While the idea of living in a big house with a group of thirteen strangers conjured up images The Real World, the reality was, no one ever stopped being polite. There were no episodes of binge drinking or drunken brawls, roommate roulette or random hook-ups, cat fights or salacious scandals. Well, at least not that I was aware of.
Okay, so I was lonely. I missed my city. I missed my tribe. I missed my creature comforts. But, hey, I'm adaptable. My new intention was to fall in love with my new life in this isolated paradise and embrace every ounce of this unique expat experience; including my new Spa career at five-star resort in the Caribbean.
Solitude feels like an uninvited guest. She's this big ol' annoying pest that's hard to shake as she stomps through my head with her loud-ass megaphone blasting my each and every thought with a deafening echo as a constant reminder of my mindset. "I'm bored". "I'm lonely". "I'd rather be in NYC".
This perfect paradise is now my home. Every day I try to let that soak in even though it seems to defy all sorts of logic. I'm a city girl, after all. A jaded New Yorker. Ok, I'm originally from a small college-town in Massachusetts but had an instant love affair with the Big Apple starting at age thirteen when I started spending summers training at the Dance Theater of Harlem and Alvin Ailey School of Dance.
The ground was shifting beneath me again. I may be a "spiritual gangster" and shit, but my mind was still filled with uncertainty and my bones ached with the threat of loneliness which I knew would only intensify over the next two years while living on a private resort island in the Caribbean with a population of three hundred.
When you fall off the wagon, you usually fall pretty damn hard and into a downward spiral of self-destructive behavior with no desire for help or change and absolutely no reason for hope. Your mind becomes resolute with the idea of failure; not just in love, but in life in general.
Whether or not I'm going through a bonafide mid-life crisis is uncertain. I mean maybe it's pure coincidence that I'm about to turn forty-four and life just happens to suck at the moment. But the cool thing about being a true Indie Girl and a grown-ass woman, is my ability to acknowledge life's current suckiness and its vortex of negative emotions without losing myself in it.
My 44th birthday seems to be approaching with unrelenting speed. And while I don't think I'm suffering from mid-life crisis, perse, I'm definitely suffering from mid-life hyper-awareness with a side of singleitis. Because nothing in my life right now is the way I thought it would be at this age.
Monogamy feels important at this point in our relationship because it would make me feel valued in the way I need. It would allay my fears of being temporary 'booty' while Mr. Weird Science hopes for someone better to come along. Monogamy would create the safety for even deeper levels of physical and emotional intimacy. It would reflect a shift of intention and that I might not be wasting my precious forties on a relationship going nowhere.
