Trouble in my heart
It's 2:47am. June 1st. Early Saturday morning. And I'm beginning this blog post because, once again, my sleep has been interrupted and falling back to sleep is more trouble than its worth.
I haven't had a good night's rest in weeks for a plethora of reasons. Tonight--or this morning rather--I have trouble in my heart. Yea. Cancelled plans have me home alone, again, this weekend, leaving me to contemplate my life, all that it is and all that it isn't. It's fair to say that this year of life has been marked with a series of cancelled plans and broken friendships that have opened my eyes to the growing (apart) pains of your mid-20's. And I thought this was supposed to be the "time of our lives."
I feel like I've been waiting for "the time of our lives" since I was 14 years old. They promised us in middle school that high school would be "the time of our lives." It wasn't. They promised us at freshman orientation that college would be "the time of our lives." It wasn't. Then, once we graduated, they told us that it would "only be up from here." Yea, whatever man. It's June 2013 and 10 years later I'm still waiting for the time of my life. This ain't it! ...And there's trouble in my heart.
I decided about a month ago that I was going to create the time of my life--you know, go as many places in NYC as possible, see as many museums as possible, try a variety of restaurants, and depend on nothing and no one to do so. And everyday I'm physically able, I proudly do just that. But every brunch I go to alone, I see a group of girlfriends having the time of their lives and I wonder, "Where did I go wrong?" Every museum I visit or park I venture to, I see a couple experiencing that adventure together and I wonder why that isn't me. And as I watch my professional life flourish exponentially, I think about all of the flower-less opening nights. And the birthdays I've spent alone. And the picnics for one in Central Park. And there's trouble in my heart.
This post is not another "Single Professional Black Woman Ranting About Being A Single Professional Black Woman."
I often feel too grateful to complain--too ashamed to be ungrateful. God has done wonders in my life and if you knew where I could've been, my present situation seems like dream for many. But every second I age, I have less and less time for the bullsh*t of our roaring 20's. I long more and more for a sense of family and companionship that even a thriving professional life in a city of 9 million people can't give you. And although I've grown significantly since I moved to NYC two years ago, every birthday, dinner, and broadway show I spend/attend alone makes me feel like I haven't grown at all--like I'm back to square one where I started...waiting for the time of my life...With trouble in my heart.
To be continued...