Who is this Blog for Anyway?

It didn't take me long to decide on a title for this blog when I created it. I knew I needed an outlet for my thoughts and for me writing was cathartic. I knew I shared similar emotions as many people out there - the older we get the more lonely we feel. Life passes quickly, and people travel down separate roads. Marriages, children, jobs and faith transform friends into acquaintances. Time becomes more of a commodity. The luxury of sitting back, collecting your thoughts and taking a breath is rare. There's little time to ever enjoy the tiniest bit of solitude in your life.

That said, the title of this blog is not just obviously stating I feel like the only single girl in America. It's a declaration of my life; proof that I'm so much more than just a girl, existing on her own.

Who is to say someone may read this blog and feel an inkling of comfort that I'm here experiencing the same feelings, alone, unsure, and yes, a little bit scared. See, this blog helps me explore my sadness and light, but it also allows me a chance to feel I may have touched someone or made them think.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not on an intellectual plight to prove a point or substantiate my self worth. This blog isn't going to facilitate the cure for cancer or ever be nominated for a scholarly award. I'm not here for that. I don't think like that. I picked up a pencil when I was five and wrote my first short story. I filled my first three notebooks of poetry by age 10. Still hidden in my apartment is an old spiral notebook filled with stories, pages stained by age and tears, only shown to a select few people. My life is words, scattered and nonsensical.

I'm often misunderstood and laughed at. I'm clumsy and awkward. I say some pretty stupid things. But I'm not dumb. I see everything. I hear everything - every comment about my lack of children, my age, my being alone. I hear it all. And I keep those words with me, hidden in my chest like tiny daggers.

I know there are people out there like me. People looking for relief from the pain. Awkward women that are too smart to be arm candy; lonely men that think women are looking for a superhero. I know you're out there and this blog is for you. All of you.

The Final Hour of Friendship

I met Bob Zipperer when I was in college. I had gone to visit my parents, who had just moved down to Kingsbay, Georgia for my Dad's job. Bob - or Zip as my Dad called him - had just stopped in to say hello. He also wanted to meet me. As I shook this kindly little man's hand he said, "I have been waiting to meet you. And my, what a pretty smile you have." How sweet he was. Zip worked with my Dad, and they had grown fast friends in the short amount of time they had known each other.


Over the years while my parents lived in Georgia I saw Zip, always smiling, and always complimentary. Zip was always sort of there in the background. My Dad would talk of him in passing, and I would occasionally see him when I visited. Every time he talked to me he would mention my smile, how much he loved his daughter, and how special my Dad was to him.


And then time started passing so quickly. I got married and moved away. My Dad retired and my parents moved too. But Zip was still there, always checking in. I occasionally received a kind Christmas card or birthday card. He and my Dad always talked on their birthdays. Zip would call my Dad just to check on him, and to check on me. When my marriage ended, my Dad told Zip, and he would call just to make sure I was doing okay.


And life went on. Zip was older than my Dad, and over the years his age caught up with him. A little while back his health began to deteriorate and his heart stopped functioning. But even in poor health, he still called my Dad, and still asked about me.


About a week ago my Dad received a phone call. It was Zip calling to say good-bye. He was in Hospice and wanted to talk to my Dad one last time. He told him how much he meant to him, and how he had been his best friend over the years. He wasn't sure how long he had, but wanted to make sure my Dad knew just how special he was.


And then came yesterday. My Dad just had a feeling. He told my Mom, "I'm gonna call and check on Zip." And he did. Zip spoke into the phone with little strength, and said, "I'm so glad I got to hear your voice." They briefly talked and Zip told my Dad he loved him. And they hung up. An hour later Zip's wife called to tell them he'd passed.


My Mom told me tonight and my heart hurts. How wonderful this man was to show how he cherished my Dad until almost his last breath. And how beautiful a friendship that is.


So, to Zip - thank you for your wonderful gift. You were always so kind and giving, and showed my family the utmost respect. Thank you for loving my Dad and being a friend to him; for calling him even when his own brothers would not. For being the kind of friend that I can only wish to have. And for always making me smile.

The Rain Keeps Falling Down

The past day or so it's been raining. Not just a little bit, but the rain has been ever-present and harsh.

It's typical to hate the rain, but I love it. It's a powerful change after so many hot dry summer days. It's cleansing and refreshing, and gives me a renewed perspective. A feeling that sometimes life is rough - an arid desert of normality and nothingness. But when the rain begins to fall more than the sky opens up. It's almost as if every pore in my body expands. A rush of warmth overtakes me and I can feel the lovely pulse of earth on my skin.

It's wonderful to know life is cleansed by a crisp rain. When you think all is lost, and hope has gone, something amazing happens. The sky darkens, the clouds draw near, and beautiful, sparkling drops of water fall to the ground. It's nature's way of saying, "It's okay. It's time to start over. Time to accept that even the earth needs to reboot."

Life Comes Full Circle and Other Strange Occurences

I went out last night and met up with a friend that I haven't seen since high school. It was surreal. We weren't friends in school - we hung out in different circles. Life was so different then. But the last 18 years have changed us, and after re-acquainting ourselves through Facebook we learned we lived parallel lives. And meeting confirmed this connection. How beautiful it is to meet a kindred spirit.

