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| Tonight,
as I made my way home from yet another Thursday night singles dance at
the Hunter's Den, an old habit superimposed itself on my melancholy mood.
It's something that I have done all of my life when feeling a little
lost. |
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I once again looked up at a beautiful
clear early winter's night sky and found my old friend, the Big Dipper.
For some reason, I've always been
able to find it at such times in my life. Those seven far away stars
have always provided me with a constant in the midst of a sometimes not
so constant world. No matter how alone or lost I feel, being reminded
that there is something that is always there (even if blocked from view
by a blanket of gray clouds) has a way of dispelling the blues.
It was one of those nights
when everything was right and everything was wrong. My several friends
were their usual selves. Diane never refused any of my requests
for a dance and Ruth was impossible to refuse (she loves to dance and I
enjoy dancing with her). Mike's quips were as sharp and funny as
ever. Henry, one of the best male dancers in our group, was his warm
and friendly self. Nick and Susan filled up another evening with
their solos and duets that are always well chosen and very danceable. Jim
sat in the corner behind them and kept the background music and keyboard
going. The other forty or fifty regulars filled the place up with
laughter and conversation. Addy was just as sweet. Ron was
just as conversational. John and Sharon were just as cute as they
slow danced with each other. In fact, those of us who dance seem
to provide the entertainment for those who do not. Besides, it was
a special evening in that I was presented with several small holiday gifts
and cards by these wonderful people I met just five months previously.
I guess that makes me a regular, too.
So why am I blue?
I suppose it has something to do
with the same old same old. We always dance the night away.
We always dance to the same tunes. We always sit in the same seats
and we always work very hard at keeping each other entertained with all
of our kibitzing and playfulness. One Thursday night is pretty much
a repeat of all of the others. It's not boring--just very predictable.
Yet, for some reason, I look forward to this weekly exercise in repetition
as if my life depended upon it.
Perhaps it's the recent realization
that I had regarding these people who have become my dear friends in such
a short time. I've gone out with both Diane and Ruth. They've
been nothing more than friendly dates but they filled in some of those
alone moments when it's just nice to do something with a friend.
I've gotten to know some of the men as well and we've done some guy things
together. As a result, I've concluded that relatives are not necessarily
made up of strictly biological relationships. One has to relate to
relatives if I understand the word correctly. Using that as a new
basis of understanding, these people have indeed become my relatives.
Even better yet, I got to choose these ones for myself.
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Ruth picked me up at the airport last
night following my return from visiting my children in Michigan.
I had a wonderful time with them but it wasn't until I walked through the
terminal and saw her waiting for me that I felt a sense of being home again.
These are my new "single again"
friends. We are an unofficial club of people who have survived the
aftermath of divorce. We've had the similar real life tragedy of
having loved, lost love, and finding ourselves alone again.
This shared experience is the very thing that binds us all together in
a very powerful kind of commonality. We are fellow-travelers whose
journeys parallel each other in the shared pain of going through the anguish
of watching our marriages die. Now, we are helping each other bury
the last remains.
Few of us have anyone significant
in our lives. We are looking. Some are obviously looking harder
than the rest. Others are resigned to their singleness. Most
of us leave alone in our own cars. Yet' we'd rather spend one evening
a week with each other than stay at home. Why be alone and lonely
when you can be alone with friends?
Sameness.
The same people.
The same music.
The same dances.
I
drove home tonight and, once again, had to face that alone moment as I
got into the car. No one opened up the passenger side to join me.
The pretty lady who has yet to fall in love with me has not yet materialized.
I'm alone again.-
So, I did what I've done so many
times before. Upon arriving home, I parked the car along the street
side curb. Disregarding the chilly air and what passersby might think,
I got out of the car, closed the door behind me, and just stood in the
middle of the sidewalk for several minutes. While gazing up at my
old friend, the surrounding stars filled the sky like an endless string
of Christmas tree lights. Yet, there it was--the Big Dipper in all
it's glory. It's always there. Each time I find it, my meloncholy
disappears and I don't feel so alone. |
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Again, like so many times before,
I spent a few moments in meditation while contemplating the vastness of
the universe in contrast to my life.
As each self-induced feeling
of aloneness collided with fears of perhaps never finding love again, the
truth I needed most suddenly presented itself to me. In that moment,
I realized that my lifelong habit of looking to the Big Dipper to find
a sense of security in a sometimes confusing world was exactly the same
need as all of us who frequented Hunter's every Thursday night. Each
of us lost our first loves in some traumatic way, whether it was their
passing or under the pain of divorce. Our world's were rocked.
We've become single again and most of us had no idea how much our lives
would be changed whether we liked it or not.
Hence, the overwhelming (albeit
subconscious) need for constancy--something that serves as an anchor to
hold us safely as we navigate the disconcerting newness of being adrift
in a large ocean.
In a very real way, those weekly
trips to meet my same friends and listen to the same music at the same
place on the same night is just another way of looking up at my old friend,
the Big Dipper. They are always there. I can depend on them.
No matter how alone I feel or stressed out I might be, the gang at Hunter's
will always be there for me just as I am for them. We are each other's
Big Dippers in the sky. The sameness is the very thing that we need
for now. It's our gift to each other.
However, I would be remiss
not to point out what every star gazer knows. You see, the Little
Dipper can be found on the opposite side of the night sky once the bigger
version is identified. In fact, the big one points to the little
one.
As I once again consider the beauty
of the cosmos, I wonder if perhaps the day will come when either one of
the sweet ladies I dance with or perhaps someone not yet a part of the
gang will become my best friend and love for life.
Should that happen, we will take
walks on Thursday nights together, look up at the starry night, find my
old friend, and remember those wonderful nights of sameness at the Hunter's
Den.
© all rights
reserved - 12/21/2001
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The mission of this not-for-profit website is to promote clear insights
and toleration regarding the many variations of primary relationships that
exist in our world. We ask for neither acceptance or approval but
hope that each visitor who reviews the pages of this site will leave them
with a better understanding of the numerous cultural, historical, preferential,
religious, sexual, and sociological approaches to coupling that have always
existed and will continue to exist as long as there are at least two human
beings living on this planet. If the effort put into creating and
maintaining this site results in others coming to the realization that
the basic human need to love and be loved takes on many forms which are
accepted by those who practice them, whether right or wrong as determined
by the personal belief system of others, then it will have served it's
purpose well. |
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