The power of one

Sure, it's lonely sometimes; especially when you are single in a world that seems to be cluttered with couples and families. But being alone can also be great: calming, productive, peaceful, happy. This lovely little video reminds me of all the great things about spending time in my own company (something I've been doing a lot of lately).

The fourth rule of online dating is... don't lose heart

A while back - about a year and a half ago now - I took a leap into the world of online dating (which you can read about here). I was lucky; my experience was a positive one overall, and thankfully weirdo- and creep-free. I went on several nice enough meetings/dates with dudes of varying attractiveness; the loveliest of whom I found myself in a verging-on-serious relationship with. Ultimately however, we had to face up to the unavoidable fact that we are at different stages in our lives - and that was that.

In my experience, heart-break only gets harder to recover from the older you are. However [grits teeth], I try to remind myself that there are some consolations to be had from growing older - it is only at this point in my life, for instance, that I have felt confident enough about my body to wear a mini-skirt. Not that my legs are better than they were in my twenties; it's just that now I am that much less prone to giving a sh*t about the imperfections.

There's a spirit of recklessness that kicks in during your thirties - I've only got a few mini-skirt wearing years left, so might as well get my pins out, no? Maybe I will get that tattoo after all...

But back to the point: I've gathered the pieces, dusted myself off, and have been thinking about giving the whole cyber-dating thing another whirl. Despite the fact that I have been just one text message away from bitter (to paraphrase Carrie Bradshaw) - and have felt like dropping out of the game altogether at various points - when it comes down to it I'm a romantic at heart. I believe love is our only real purpose in this crazy mixed-up world - to give love, to accept love and to cultivate love in our hearts defines us as human beings in my opinion.

And it couldn't hurt to meet a few more nice English guys, surely.

However, I want to be fully ready before I throw myself back in there. Internet dating is most decidedly not for the faint of heart. I want to be in that strong, resilient, contented place I was in when I originally signed up and logged on.

I'm nearly there. I'm hovering at the edge of the water in my bathers, my toes curling around the ledge as I give myself a little pep talk and take a deep breath...

Panic on the streets of London

Ups and downs this week, roller-coaster like.

Ups:

Ending up at indie disco Saturday night. Dancing my cons off to all the best stuff from my heyday (the Smiths, the Cure, the Breeders, Pulp, Blur, etc), lots of cool newer stuff (Vampire Weekend, Hot Chip, the Killers and...ermmm a bunch of others I'm not cool enough to know the names of), as well as the odd 80's power ballad to get all melodramatic to. Much fun 'til the early hours of Sunday morning.

Also: laughing at the utterly incongruous sight of a bunch of kids born in the late eighties/early nineties, dressed in full 80's outfits - blazers with huge square shoulder pads, lace leggings, t-shirt dresses, acid wash demin jackets etc. If I was in denial about the 80's revival before, I ain't no more.

The wonderful Australian-barista-ed coffee at my new local funkyplace. Yay!

Getting a bonus set of holiday prints from Jessops 'cos they got my order wrong the first go around and printed them all on gloss paper. I'm a designer people, I will only tolerate matte stock with white borders (I'm snobby like that).

Downs:
My wonderful flatmate of the last 1.5 years moving on. I guess it would be selfish of me to keep her captive (so she can provide me with timely relationship advice, play me her new songs and make me endless cups of Lady Grey) when she could be honing her song-writing skills in Barcelona alongside her lovely Catalan boyfriend. Goddamn him and his Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall-like good looks. (No te creas, Dani!)

Confronting a dude who tried to steal my bike lights (he apologised and gave them back, which was seriously weird/upsetting), only to have them stolen a few days later while I was blissing out at yoga. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

My mum accidentally deleting 6 months worth of emails from my Yahoo account. Arrghh!

Being single again. I have been running slow-jogging just to get my mind off it. Soundtrack kindly provided by Vampire Weekend (perky; may cause involuntary dancing).

Regretting the fourth Tiger beer

It is all coming back to me, like a bad dream. All the crap things about being single. After a few weeks grace period in which I have been happy socialising and keeping busy, trying to do some yoga now and again, eating well, looking after myself - the sordid reality is creeping in.

The booze-filled nights out, where you spend more time fending off drunken stags than enjoying yourself.

The bizarre logic of rounds-drinking, in which you seem to have no choice but to drink loads in order to be part of the 'group'. And the laws of mathematics dictate that the more people there are in the group, the greater the portion of alcohol each person consumes. How the hell do you break out of this sorry cycle? No wonder the Brits are a nation of binge-drinkers.

The greasy food consumed after the night out, leaving you feeling poorly the next day (on top of the hangover).

The way you haemorrhage money, what with the eating out every second night, the booze, the entry fees, the theatre and movie tickets, the new clothes, the steep increase in rent...

Moaning aside, I am enjoying being more sociable generally. My new flatmate has been generous enough to invite me out with her and her mates on several occassions, so I shouldn't really complain. And my workmates have been brilliant, as always. I love those girls (in a strictly hetero kind of way). Unfortunately, my ex and I were both quite anti-social home-bodies, and we had a bad habit of discouraging each other from going anywhere, at all, ever.

But oh, my head! My bank balance! My liver!

The Bipolar Weekend

I don't know where my head's at. Saturday was really good - I spent a happy afternoon shopping for food and household items which my flatmate mysteriously doesn't own (grater, collander, scales, wooden spoon), made a mean quiche, cracked open the bottle of champagne I had been hoarding since Christmas, had friends over for a dinner party, sung along to Nina Simone...

Sunday was not nearly so good. I spent a lonely afternoon taking the bus miles out to Ikea, wandering around in a daze through Ikea, spending money that I don't have in Ikea, and putting stuff together (wrongly) from Ikea. I did get a nice cushion out of it though, and my new clothes rack (which I eventually put together correctly) is way better than that rickety old swaying thing I had before, which probably would have collapsed under the weight of all my threads. The trouble with living in London is that clothes are just so cheap, so plentiful, so infinitely varied, that your wardrobe ends up becoming a textile dumping ground.

My flatmate was away all weekend, which was kind of good - I like my space - but by the end of Sunday I was starting to feel decidedly miserable. I didn't speak to anyone all day besides shop assistants, and that was the bare minimum in terms of human contact. At 9.30pm, my lowest point, I missed a call on my mobile from my brother in Sweden, and I didn't even have enough credit to call him back. He is even more broke than me, rubbing together his last two kroners.

We did exchange a couple of texts though, and that was enough to get by on. I think I need to get some kind of incredibly demanding and time-consuming hobby going.

Melodramatic sigh

A quick update: I moved into my temporary home last night, which was weird, but not as bad as I thought it would be. The most traumatic part was packing up my flat earlier in the day and lugging the last of my stuff to work on the bus, crying all the way, my ex-boyfriend barely holding it together next to me. The situation between us is vastly complicated - we both care so much about each other, but we just couldn't seem to make it work. It is so sad.

However, I know now that I need to spend some time on my own to sort my head out before I can be in a successful relationship. If I'm not happy, my boyfriend is never going to be happy - certainly not enough to want to marry me and make a future with me. The truth is, maybe I will never be completely "happy" and maybe I will never be in a life-long relationship - and somehow, I have to come to terms with that.

A friend from work (the same one who came and looked after me when I got sick at the tube station), helped me lug my stuff all the way to Hampstead and kept me entertained with talk of the banana harmonica she is bidding for on ebay (100% true). My thanks go out to her and her fruit-instrument obsession.

* * * * *

I am reading Alan Bennett's "Untold Stories", which (so far) is about his family and the secrets, illnesses, and everyday struggles that seem to exist in almost all families once you get past the rosy public face. He describes, in his very gentle, precise style, his two independent aunties, who see themeslves as more daring and free-spirited than their timid, married middle sister. Both of them end up marrying late in life, but the husband of the eldest aunt dies not long into their married life and leaves her distraught and angry to have lost something she waited so long for. Bennett, drafted into driving her to the funeral, finds himself getting impatient with the show of emotions she "puts on", feeling she is hamming it up somewhat, uncomfortable with the uncontrolled display of her feelings.

This particular recollection really stung me. I have been accused of being melodramatic in the past, by a member of my family. I don't think I am a dramatic person generally - most people would describe me as cool, calm, shy, quiet, not in the habit of calling attention to myself - but I have always been at the mercy of my emotions. The strength of my emotions can leave me lying in a useless heap on the ground, too weak to stand; they can make me physically ill; or they can (very occassionally) lift me up to a state of bubbling excitement. I have always felt things very deeply, and taken everything to heart, privately. I feel my emotions are what hold me together; define me; are as much a part of me as my blood. To dismiss them as "put on", for the sake of creating "drama", is repulsive.

Anyway, most importantly, me and my thin skin are surviving. And I am feeling more on top of my emotions now (despite the current mess) than at any other point in my life, especially my early-to-mid twenties. What I am aiming for, ultimately, is an even keel. Oh, how I envy those emotionally-steady-as-a-rock people.

Message from the depths of self-pity

Wow, this week has been hard.

On the up-side, I finally found a new home, sharing with a lovely girl in North London (my allegiance to the North is complete), about half as close to work as I am now.

But, ohhh my stars, this week. Almost as soon as I had agreed to take the new place, I started to have doubts; and those doubts soon spun themselves into a full blown stress attack. It all hit me quite hard that I am going to be on my own. Again. My dreams in tatters. Starting over, for what feels like the hundredth time. Cue: near-fainting episode on the tube, a million commuters brushing by my huddled body. A guardian angel appears, whose kindness and concern provoke a flood-burst of tears. A colleague is called. I am given tea and put on a bus home once I feel well enough to stand and walk.

Thank god for the kindness of strangers (and workmates).

I am trying to work on my gratitude. I too easily fall into a state of self-pity and anxiety. I need to work out how to be thankful for what I have, and for those people around me who care and are helping me. Me, the lone wolf that I sometimes feel, proud of my independence but scared to let people see me as I really am. Which, right now, is a vulnerable mess. Putting on a brave face, because what else can I do but continue to function?

Me oh my.

Next week will be better.

Finding the spacious, bright, leafy and private needle in the big, stinky, overcrowded haystack

House-hunting. I must be some kind of masochist, becacuse I kind of enjoy it, in a guilty sort of way. Not that I'm looking forward to leaving my beautiful, private flat with the magnificent green view and (almost) private woodland paradise just around the corner. Or being on my own again after 4 years of cosy cohabitation. Or sharing with strangers.

But I do find it fascinating getting to peek into other people's lives; to see what sort of taste they have, whether they use their kitchen, how scrupulously clean or comfortably messy their home is, what posters they have up, the proliferation or conspicuous absence of books. And of course, I judge them accordingly.

The anal obsessive whose flat looks like a magazine spread.

The scruffy hippies who are mildly bewildered by my lame establishment job.

The young, irresponsible gits who think cocaine is like, the best thing EVER!

The guy with two overweight labradors in a tiny Hampstead flat.

The ones who watch Big Brother. Daily.

The goth girls who keep rats in a cage in the living room.

The naturist who believes in the "freedom, spirituality and exhiliration" of being nude at home (I didn't go to see that one).

The girls who work in "fashion", and have not a brain cell between them (obviously no books there).

It is entertaining. I am also enjoying seeing other parts of London and discovering new villages, which is kind of fun. I have been living in rather a posh area of North London, so it is good to know that there are nice, reasonably green areas that are a little more...diverse. And a little grungier. But that's ok. The people are (mostly) lovely.

* * *

Also: I think I saw Tori Amos on the tube the other weekend. Could that even be possible? Tori Amos takes the tube when she's in London? I know she lives in deepest Cornwall somewhere, so it is possible that she was on a day trip to the capital. Then again, maybe the lack of sleep is finally causing me to hallucinate.

In case you are wondering, I was too scared/awed to approach her. And I would have felt a total dick if it wasn't her.

Breaking up

Confession time. I am determined to be as honest as I can be about this experience. Maybe someone out there will take some comfort from my words. In any case, it might help me on this very bumpy ride.

Things I am scared about:

- Being on my own again.
- Not having anyone to hug.
- Being lonely.
- Feeling unlovable (ie. my emotional messiness).
- Living with people who turn out to be nightmares.
- Not feeling comfortable in my new home - wherever it may be.
- Not knowing where my life is going.
- Not having my family nearby for support.
- Falling apart.
- Having to go home in a state of failure rather than of.. triumph? No. Glory? No. Success? Well, in a sense. That will have to do. A small scale success, as in: I survived London on my own and made a small life here for a while.

Things I am OK about:

- Getting more time to do things I want to do for myself. Or perhaps I should say, being pushed into doing more things I want to do by this experience.
- Spending some time looking inwards and finding out what makes me happy/contented/at peace.
- House-hunting. I haven't come across any real weirdos yet - just slightly too small, slightly too dark, or slightly too noisy rooms, but the people have generally been nice (which is reassuring).
- That the struggling has taken a back seat (for now).

Things I am happy about:

Ummmm...that it's Summer?

Flat hunting between tears

Lordy, lordy, lord. My oh my, I forgot what a stressful business it is being on your own after 4 years of unhealthy co-dependency. Oh wait, I have never been in quite this situation before. Mamma mia.

Sometimes I imagine a particular yoga teacher's voice in my head, telling me in her beautiful, elongated, soothing voice: "breathe innnnto the heart chakra and oooout through the belly chakra". And vice versa.

I am not sure if I even believe in chakras, but at this point, whatever helps me get through this, y'know?

Also, I have lost my appetite, pretty much completely. This has never ever happened before. I find it bewildering and disturbing. If there was one thing I thought I could count on in this world - besides the love and concern of my parents - it was that my passion for food in general and chocolate in particular would never wane.

* * * *

I went to a quiz night last week - a colleague is raising funds for Oxfam (hi Bix!). One of the questions in the Literature round was: "Name the book which begins with the words, "Call me Ishmael". I knew immediately that it was Moby Dick.

I do love reading, but I never got around to Moby Dick.

Also, I have a pretty bad memory for books/history/geography. Unless, that is, it happens to have been referenced in a comic, a format for which I seem to have total recall.

The struggle

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousnes.

Give me your hand.


~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~


(Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)

These words are comforting me as my world tumbles in.