Getting by and moving on

 I'm OK. I'm not great. I'm not thrilled. But I'm also not blue. I have moments when I'm very happy or very lonely, but for the most part, I'm OK. 

I watch baseball, specifically my first place Chicago Cubs. I read and watch TV. I work on my Postcards to Swing States and Letters Against Isolation. I've volunteered twice already for the local library book fair and will be back there again tonight. I have my job at the card shop. I cuddle my cats. I exchange emails with my niece about her new baby, Violet, and that always lifts my spirits. I haven't been to yoga because it's been too damn hot – I can't bear going from the hot studio into 95º heat outside – but I know I'll be back. 

 

What I don't have are my perennials. I don't have my besties, John and Henry. Since they died last year, a day hasn't gone by that I haven't wanted to reach for the phone and call one of them. My oldest friend is not really my friend anymore. She's struggling so with her own physical and medical issues that she simply can't be an equal partner in this relationship. She won't talk or write, but she does regularly IM with pictures of Paul McCartney. Oh! What I wouldn't give for a long phone call from her or Henry! Just catching up and laughing. Or to sit in a bar with John, watching the world go by and laughing. 

 

I miss laughing.

 

Things won't change unless I change them. So I have promised myself I will socialize once a week. Chatting with coworkers at the store or fellow volunteers doesn't count. Every week I must make an effort to dine with someone, to strengthen our bond. Two weeks ago, I had dinner with Joan, a classmate from the Class of 75 who was passing through Chicagoland. Last week I had lunch with Elaine. Sunday I talked baseball and old movies with Bob and Patricia, a local couple I met at the TCM Film Festival.* This weekend I'll have lunch with my nephew.

 

It's the same every time: At first, I don't want to go. There's always something I'd rather do at home alone. But then I'm always glad I went.

 

I approach it with the same attitude I have toward doing my morning stretches or drinking more water. Socializing will improve my quality of life. 

 

I miss my old life. I miss friends who are gone and not coming back. I miss laughing.

 

But my life is not without its joys and I must appreciate them. I must – as the old song says – accentuate the positive and latch on to the affirmative.  

 

With the help of God and the direction of my (very good) therapist, I believe I'll be happy again. Even if happy at 67 doesn't look or feel like happy at 37 did.

 

  

*Yes, I traveled 2000 miles to find myself on Hollywood Blvd., waiting for the light to change, standing beside a couple who lives in my zip code.

 

Photo by Anastasia Vityukova on Unsplash