Two days ago, I moved a dresser out of my basement. My plan was to put it on the curb in hopes that someone would take it away. I emptied the drawers, reallocated the contents to other places in the house, and took the drawers upstairs. I flipped the dresser on its top and slid it up the stairs and out the back door. Once outside, I propped it on this skateboard-like thing and rolled it to the back gate.
I was feeling pleased with myself until I hit the gravel and the skateboard thing no longer worked. It wouldn’t roll, the cheap plastic casters got stuck. I was standing in the alley eyeing the dresser when a 60ish woman wandered by on her morning walk.
“Do you need help with that?”
“Seriously? Yeah. I do. It’s not super heavy, it’s just awkward.”
“Lemme see if I can help you. I have a rotator cuff thing so if it’s too heavy, I won’t be able to lift it. But I’ll try.”
She was a hero. I thanked her profusely. “Oh, I’ve been there,” she said. “I have been there. I’m glad I could help. You know it’s going to rain?”
“Yeah, I know. I hope it will be gone before it gets too wet. But now that it’s out there, worst case, I can tip it into the car and take it to the Goodwill. Thanks again. So much.”
Two things happened the next day. One, when I got up in the morning, the dresser was gone. Mission accomplished. And two, I went to the hardware store and bought a proper hand truck. A single woman of a certain age should be able to use physics to move heavy objects from time to time without relying on the kindness of serendipitous passersby.
§§§
I spent a fair bit of alone time whilst still married so it is not like I am new to the challenges of being single. It is much, much easier now that I am free from expectations that someone will help me out. It is just a problem to solve; I have not been let down.
I am quite able to get a Lyft from the airport or a friend to shuttle me to a medical appointment where I am not meant to drive afterward. I can frequently (but not always) find a date to join me on social outings. I am content to travel on my own or with the dog as company. I drag myself to the gym, cook elaborate meals for one, manage the household drudgery, get the car tuned up, take the trash out, build that thing you put together with an Allen wrench…
You name it, I will fucking take care of it. And if I truly cannot, like when that massive pile of mulch showed up, I will hire help because I’m the goddamn breadwinner. I decide what I want to do and what I will pay someone else to do. Last winter I hired some guys to haul away a bunch of old furniture and I tell you what, I was as flushed with adrenaline as if I’d lifted each object myself, so satisfying it was to see those bulky things gone.
If I sound proud of my competence—and I am—there have been times when I am bitterly resentful or just plain sad that I must manage on my own. I can still summon the rage I felt when, after dropping my bike off at the shop on a day when it was absolutely pouring, I had to take a Lyft home. I was still married, my husband was absent again, I was in an absolute fury.
I’m less wired for anger these days, but when I drove home from an eye exam last week, squinting into to the overcast afternoon behind my sunglasses, I was sorry I hadn’t arranged for a ride. The morning my mom died and then later, the trip I made to collect the last things I wanted from her house were the kind of events that are more tolerable with a trusted partner at your side. As I climbed into bed to watch old movies and eat ice cream, I was deeply saddened to be alone.
Sometimes, if it has been a long day and I can’t deal with dinner, I will have takeout delivered. I would so much rather have a companion across the table in the restaurant, someone who will drive so I can have a drink. Delivery works but there’s a shadow of disappointment as I unpack my dinner for one.
§§§
There is a long list of things that are harder when you are alone. The pandemic made it much, much worse. As a person who is good at being alone and also, somewhat of an introvert, I fear it has ruined me and I am stuck solo until I die. My efforts to date have failed miserably. Part of me wonders if this is because I do not project need unless I am literally trying to move something that requires two people to do so.
But it is also easier than ever to be single. An on-demand economy means I can have just about anything delivered to my door in a day or a week or a month, depending on shipping times. I make myself participate in society so I don’t become weirder than I already am, but wonder if it’s too late.
My house is too big for one person. I am gradually divesting from my belongings, removing the detritus of a 20-year relationship. I have this idea that by the time I die, I would like my home to be mostly empty, wherever I am. But this exercise in subtraction yields no answers about where to go in the short or middle term. I struggle over what to do with the artwork, the old guitar, my remaining heartbeats.
This is a difficult time, but I do not think it is unprecedented. There was a plague in 1918 and as the Weimar Era came to a close, fascism dragged what was left of the European empires to the ground. Gertrude Stein and Emma Goldman existed; it is easy to imagine them in the state I’m in, feeding their friends waffles and trying to figure out what the fuck they were meant to do next.
This in-between state feels normal and acceptable for a person who has rounded another bend in a season of so much loss and change. It feels right to give away as much as I can stand to give away for as long as possible, to see if I can’t find myself alone in empty rooms with space to think. It is a long-term project, one I will not complete tomorrow, but one I don’t mind doing by myself.
❤️