I turned 44 this year. They don't make fancy balloons or party decorations for the 44th birthday. It's not anyone's milestone but mine. This birthday means that I have spent exactly half of my life married and half as a single person. This feels deeply significant to me in ways I can't yet explain.
I tried to think back to when I lived alone and discovered that I never really did--unless you count the one semester I had my own room in college. I got married while I was still in college and I went right from my parent's house to college. During summers I had roommates or stayed with some family or other. Even when I went overseas, I went with my best friend from high school and then later with my husband.
Never have I been truly alone in the world. This is a good thing. Right? I've had plenty of experiences that have been uniquely mine within my family--going to Mexico and later to Germany, teaching, taking a scuba diving class. But I've never really been alone, even when I was doing unique and wonderful things. Always with my family of one type or another.
There's nothing inherently bad about never having lived unaccompanied, but I have a longing for being alone that can't always be satisfied with an hour or two at home. It seems silly to wish for anything when I am so blessed in my life--husband, kids, home, car. Indulgent, even. I feel guilty even writing about it--like the guilt I feel when I take a bath sometimes, only magnified. I would, of course, never want to leave what I have--it's absolutely not about that. I've only been reflecting on my life so far and have found it lacking in little ways. Things I should have/could have/would have done had circumstances been different.
Sometimes reflection just shows your own face, looking back at you. Not always a good thing.
