I have on my dancing shoes. I had forgotten how difficult it is to fasten your own straps. I had forgotten that the heel is cut lower than on street shoes so as not to wear a blister quite so quickly. I had also forgotten that you don’t have to get dressed two hours before the event will start. At least I will know whether the shoes hurt my feet or not.
I am coming back to life. I have been somewhere between living and dying for most of the past year. Now, I am pretty sure that survival is immanent, if recovery is not. Lane is dead. I am alive. I choose to live instead of crawling into the niche beside his ashes to wait for my turn.
Some weeks ago I started seeing a very nice man. He is not unhappy with his long-single condition. I doubt we are on the same relationship path…I fully expect to marry again or at least find a new best friend and lover who will share my life on whatever terms we find agreeable. He seems content with evenings out and walks near the beach from time to time. We seldom plan more than a day ahead. Sometimes I wonder if I am an afterthought more than a conscious intention.
With Lane, I knew. I can never replace Lane. He is one of a kind. He will live as the part of me he shaped. He will live in my heart and in the way I make a chocolate souffle and in every glass of zin I pour. He will be the same thought if ever I am able to whip up another chocolate mousse–he married me for that mousse, you know. I digress. I am seeing a very nice man. Seeing has many levels of meaning–choose one.
Tonight I am going to a dance. I will meet another nice man at this dance–for which I dressed fully two hours prematurely. I worry about what my friends will think. I worry about what they may say when I am out of the room. I wonder if it is too soon, too much, somehow unsavory to kickstart life again. I worry and I wonder about nearly everything except what I feel.
I feel alone and I do not like it. I am a woman primarily built for caretaking and I have no one to take care of –with the possible exception of an ill-mannered Yorkshire Terrorist. So I am actively meeting single people. I am meeting single women who have single friends. I am meeting single men by whatever means presents itself and I am actively looking for a new best friend, a new chapter heading for the next segment of my life. I am living. How effectively is yet to be seen.
I am going dancing. I don’t know how long I can stay on my feet. I don’t know what to do with my purse and key I don’t know whether my shoes will pinch before the evening is done. I am ready. I am dressed. I buckled my own shoes and combed my own hair. I look nice..particularly nice for 60 years old.
I am going to dance and I do not care who is watching.
