no-win situation.’
‘Exhausting, too’, I replied.
My disdain for self-pity is the main ingredient from my grandparents’ recipe for perseverance. I have to admit, though, that it is tiring being the rock upon which the rest of the immediate family has rested for so long, certainly since long before I was old enough to even qualify as rock material. She knows this and can see the discomfort in my inability to make things alright with her current situation. ‘It is what it is’, she tells me, echoing my own common refrain to people who have lamented whatever unfortunate situation I’ve found myself in over the years. The one thing that she has stated since my very honest answer is, paraphrased, that she feels that I’m not only carving my own cross, but nailing myself to it, as well.
‘We all need hobbies,’ I say, but no one laughs.
Sir @ October 5, 2009
OK, first of all, this is perfectly written. Well done, you. Second, I love love love your grandma! When are you bringing her to visit? Third, you seemed to play well with others back in August. Maybe you need to move to Wenatchee.
Holy crap, this is brilliantly and beautifully written. I wish I had something witty or charming in response, but I’m slack jawed and awed and I really want that book. Also, your Grandma rocks. Mine (and Pappa) similarly raised me, and I love her so much more for it.
I’m going to try to find that book.
PS: no pressure or anything, but if you submitted this to IndieInk (www.indieink.org), I might have to do a cartwheel. It is fantastic and I would publish with glee and appreciation.
I find myself not knowing how to respond to this post because it hits a little too close to home. I guess I’ll just leave it at this: Yes.
Being gregarious when the occasion demands it does not make one an extrovert. I call myself a situational extrovert. I can turn it on when necessary, but it is not my favorite state of being. Being a chameleon is actually a very effective means of maintaining ones’ walls, ones’ loner existence. You blend in, you don’t call attention to yourself, and eventually you can melt away into your own space. My current husband was in the Marines for 3 years, and commented on how it was his goal to sit in the middle of the pack. Not to be the top dog and not to be the guy doing push ups and cleaning the toilet with his toothbrush. Blend in, get along, and get out.
You are right though, when my first marriage ended the concept of being alone again for the first time in 12 years was frightening, but it was easier than staying in a crappy marriage with someone who was miserable all the time. So it became easier to do since the alternative was more loathsome.
And your grandmother is as lucky to have you as you are to have her.
Shari: I play well with everyone. I’m the person people want at their table during wedding receptions. And yet, I’d really rather just read a book. So, I suppose I’m everything and nothing, or at least a little of this and a little of that. And I would move there immediately if I could get away with it. I need to become independently wealthy first, which means that I should probably cure something, so there’s a laundry list of things I need to take care of prior to my moving to your block.
JN: You should totally try to find that book. The author’s name is Anneli Rufus. I’d find her and hug her for writing the book if I weren’t fairly certain that doing so would make her hate me. I’ll go ahead and submit this just to make you do a cartwheel. I didn’t realize that you were still running a site like that.
Ashley: If you’re going to hit someone, the closer to home the better, I always say.
I always say that.
Mama: I used to ask my mom why it took her 20 years to leave a guy that she should’ve left after the first week and her answer basically boiled down to Alone = Scary. I found this hard to compute at the time, but have since acquired enough empathy to finally understand it. She went on to find an amazing guy who’d never been married, a farmer and salt-of-the-earth type who’s everything she ever wanted in a man. Life often seems to work like that. We endure things to help us appreciate the rest of our time.
The military analogy is very apt. It was how I survived being enlisted only to find that it’s frowned upon in officer training. I suppose that’s when I learned how to straddle the introvert/extrovert fence. The secret to being a good officer (my opinion) is the ability to be both attached and detached enough to make effective decisions. I found that line and have ridden it ever since to mostly good effect.
There aren’t many survivors left in this world. Congratulations on being one….
Wondering why you never married….
a splendid piece of analysis. the question is: do you want to change?
some people find themselves to be their own best company and wish for no other. are you happy alone? if so, then there is no problem that needs solving. if you aren’t, then……..you will have to find the courage to change. that’ll happen when you are ready for it and no sooner.
Just found you via IndieInk and wanted to stop by to check you out. Loved this post. I lost my grandmother this year, and I envy you to the ends of the earth that you can still have these conversations with yours. Thanks for painting such a beautiful picture of yourself and your grandmother.
I hope that you one day do our planet a favor and write a book. Your work in the bio medical field is extremely important, but your written voice…..please share it with the world. I just know there are people out there that need to hear it.
shady180: The world is full of survivors, it’s just that they’re not so forthcoming on their blogs.
Pooba~: I came dangerously close once. I saw my future in the military and had seen up close and personal the devastation that so often happens to military marriages. She had a history of depression and her mother had long ago fought her way through alcoholism and I recalled seeing those two maladies, specifically, manifest themselves regularly in military spouses trying to cope with their loved one’s absence during deployments. I felt that by not marrying her I was saving her from that pain and saving myself from the guilt I’d feel of igniting in her whatever vice might be waiting in the shadows. I made the decision on her behalf, attempting to avoid possibilities that my mind had turned into inevitabilities. My decision wasn’t fair to either of us and hindsight has been my worst enemy ever since, as no one has been able to come close to measuring up to her.
Bob: Very true. I’ve come a long way, but this is one area that seems too entrenched. It’s tough to give up such defenses when it seems like they’re the only things that have kept you alive for this long.
NATUI: My grandmother and I talk a lot about life and death and cooking and crappy TV. She’s unnaturally healthy for her age or, for that matter, any other. This is a mixed blessing, as she’s gotten to see friends and family die left and right while she remains Suzy GoodBody. In this way, she seems to have become more aware of what a burden life can sometimes be, which has sort of helped her see my point of view about a lot of things. It does add a certain oomph to our conversations. I could write about her and the stuff she’s taught me until my hands bled and still not done her justice to influence.
Anonymous: I feel like I need to have a better ending before I go and start writing a book. I figure that if can accomplish something of some significance while playing with chemicals and electricity, that’ll make a nice second-to-last chapter, which will allow me to tie everything up nicely with the final one.