And it made me think, what makes a person change? Time? Loss? Location? It's everything. Time allows you to grow into your true identity, and whether that's a wife with a family and a suburban agenda or an independent spirit always free and chasing a dream, that's what time has made you. Everyone takes different paths in life, and sometimes a path less taken is often defined as a misstep. The things that occur in your life - good and bad - define you. It shapes everything about you - from your demeanor to every small line on your face. It molds you and creates a strong persona. You're supposed to have a family and a stable life by the time you're in your 30s. But are you really supposed to? Or is that something ingrained in us from a time past the really should be reconsidered? My friend said last night, "I'm 36 and never thought I would not know what I want to do at this age?" Well, I've always known that writing was my calling, but I don't know if I'll ever be sure of what it is that I am supposed to be doing in this life. I honestly don't know if I'll ever know if I am doing the right thing with my life. But that's growing. That's what life is about.

And it's comforting to know that there's someone out there that understands my plight. Funny, 18 years ago I would have never thought this was where I would be in my life. But now that I'm here, I wouldn't change a thing. My life has come full circle. The awkwardness and curiosity that I had when I was 17 has returned. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Time to get back to what's important....

It's been months since my last blog and it's time to get back to it. A lot has happened in the past five months. I've packed up, moved from north to south, settled in and become accustomed to life in Charlotte. I love my life here. Work is challenging and I tend to be tired a lot. But I've finally found the city I am meant to live in. I love it here: the culture, the convenience, the southern hospitality. It's perfect for me.
It's refreshing knowing I'm happy here. It's been a long time since I've felt like I've been home. The air here smells like the south, and every time I walk outside I can smell the pine needles, the air and the soft scent of childhood. It's like living in my hometown but not having to go back. It's a lovely contradiction.
There are so many things I love about the south that I missed. Funny thing is I never realized how much I missed it until I got back down here. It's amazing how when it rains the drops are large swollen drops that soak the very thing it lands on. People are friendly - no matter where you go someone is happy to hold a door, say hello, excuse me or thank you. The food is spectacular - slow-cooked, well-thought out and delicious.
Life is good. But something is still missing. What? I don't know. It may take me time to figure it out, but I'm willing to take time to learn more. I can't wait to see what I find. 

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful?

Really?

I was looking through some old photos of myself the other day and started thinking. I was a pretty girl - fairly thin, blond and always smiling. Then something occurred to me. I never thought I was pretty. I never thought I was thin. I always had some sort of issue with the way I looked. And almost nine years later I can barely look in the mirror. As a matter of fact I don't have a full-length mirror in my house. I have a hard time accepting the way that I look now. And this is horribly sad to realize that I've had this poor self image for as long as I can remember. Possibly as early as middle school. Maybe even earlier.

Thinking about this also made me wonder, since my perception of "beautiful" is distorted, what does everyone think? Yeah, I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but society has created a definition of beauty. Media has perpetuated it. Women on television are waif-like and air-brushed with make-up, spray tan and hair extensions. Advertisements are Photoshopped so women are even thinner than their natural tiny frames. Blemishes are buffed out. Wrinkles are smoothed. And this is beauty?

I always associated thin, tall and leggy as "beautiful". I'm 5'3" and not the thinnest person; therefore, I never thought I was beautiful. But how did I get that way? How did I come to decide what was beautiful? Was it the media's subliminal programming? Was it my deep yearning to look like my Barbie when I was a child? In all honesty I have no clue. It didn't even occur to me that my perception was so off-kilter until I was at my therapist. She thought it was peculiar that I could say other women that were not tall, thin and leggy were pretty, but I couldn't say it about myself. Why do I see beauty in others but not myself? I am very self-confident in other aspects of my life - my personality, sense of humor and intelligence - but my appearance has always been a weak spot.

So I guess I'm questioning if other people feel this way? If so, why? And what do other people consider "beautiful"? Do you think beautiful people get farther in life? Are they ultimately happier?  

Yes, I'm Weird...You Wanna Fight About it?

So one of my childhood, hometown friends that writes a blog began an interesting task today - to write a new entry a day. Her first entry was to post a recent picture and 15 facts about herself. Okay, I'm not going to agree to a new entry every day, let alone a new picture of myself (I'm allergic to cameras). So, I'll divulge 15 little known, or well-known facts about me. Here they are, not in any particular order:

15. I have never been to Europe, although I often feel European and break out into drunken British gibberish.

14. One of my favorite channels is the BBC (see above).

13. I love red wine, and drink it often - like right now.

12. I love scotch - and once had a glass of Johnny Walker Blue label - and thought I had died and gone to heaven.

11. My dog, and all dogs in general, are my best friends. They are kindred spirits.

10. I have a shoe fetish and love heels - the higher the better.

9. I am the clumsiest person ever...see above.

8. I love indie music - the stranger the better!!

7. I have lived in South Carolina, Georgia, Florida and Pennsylvania, and soon to be North Carolina - I'm a bit of a gypsy.

6. One of my favorite movies is "Anchorman" and I often quote from it - and people look at me like I'm a freak.

5. I have flown in the Budweiser Blimp, and it was glorious.

4. I'm am horribly afraid of clowns and carnival workers; therefore, you will never see me at a circus or carnival.

3. I love the smell of Vick's, nail polish remover and gasoline - yes, I'm one step away from huffing the can of air I use to clean my computer.

2. My minor in college was film history and criticism, which gives me no experience for my future endeavors and is a completely pointless minor. But it allows me to be the one person that knows absolutely everything about obscure, weird films - and all films in general.

1. Poor clothing choices drive me insane. If the world ends and Jesus comes down here and finds you in a pair of Mom jeans and cotton candy pink Crocs, I think he's going to let you descend down below, solely on your clothing choice. Because Jesus is classy...yo.