It’s Monday and I’m sick.
My weary body is complaining, but my mind is in overdrive as I plan this week’s itinerary. As I get dressed to let the painters into the guesthouse, I experience a deep sense of loneliness.
Earlier, while reading a post on Facebook I started crying for no apparent reason. Most of the weekend was spent in bed propped on pillows, watching sad, romantic movies. I lay there unabashed, as tears streamed endlessly into every heart-wrenching scene from “Hope Springs,” starring Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones, as their 30-year marriage began to crumble.
It’s day three of the flu, and everything feels like a tidal wave crashing ruthlessly into my desolate shoreline. I’m craving chicken soup, but there’s no one here to pamper me as I ponder the fact that my ability to generate income is so dependent upon my state of health. Last week I knew I was in trouble. While standing in line a customer service rep handed me a phone so I could make a call. To my horror I watched as she sneezed violently into her sleeve. The lesson is to never accept a public phone from a stranger during flu season. Even my trusted healer did not ward off this virus—generally she can snag in the etheric.
I’m feeling lonely, depressed and find myself listening to “Golden Oldies” inside my head.
“What’s the use? Will my life ever get better?” I laugh at my frustration and self-pity.
As I watched Hope Springs last night, I was saddened by how lonely one can feel in the midst of a relationship. As a relationship coach, this is a good reminder of how much my married clients have to endure when wishing is not enough to cross the bridge of pain and separation. For single people the road can present similar roadblocks, flooded by spring rains, and can be just as difficult to cross.
My description of the perfect mate has puzzled many: successful, good-natured, financially independent, socially engaged, outdoors enthusiast… A friend pointed out that I was aiming much too high; these expectations would only lead to disappointment. This was an eye opener. I learned that my belief system was deeply ingrained with the idea that all men are gangsters. This revelation has allowed me to form close friendships with decent men, but I realize that what I truly seek is the company of a woman.
Recently I met someone who satisfied 90 percent of the items in my prerequisite list for the ideal lover. Then, the sadness portrayed by Streep in Hope Springs crept in. I realized that once again I am still looking for that ideal partner. As much as the connection feels good, it won’t fill in the missing pieces of my relationship puzzle. I felt a sharp pang of loneliness that weakened my immune system and allowed a virus to set up camp in my body. Being bed-ridden gave me the opportunity to explore the various aspects of my aloneness. Despite the move from doing to being, there is still the chasm of availability to cross between my ideal one and the empty pillow in my bed. Could it be that I am only available when I am sick and need someone to care for me?
Perhaps I have always been seeking myself. But the question remains:
“How do I create spaciousness in my busy life to call in the one who is both worthy of my love, without sacrificing my health?”
This year, I am creating a wider and deeper space for love. I am still seeking a doer, and have expanded my list to include someone who will care enough to bring me chicken soup in bed. The lesson learned is that true healing comes from within. For the time being I’ll put on a pot of tea and rely on a good friend for a hot meal.
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Ed: Lynn Hasselberger