On Being Alone and Old: Part 1 of 1,001

I live alone. A lot of people do. The I have recently adapted Scherhezade as a new archetype. To do her justice, I need to tell a story a day, for 1001 days, to inspire and encourage and entertain, even. Up front, I doubt I’ll manage it as well as she did—her life was on the line, it’s just my emotional expression on the line, etc.—but its an interesting hobby. So here goes:

The world is not full of Leave It To Beaver families, as has been irrevocably determined years after the iconic family sitcom left the airways. Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke, among other TV couples back in the day, did Baby Boomers a great disservice by projecting the ideal of plastic-coated-Teflon relationships: Mom, Dad, kids, Grandparent optional = Happy. Personally, if my relationships aren’t nicely creased and carefully hung, I get upset. It’s a hard idyll to shake.

Growing old alone can devolve into a pity party, though, if I stick with the common wisdom. Heck, if I stick to my Mom’s wisdom, I’d hang myself. She has noted piously many times over the years that she has “lived with one man my whole life” and therefore in unspoken parlay: why aren’t you living up to MY standards? I was slow on the response to that subtle criticism, but decades later have come up with some comebacks. Hey, look at your sister, her first husband died, her third one died, and she divorced the second one. Since her sisters are next to God--they are all related--this sometimes mellows my mom out to a less nettlesome attack on my singlehood.

But she has another approach, too: why can’t you get along with anyone? I have really bit my tongue on this one, because I’m convinced after many years of growing up, leaving the nest, and observing from as great a distance as possible my siblings, that Mom would not like my answer on this one. It’s too close to home for her tastes.

Sure, if I fall down the steps no one but my two cats will notice until I decompose, and the cats will be worried about their morning treats for quite some time if that happens. Sure, I spend way too much time with my friend, the Internet. And sure, I waver between avoiding the home premises and spending 24/7 on the home premises with the door locked. And well, that little thing about someone to snuggle with at night is always in the back of my mind. But surely Andy Griffith managed, and the dad in My Three Sons, and the divorced mom in One Day at a Time. There IS a long and distinguished TV sitcom history of Teflon-coated single parents to fall back on. Not a lot of single divorced older women that I can recall, but I’m going to research that.

On the other hand. Living alone has its benefits. I try to count them frequently.

1. I can have two cats.

2. I can paint my living room turquoise and put a 50’s retro-green secondhand leather sofa in it, no objections.

3. I can invite a variety of bed warmers to audition. (Don’t look, Mom)

4. I can eat healthy all the time and no one complains.

5. I can eat unhealthy all the time and no one complains.

6. I don’t have to get dressed or brush my teeth till I go back to bed.

7. I can tell the Church of Baby Boomer Teflon Icons to go to hell, and adapt my own archetypes. Hard to shake, but I do have Mythology, Jung, and a huge pool of literature to draw on. Goodbye, MTM, Hello, Artemis with Arrows.

8. It doesn’t matter if I’m losing my vision and can’t tell if the bathroom floor is clean, because who is gonna look?

Some of this list is not up to my usual thoughtful and serious self. However, a sense of humor is important when your next trip up or down the steps might be your last. If I can’t poke fun at my Mom, who’s left? I’m sure sometime I’ll be posting a very serious look at ageing alone, if only to bolster the courage of all my friends who are ageing alone. One of my friends made me swear I’d share a room at the YMCA when we were both old and homeless, but he reneged. After a very short courtship, he took the ticket out of Old and Alone Land by getting engaged. I don’t’ fault him, although I don’t envy him at all. I’ve chucked the childhood dream I had of courtship, engagement, and HappyEverAfter. A quick catch would give me indigestion, since I’ve nibbled my own cooking for a long time.

So, embrace the independence. I’ll go get a new microwave and install it back where the old one just conked out. I’ll go plant the tulips that stayed in their bag above ground all winter, and just MIGHT still grow if I bury them.  I'll walk down to the friendly local coffeehouse with my laptop, and enjoy the company of other people who seek herd situations. I’ll wander over to the City and pay my water bill and look up last years property tax so my trusty tax guy can get me tucked in metaphorically speaking before April 15th. No, I’m not retired, I just have plenty of time to do Whats Right. Logically, this means that my life should be in great order. Well, maybe its getting there, One Day at a Time.

They never had cats in those LITB sitcoms, either.