There is a scene in the movie Runaway Bride where Julia Roberts realizes she doesn’t even know what kind of eggs she likes best. She finally sees that her whole life, she has liked the eggs of the man she is with, never learning to make up her mind, or give herself the chance to make her own decision.
That scene has weighed uncomfortably in the back of my mind for years. Back where the thoughts like “I may be turning into my mother” and “yeah I might remember exactly what I said while I was drunk but will pretend not to” hang out and chat.
Whether I like it or not, I am alone. I will be alone for the foreseeable future. I’m not happy about this. I’m not happy not having a happy future to focus on, a man to take care of, or a man related goal to meet.
At long last, there is no one to distract me from the very fact that I have some fucking work to do on myself.
I’ve been avoiding, but in the last few days, I am being cornered by my own thoughts. It’s time to face up and grow up and figure some things out.
I made the bucket list. Which was a fun thing to do.
I yelled about “kineticity“.
Here I am. All the bullshit I’ve avoided and run from. All the excuses I have made. The daddy issues, the body issues, the whining, the high hopes but never carrying through. At this moment, it is quiet in my house. I am alone.
The easiest thing to do would be to run. To the pills. To the wine. To the sleep. To the Dude. To friends.
On this sunny Friday evening in May, I am stopped in my tracks. All I can do is stand here alone and try to figure out what the fuck comes next.
It’s go time, and it is so unbelievably painful I have to remind myself to keep breathing.