Missing me
Beloveds,
I miss me.
Not in some deep, philosophical, somebody-call-a-meeting kind of way.
I just miss me.
sigh
I miss taking a long shower without it being something that required thought.
I miss making coffee and sitting there enjoying it while it was still hot.
I miss grabbing my keys, getting in my car and heading for the highway about ten minutes from my apartment.
Sometimes I wasn’t going anywhere.
That was the point.
I would drive for an hour or so with my music blasting.
No appointment.
No destination that needed explaining.
No one waiting for me to arrive.
Just me, the highway and whatever song happened to understand me that day.
Sometimes I would treat myself to a movie.
Sometimes I would stop at Village Inn for coffee and French silk pie.
Sometimes I would grab Popeyes, go home, watch YouTube and turn in early.
Nothing extraordinary.
And maybe that’s what I miss most.
The ordinary freedom of being alone with me.
Solitude used to ride shotgun.
She didn’t talk much.
Didn’t need to.
She knew I wasn’t lonely.
There is a difference.
Solitude and I could sit in a restaurant together.
Go for a drive together.
Watch a movie together.
Drink coffee together.
Do absolutely nothing together.
We were good like that.
Now Solitude comes by sometimes and stands at the door.
I look at her.
She looks at me.
“You remember when we could just go?” I ask.
She smiles.
“I remember.”
sigh
I miss that.
Today, doing almost anything requires another person somewhere in the equation.
Someone to help.
Someone to drive.
Someone to accompany.
Someone to make possible what I once did without thinking twice.
I am grateful for people.
This isn’t about wishing them away.
It is about missing the woman who could say, “I think I’ll go get some coffee,” and then simply pick up her keys.
I miss the privacy of independence.
I miss spontaneity.
I miss changing my mind halfway down the road because there was nobody else’s schedule to consider.
I miss being responsible for nobody’s time but mine.
Mostly?
I miss being enough company to make the day possible.
That’s the part that’s difficult to explain.
Because when I say I miss being alone, somebody might hear loneliness.
I’m not talking about loneliness.
I’m talking about alone me.
The woman who could spend an entire day with herself and never once feel like somebody was missing.
She wasn’t waiting for company.
She was the company.
So tonight I think I’ll leave Solitude’s chair out for a while.
Not because I’m pretending things haven’t changed.
They have.
And not because I’m trying to turn this into one of those tidy little lessons where everything difficult has to reveal its purpose before bedtime.
Nope.
Tonight I’m simply remembering.
A highway.
Music too loud.
Coffee.
French silk pie.
Maybe some Popeyes later.
And a woman perfectly content in her own company.
“Solitude?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss us.”
“I know.”
Another sigh.
Then we sit.
No tears.
No fixing.
Just two old friends remembering when going nowhere was something I could decide to do all by myself.
And, beloveds, sometimes missing who you were isn’t rejecting who you are.
Sometimes…
you just miss you.
I do.
loving me some you
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMeMissing
