H is out of town for a month, back up in Canada visiting family, friends and working. We talked about his solo trip of his in the beginning of the year and planned accordingly. I miss him. I miss him making coffee in the morning, our late night ritual of sitting on the balcony and talking about writing and life. I miss the weight of his body in the bed, all of our little practices, that relationship dance of coming, going, weaving.
I lived alone for years before H. These past couple of days have been an interesting experiment in landing back into solitude, even if temporarily. I've slept like a starfish, sprawled over the bed. I took a night of complete aloneness last night, drinking tea, reading trashy novels and slept in this morning. The apartment is quiet. No footsteps on the wood floor during my meditation, the music of cohabitation has ceased. A part of me is trying to resist the sweetness of solitude. I love my solitude and don't want to fall so deep into it that when he is back at home I have a hard period of readjusting to company. Another part of me says to surrender to it, relish it, to take these moments and days and weeks of quiet and sink into the space.
Crazy how life changes. This Saturday two years ago I was in a hotel room filled with women. We were helping my sister prepare for her wedding. I was at the end of a bout of bronchitis, my ears were plugged, I had a hard time breathing and my head ached, even as we moved in celebration. I didn't have a date to my sister's wedding and it didn't bother me. What bothered me was the older generation, clucking over me, asking if I had anyone special in my life, the pitying attempt to console me with It'll happen. Ugh. I hated that consistent dialogue, that assumption that if I wasn't in a relationship that somehow my life was a desolate place, that my happiness was tied up in partnership. Two days after the wedding I got into my truck and drove off for an adventure that changed my life. I met H at Ghost Ranch one week after my sister's wedding. Now my sister and her husband have a baby coming. Now H and I live together and are planning/living our lives. As grains of sand through the hourglass. . .
So, a month alone. Meditation, work, and writing are my priorities. Green juice and bone broth. Dancing alone in the living room.