Here I Go Again On My Own...

Queue pyrotechnics.

Pyrotechnics go.

I have had a wonderful day and as I relax here at home, I find this song running through my head. Tonight, I feel like David Coverdale was given divine revelation when I was 7 that one day, I would come home from a wonderful day and need a song such as this to belt out as I watch my son play Minecraft.

This song is actually on my "Video Girls That I Aspired to Be" playlist on YouTube. Neither here nor there but it probably says more about me in nine songs than you might get out of me in nine days of interrogation. Although, it's by no means an exhaustive list. But like I said, neither here nor there....

So, here I go again. I have pretty much been on my own for three years but I am finally settling into it, I guess. I went to a food truck rally and bocce tournament tonight with my son and it just really solidified for me that I am perpetually a mom first and pretty much a drifter alone. (Fun fact: in the original recording of "Here I Go Again" the lyric was "Like a hobo, I was born to walk alone" but it was changed in the 1987 recorded lest people mishear it as "Like a homo.") Not at all unhappy with the evening. Ran into some acquaintances which was great because they were genuinely excited to see Wesley and I knew we were in for a long haul at the playground when after moments of being there a kid formally introduced himself.

Before I met my husband, I was on my own. I dated and what not but I was pretty much a free agent and pretty particular about the contracts I considered. I think up to the time I met him the closest I ever got to marriage was in French class in high school when we did mock weddings as an excuse to have a party in class. In that situation, mon mari promptly started exclaiming in French that he wanted a divorce and listed out a whole sordid list of reasons. It was probably the most mon ami studied for French the whole time we were in, proving that a well-timed gag requires careful planning.

 Alone is not a dirty word unless you're cheese, then it seems like a set up for some taunting. Shrug. I am not saying I am like 100% woohoo look at me this is awesome but I am sure fuck not going to die. Sure, I'd like a tighter, more cohesive tribe. We all do but getting pissy about it isn't going to make it happen. Single with kids is a weird, awkward place to be. You have to be more discerning because the people you bring around do affect your kid. Sometimes you get lucky and you find another single parent who is of a similar disposition and you can live happily ever after as wingman and homeslice but it is a hard place for me to find. Especially now. Not my first rodeo and I am older and wiser and certainly a harder match in this my second rodeo.

This is to a large degree the only road I have ever known. If we count 18 as the start of adulthood, I have spent 14 of the years since then as a single parent. That's 64% of my adult life so far as a single parent. I could make a case for that being bigger because of the way my husband sometimes operated. It's a well-worn groove. Sure, I have days I resent it but mostly, like tonight, I marvel at moments where we spend a little and have a lot of fun. The resentment would be better channeled into writing volumes about how horrible society as a whole treats a single parent...even in this day and age.

But just like the song,  sing stanzas like this all the time:

Tho' I keep searching for an answer
I never seem to find what I'm looking for
Oh Lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on
'Cause I know what it means to walk along the lonely street of dreams
 

 My sailor mouth is a thorn in my side but trust me when I say I could give a fuck less about snark and sarcasm directed toward my faith. I wish that I had this level of faith 20 years ago, or even a fraction of it. Sure, there's the rub that I had to go through all, every last thing that I have gone through to get to this place. This strange and beautiful place where, although I do get temporarily ruffled, I always come to this kitty cat landing on my feet place where I remember all the amazing ways that God has shown Himself to me and ways where things that seems unfortunate, really did work out to my good.

It really does work that way. Too many Puritanically lineaged cooks spoiling the stew of life. We're all fearfully and wonderfully made and so flawfully human but God loves us nonetheless. And God is such a swell guy, He'll meet you where you are. He's meeting me tonight as I sit here overeating a bag of Beanitos, having a glass of wine, listening to Garbage (actually). As I have thought of my day and my alonenness, I have thought of a particular verse and it gives me comfort and the strength to carry on.

Learn to find the blessing in your singleness (or whatever other -ness you have that is weighing you down. Even awesomeness, because it's a terrible burden to be awesome all the time.) Queue the lights. Queue the pyrotechnics. Queue your own version of someone rolling on the hood of your car. Queue whatever you want my friend and hold your head high in whatever -ness this season of your life brings.

Being a drifter is not so bad.

Thinking that you are absolutely nothing because of where your life is at is.