I hate being realistic when it is depressing and the result isn’t what I want. Yet I know I have to face facts, truth and be prepared for what may come.
My future is like a rickety swinging rope bridge. I have to cross it, what lies on the other side might be good or might be lousy. But crossing that bridge comes first and I have no choice in the matter. I can’t look down, can’t go back or stop in the middle.
Right now I’m aware of how fragile my situation is. I’m unemployed, living at my sister’s house, and have no idea what I’m supposed to do or where to go. Also a widow. So I got all that going for me. The only creature who has any faith in me is a chubby Chihuahua. The cat gives me side looks and I swear sometimes he shakes his head at me.
What I hope for is to have a good life. To move to a city that accepts rather than tolerates a nutty old broad like me. Where there is interesting stuff like bookstores, opera companies, and museums. Somewhere I can breathe, but I’m afraid that’s not my future
I know what lies ahead, at least the most likely scenario. It’s not great but not terrible, just mediocre. I’m trying to psyche myself up for it so I’ll be ready.
I see myself coming home from my job, going up some stairs, walking my dog and reading a book before going to bed and starting it all over again. I’ll go to Mass on Sunday, and not much else. In some ways I’ll be withdrawing from the world. But that’s my plan, while I hope to make friends I know I will depend on my own company most of the time. I know it sounds lonely. But there’s not much here for me, my interests and my politics don’t fit in here, and being an introvert I’ve got all the qualifications to be a hermit. I’m reconciled to the idea even if it seems depressing.
I will have my freedom and independence, hopefully a long time. I won’t have to do things I don’t enjoy if I don’t want to. Being an old broad gives me that privilege. It comes with a price, being alone and occasionally lonely but I know what to expect. Better to go into it knowing than not.