I admit, I am still fairly untethered after our move last summer. The kids have settled in and made friends, which is really what counts. But me? Still looking for community. I’m not the me I was a year ago. I’m kelp in the ocean. I’m a milkweed seed in the breeze. I’m…I don’t even know. I’m alone. I sense I’m gonna be alone for a long, long time.
I sort of wish we hadn’t left the city, though we had to.
I’ve started mountain biking again, and I am getting to know one group I regularly ride with. I had high hopes for a women’s mountain biking group that formed last fall, but it’s kind of fallen apart. Meanwhile I’m riding with what seems to be a bunch of middle-aged men (they’re really nice and welcoming and don’t hit on me, so that’s awesome) and occasional women every week, so there’s that.
Recently I found an old notebook with notes from an event or conference I attended; I forget which, but one line I’d written said, “Find your community.” I think this was a Ming Tsai (the chef) event, because there was also something about peeling ginger with a spoon and that was definitely Ming.
It’s been hard to find my community, and I’ve gotten much more used to being alone. It doesn’t freak me out as much, going days without really interacting in real life with other humans. And sure, it helps that I’m now working onsite and therefore at least see other people all day. But I’m alone. I’m probably the most alone I’ve ever been in my life.
Hi, my name is Alone.
I’m OK with it, mostly.
Most of my old social life revolved around running. I can’t run much now. And the running-with-my-new-town-running-group has not worked out so well. I can only join their weekly runs every other week.
Dating life? Really, you think I’m going to go there? I’m not. Sorry. Let it be said: I am quirky (also known as “weird”), boring, have an unfriendly schedule, and want to spend at least one of my two free weeknights mountain biking. So…the dating pool is small.
But hey, fun fact: I’m in a foodie group somewhere on social media, and it’s a wonderful community. Funny and weird and into food and we also all have to meal–plan thanks to children and life, so…And it makes me realize I end up giving the few people I’ve dated a food nickname, based on some food-related incident with them.
So. My life. My radishes bolted, my lettuces are rich and excessive (why so much fucking lettuce, whyyyyyy), my cucumbers all sprouted blossoms overnight, my tomatoes look tired, my strawberries are almost dead…
…and my whole inherited cottage garden situation has gone from “enchanting” to “holy shit, that needs to be edged and weeded and mulched and is that a weed or will it bloom???” Something I thought was a weed is gooseberries. Gooseberries. It’s by sheer luck I didn’t chop it.
Ok, so my full name is I’m Alone and I Don’t Know What Is In My Garden.
See why I’m alone? Doesn’t it all make more sense now?