October 2009 - It finally happened, I thought to myself as I stood there looking at the barren walls of my new little apartment. My cat sat close by, still weary of her new surroundings. I was embarking on a new life alone, by myself and I wish I could say that it was under better circumstances. Me and my little furball were suddenly ripped from our warm and cozy life and deposited into a cold little empty apartment miles from “home”. This was surreal to me after having spent all of my adult life in one of two long-term relationships. I had no idea what I was doing, well maybe I kind-of did but I was used to having the security of that other person to bounce things off of. I had to learn a whole new way of going about life or “tackling life”, as I like to put it—alone.
This challenge would have been easier without heartache in tow but more often than not, the circumstances of drastic change are not of the kindest origin. My latest dive into “drastic change” came when my most recent relationship ended almost abruptly just before my thirtieth birthday.
I walked away with almost nothing. It wasn’t that he was that selfish (or maybe he was) but it was more about turning the page—I left my garden, one of my two cats, the trees I had planted and nurtured and my gas stove. I walked away from the man that had been my other half for almost eight years and moved across town to an empty, cold apartment---welcome home!
As overwhelming and “big” as all that was, it was the little things that I was really scared of—you know, that whole business of getting used to life without a man to do the little “man things”. Who is going to move the furniture when I need to clean the carpet? Where does the garbage go when it’s full? What kind of light-bulbs do I buy? How do I use the fireplace? These were just some of the things that I didn’t know because they had always been done for me. They were the day-to-day mini-challenges entwined with the bigger life ones; moving, moving on, going at least two hours without crying, fears over money, and losing the man that was my best friend.
The little things weighed like an elephant on my chest, a chest that not-so-successfully concealed a heart that was totally shattered. I was terrified but determined not to let him see my fear of living without him when I walked out that door. I did what I have always done when life pulls the rug out from under me, I held my chin high and I set out not only to make a new life alone, but to make a successful new life alone.
This successful life alone required the careful blending and balancing of these little challenges with the big ones. The big things are what is and you deal with them because you have no choice. The little things are harder because they sneak up on up you. For instance, when I made the decision to leave, at no point did light-bulbs enter my consciousness and although light-bulbs themselves are not decision makers or breakers, they held enough power to crumble my spirit.
It was October when I moved into my apartment and the evenings were cool and much like my heart, were getting darker by the day. There was a serious lack of overhead lightening in my new not-so-cozy apartment so I bought a set of adjustable lamps and set to work assembling them. With the evening hours bearing down on me and the threat of complete darkness howling at me from the dark corners, I was disappointed that it took me forty minutes to assemble the fussy cheap lamps but that seemingly unstoppable go-girl spirit finally kicked in and with it, a feeling of profound satisfaction that I was able to complete the task alone without man or “real” tools—another “little thing” kicked in the butt.
My recent accomplishment and pride were evident in my lighter step as I ventured out to the store to get light-bulbs. My new title as, “Lamp Assembler Extraordinaire” quickly got lost as I experienced a hit of anxiety when I couldn’t locate the light-bulbs in the grocery store. I meandered around and successfully located the other obscure non-food items such as diapers, turkey basters and Dora the Explorer coloring books. My spirit was withering a bit when at last I located the elusive blubs. I spent fifteen minutes in the aisle trying to figure out what light-bulbs to buy--- I had clearly not spent enough of my life thinking about light-bulbs. Silly me, I thought that I could simply pick the wattage that matched the wattage listed on the lamps but this was not the case. There were light-bulbs that had three different wattages, there were tinted light-bulbs, there were different sized light-bulbs, there were energy conscious light-bulbs and the list grew as my spirit deflated.
I was bombarded by questions in my mind: What would happen if I get the three wattages bulbs even though one of the wattages matches my lamps? Will the soft pink bulbs make things look orange? Why are some bulbs shaped funny? And finally my most destructive thought on the whole subject: Which ones did he used to buy for our home? I was nearly on the aisle floor fighting tears trying to decipher the labels and wattages--my previous assembly victory long-forgotten. I felt incredibly alone in the packed grocery store and I was beginning to feel sorry for myself. I put the self-pity bat in the other hand and started to beat myself up with it, I should know this! Why is this so complicated? I stood there fighting back my impending breakdown and thinking that I had managed to drag my depressed-self out of bed today only to be undone by a little thing like a light bulb!
A week later I regained some of my appetite and my determination to make this new life work so I headed to the grocery store. I have always expressed my creativity through cooking and decided that today was the day to reclaim that. I cruised around the grocery store carefully avoiding anything that would dent my determination--his favorite foods and the light-bulb aisle. I saw that red bell peppers were on sale. My favorite homemade pasta sauce came to mind and I decided that I would make that for dinner. Positive energy surged through me and I buzzed around the store grabbing up all the ingredients to create my masterpiece and headed home.
After stashing all the groceries away, I set to preparing my ingredients for the sauce. I peeled off the produce stickers and washed my bell peppers. I turned towards my stove and was hit upside the head (and heart) with the realization that I didn’t have gas burners anymore. In my former life, I used to roast peppers over the open flame gas burners—what do I do? I sensed the edge of a cliff and I was heading towards it. I was determined not to fall! I did a quick mental-shuffle through the millions of cookbook articles I had read and recalled the alternative method of cutting the bell peppers in half and broiling them in the oven. Ah-ha! Good mood retained, “little thing” overcome and cliff avoided!
