Season's Greetings

Dear Readers,

Last week someone told me that my problem is that I am always looking for something that feels like a family.  In that moment, I felt too embarrassed to argue.  I was helping my ex-boyfriend shop for Christmas presents for his family.  I was recommending books for his parents by authors that I had heard read at the National Book Awards and trying on gloves for his sister.  And the facts were that I had gotten him a gift but he had not gotten me one; he had somewhere to go for Christmas but I was staying in New York alone, while last year we had spent the holiday together because I had nowhere else to spend it. 

But I should not have felt embarrassed.  And, really, I am not.  And what I felt at the time was a deep vulnerability that someone was seeing and taking aim at, and though I was not embarrassed, I did wish they couldn’t see my heart.

I am used to my circumstances and I am proud of being able to manage them.  However, I am also used to sensing how my circumstances make some people uncomfortable.  It is as if it is almost un-American to not go home for the holidays – moreover, to not have the kind of family that you can run to with everything problem life throws at you.  I certainly could not do that, as most of my problems started with the idea I had that my family was something to run from – not to.   And, I think it is because they are uncomfortable, that many people have felt as if they are somehow allowed to pronounce their verdict on what exactly my problems are.  

But I think the real problem is this: in my day to day life I am surrounded by mid-twenty-something year olds who’s parents come pick them up from their apartment and take them home – to their childhood home – when they’re feeling sick, who come help them move, who call them everyday (sometimes just to say goodnight), who are just there for anything and everything.  And sometimes I am jealous.  It would be nice to feel like I had something – someone – to catch me if I fell, or if I failed.  But for the most part, it just makes me feel strong and distinctly independent.  And then it also makes me feel alone.

And that’s something else that someone told me recently: I am afraid of being alone.  I am not afraid of being alone.  However, people have told me that I am.  I hate when people tell me that because instantly I dislike them, no matter how much I liked them even just a moment before.  I think it takes a very sheltered, immature perception of the world for one person to look at another and tell them that they are afraid of being alone, that their problem is that they are always looking for something that feels like a family.

I don’t think there is anything wrong with not wanting to be alone.  I think life is about forming strong and meaningful bonds with other people.  And what I am most proud of in my life is the amount of truly wonderful people I have met and loved and who have loved me back.  To me, those people – those friends, sometimes boyfriends – are my family because they have been the people who have been there for me, who have sat with me while I cried, sent me cards, held my hand, gone with me to the hospital, and shared their thoughts and their time with me. 

And so, I suppose, that person was right when they said that I am always looking for something that feels like a family.  But they were wrong when they said it was a problem.  I think the most important thing to look for once you’ve found yourself is people to share yourself with -- and I think that is what a family is. 

Nevertheless, I am not afraid of being alone.  I like being alone.  I like taking walks alone.  I like watching TV alone.  I like eating dinner in my bed while watching TV alone.  I like traveling alone, going to the spa alone, shopping alone, going to bars alone, reading alone…  For that matter, sometimes sex is better alone.  And this year I am spending Christmas alone.  And that fact makes me feel a lot of things, but afraid is not one of them.

Being as alone as I have been does two things.  One, it makes me unconditionally love anyone that has come into my life in a positive way.  And, two – and this is the most important – it makes it difficult to not be alone.  And that is what I am afraid of.  I am afraid of not being able to be with anyone.  I find that the more years pass -- the more I am alone--, the harder it is for me when I am not technically alone.  Being able to take care of myself makes me wary of other people who cannot take care of themselves, as well as of people who come into my life and say that they’d like to take care of me.  It also makes me feel like I am alone even when I’m not.  Often, I find myself surrounded by people but I still feel profoundly alone inside myself – it is as if the fact of being alone is like a cancer that can go into remission but still lurks within, waiting to resurface.  And being alone makes me love either too much or not enough – and often both at the same time with the same person.  I can be quick to love because I see the value in having people in my life, but I can be equally quick to write off a person’s value in my life because I know I don’t need them since I am used to being alone.

And now let me say this:  If you think I am afraid of being alone ,you should look at yourself.  Or, maybe look at your Facebook newsfeed.  Look at how many people are tagging each other somewhere doing something with someone, how many people are posting pictures of their dinner.  And look at the little green dots that signal that someone else is online, that while a Facebook user may be alone in their room, they are not alone on the internet.  And then look at how that makes you feel.  And then look at how you go home for Christmas, share a meal with your family, and unwrap presents around the Christmas tree just as you did when you were a child.  Look at everyone you have in your life and imagine not having it.  Tell me, are you afraid of being alone? 

Merry Christmas.