Its not Fair

When I was younger, I latched onto the first man who showed any interest in me simply because I was afraid of no one else wanting me. I was afraid of being alone.

I am only now coming around to seeing myself as physically desirable. It's a notion that's taken some getting used to. In my earlier years I was small, lumpy, brunette, and low on my vitamin C-cup. I was a tomboy afraid to state her mind too loudly. The boys I thought were cute didn't reciprocate. They wanted blondes and long legs and stupid, stupid mind games.

I am back to beingl small, lumpy, and brunette. My bust, however, developed somewhere along the line, my opinions grew louder and tempered with compassion, and I acquired a spine.

Up until a few months ago, though, one thing hadn't changed: I was still afraid of being left alone.

So let's state the obvious. I'm not completey alone -- it's impossible to be alone when I have friends in my workplace, friends in my instant and text messages, friends in California and Illinois and Arizona and the dojo, and a gaggle of cats to remind me why it's beautiful to be alive. But I do spend every night closing my eyes to a queen-size bed with one person in it, and I find...I don't really mind it that much.

I know now what a treasure that younger girl was. She didn't know it then. If I could grab every sixteen year old in the world and explain to her just how precious her own individual beauty is, I would, but I know they wouldn't understand. I know they wouldn't listen. I know it's only something you know when it's too, too, too late.

Except that the older girl knows it's never too late.

This afternoon I heard a racket of birds at my window. One very plain sparrow was being loudly courted by three or four brightly patterned males. While they fluttered and chirped around her, she remained still, curiously watching their confusing swirl of plummage. After the males had departed, the plain female sat on my sill for a while, straightening herself and enjoying the breather.

I'm not afraid of being abandoned anymore. And I'm not afraid of being a spinster, or being childless. I know now I'll never be completely alone. Not as long as I have friends. Not as long as I have family. Not as long as I keep reaching out.

And if I could go back in time and tell the girl not to be so terrified of an empty bed and an empty house...I know she wouldn't listen. She needed to feel it herself. She needed to throw the dead weight off with her own two hands. She can't let others do it for her. That's the way she is.

She cleaves. Don't we all?