I set to work on my peppers, placing them on a cookie sheet in the oven and closing the door with a victorious smile. I prepared the other ingredients, dancing around the kitchen as I worked and once I was finished, I peeked in the oven to check on the peppers. To my horror, the kitchen started filling with smoke and the peppers weren’t even toasted. I stood there for a second absolutely dumbfounded and confused as I stared at the almost-raw bell peppers. All of a sudden I am startled out of my confusion by a loud piercing sound—the fire alarm? Another layer of confusion piles on as I scramble to find the offending alarm, tripping over my cat in the process (who is clearly startled and running for cover). I locate an alarm right outside the kitchen pass-through and attempt to locate a button to stop the blaring noise. I notice that the light is blinking green as if everything is fine and dandy and I am confused by this—shouldn’t it be flashing red? This pettily green color doesn’t convey danger! And that’s when I see the words “carbon monoxide detector” as a wave of stupidity washes over me—wrong alarm. Those damn little things.
I try to calm down and take stock of the situation; my kitchen is full of smoke—bad—but not on fire---good. The fire alarm clearly works—good---but the noise is so loud that I can’t figure out where it’s coming from---bad. I don’t know whether to fan the perfectly-not-burned bell peppers or continue my vain search for an alarm near the kitchen. I turn to look down the hall and lock eyes with my cat, who is fearfully peeking out from under the bed telling me to not let her die. I gaze up slightly and there it is---the alarm---right near my bedroom door. I push the oven door closed and dash down the hallway. The cat looks on, as I reach overhead spouting the command internally “go go gadget arms!”-- Or not. I quickly realize that my petite stature isn’t going to cut it in this situation. I dash back into the living room and grab the lawn chair that I have been using as living room furniture. I hop up but can still barely reach the alarm. I will my fingers to grow just a quarter of an inch, all the while the alarm is still blaring and announcing to all the neighbors that I am an idiot. The cliff is visible again, emerging out of the darkness. I can’t find the ‘off’ button or battery compartment, my cat doesn’t want to die, my peppers aren’t cooking and here I stand on a lawn chair in the middle of a life that I don’t know how to live.
In a final act of desperation, I knock the alarm off the ceiling and stare at it as it dangles just above my head teasing me as it continues to scream, “Your new neighbor is a dangerous idiot” to everyone within the apartment complex.
I am falling over the cliff. I plop down defeated onto the lawn chair and cry.
After about five minutes, the screeching stops and my cat creeps out to say she’s sorry for doubting me by rubbing against my legs. I head back into the kitchen and eye the bell peppers that obviously aren’t going to get roasted and the thought occurs to me that my favorite hobby might also be history just like the failed relationship. I close my eyes and put my head on the counter. I allow the tears to come because this can’t be real. When I open my eyes, I will be back in my airy kitchen with my gas stove and boyfriend who will know how to turn off the fire alarm—Wrong. It didn’t happen, I opened my eyes and I was still where I was and there were still raw bell peppers in the oven. My cat hops up in the kitchen window, excitedly watching a chipmunk from her new perch. She is seemingly unaffected by what just happened. My view of the situation suddenly changes and I decide that I will make this work, the fire alarm, light-bulbs, and cat’s lack of faith in me will not break me.
I attempt one more stab at roasting the bell peppers in the toaster oven but after forty minutes on one pepper, I start to get discouraged again. I stomp my feet, scream to myself and smack the counter a few times with a dishtowel. I GIVE UP! I start putting equipment away and that’s when I remembered that I had a jar of pre-roasted bell peppers in the cabinet. I fretted for a minute about whether I should make this sauce with less-than-fresh peppers and whether I could even eat at this point but my determination kicks in and I decide that dinner is back on.
The little things seemed to have a domino effect, making victory and a successful life alone seem less and less attainable but I hung in there and thirty minutes later I had my sauce. One taste confirmed that you couldn’t really tell that I hadn’t used fresh peppers. Of course, on the back of victory, came a fresh wave of sadness as there was no one there to share the success with and that I had gone to so much trouble for only me.
I forced myself to choke down the pasta through bitter-sweet tears. I cried for the success that was hard earned but also for my recent discovery that moving forward sometimes means leaving some part of you behind.
I spent the rest of the evening sitting in my lawn chair in my newly lighted living room and looked my new life right in the eye. I found hope in the thought that one day, this situation will seem really comical and I decided that I was going to accept that although I was still grief-ridden, my new life was not bad--just different and a new life required a new approach.
My dream of a successful life alone didn’t disappear but I found that success isn’t about doing it alone, success is about having the strength to face everyday life, conquering the little things while still coping with the big ones. Its about caring enough about yourself to make life work for where you are now, whether that be alone or in a relationship.
I also learned another lesson that day, that sometimes you have to fight to hold on to the things you love and that when all was said, done and conquered, I was worth the trouble (and false alarms) of homemade pasta sauce.
--Gigi
Originally written November 2009
