Tired of Being Alone

So, one beautiful spring day, when I was a wee lad, and by wee, I mean about 22-23 years old, I went to a brunch that was specifically for black women. So it was supposed to be an “uplifting” brunch with a guest speaker a la Iyanla Vanzant. Anyway. Most of the women were late twenties, early thirties. Professionals. Home owners. And a majority of them were single. Now, to me, at the time, they seemed soo old. And established. And quite lonely. And just tipping the bitter, black woman scale. And I remember thinking, “Lord, please don’t let me become this type of black woman.” Oh no.

So, we’re sitting around munching on skrimp and grits, chicken and waffles, etc., etc., and one of the women starts talking about how she doesn’t have a man. And that she wishes, sometimes, that she had a man. And then she says, softly, and dare I say kind of sadly, “I just wish that I had someone, so they could wash my car on a day like today.” And I remember thinking, “say what?” That’s all you want? Pitiful. And now. Five years later. I am that woman. Well, okay, I’m not a homeowner. But I am that black, professional woman, quickly approaching 30. Single. But trying not to be bitter about it. Not trying to let it get me down. You know keeping my mind stayed on Jesus and ery’thang, but ummm, how many of y'all know it gets hard.

Earlier this week I had a little bit of meltdown. Basically, as I’m driving without a care in the world, I learn from a fellow driver that my new (all of four days old) back tire was low. FRRRICCKK! I pull up to the conveniently nearby tire spot. They tell me I’ll probably need a patch for $19.99. Ok, I can handle that. 20 minutes later, they tell me I need a whole new tire. Now it’s time to put on my sista girl coat, hat and boots. Let the neck roll and the finger wag. Oh hell no, I said. I just got these tires. “Well you’re gonna have to take it to the place you got it from," they said.

And that’s when the meltdown occurred. I’m not exactly sure what I said. I think it was something along the lines of, “Why Lord, why? Why am I by myself? I hate being single! I don’t wanna do this shyt by myself anymore.” Ok. Admittedly it was a little extreme. It was only a tire. And I had the people put the doughnut on my car, drove to the other place and got a new tire for free. But in that moment, in that wtf, this is truly messing with my day moment, I wanted a man to complain to. To gripe to. To call and be like, “you won’t believe this shyt!” But I had no one. Well no one of substance and worth my time, anyway.

I mean I just wanted to be able to be a baby with someone for like two seconds, two seconds. Take off this independent woman protective covering for a few moments and be vulnerable, upset, pissed off, the total opposite of clear headed. I mean of course I was going to get the tire fixed. But that day, it hit me, I be tired man. Tired of carrying this load by myself. And so now, at this point in my life, I totally understand ol’ girl’s comment about wanting a man to just wash her car. Cause it’s that seemingly little shyt, that in actuality is the important, big shyt. It's the little shyt that soothes your soul, makes you smile, helps you get through today and tomorow and the next day... Saying to a man, “Baby I had a hard day.” And then him, rubbing your feet, or kissing your fo’head, or running a bath, or just replying with these magic words, “Baby, what happened?” Doing something. Anything.

But when you have nothing. No one. Well, it starts to suck. No matter how many girlfriends you have to go to concerts and plays with. No matter how much your family loves you. No matter how many Bible Study classes you go to. No matter how many times you recite your single girl mantras in front of the mirror: “What God has for me is for me.” “I’m just going to work on me and the right person will come.” “This too shall pass.” “Shyt, I know I look good. And I need a man who can appreciate it.” It starts to all feel for naught.

Cause you don't know what's coming around the corner. What God has in store for you. What tomorrow is going to bring. And other cliches. And you start to get worried. But everyone says, don't worry. And so I'm trying not to. And so, while I live my life (oh yes that's another mantra) and make plans for my future, and eat this pan of brownies, I guess I've got to come out of my funk, cause this too shall pass...

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!