All These Places

I am currently looking for a new apartment.  Yesterday I went to visit a possibility and I knew from the minute that I got out of the car that I would not be interested.  It was sketchy at best with a man who defines the word ‘sketchy’ sitting on the porch.  “Are you a college student?” the landlord asked.  After I thanked him for the compliment, we moved into the house.  “How many people would be living here?” he asked.  “It’s just me,” I told him.  With that, we turned around to leave the apartment, both of us knowing that it wouldn’t work out due to aforementioned sketchiness.

                I’ve had a few situations lately where my aloneness, my independence, my it’s-just-me-ness, has been made glaringly obvious.  It’s a foreign feeling but not altogether unwelcome.  When I was without power in my apartment for a couple of days, in the middle of an intense heat wave, all I had to was pack a bag and hop from air-conditioned car to air-conditioned temporary places of rest and sleep.  Friends of mine who have children and pets and no power do not have that luxury—they were left to either sweat it out in the discomfort of their own homes, or move into other houses or hotels.  I had no one but me to look out for, to take care of.  And when my power was blissfully restored by the wonderful people at the electric company, allowing me to take care of myself, I could then offer my assistance to others in need.

                It’s a hard habit to mold—this whole looking out for myself thing.  As a woman, I am a bit predisposed to take care of others first.  As the emotional being that I am, this predisposition weighs even heavier.  “You’re a giver, Ashley,” my mom said to me a long time ago.  She’s a therapist so the woman knows what she is talking about.  Still, I have spent the past eons of my life proving her right, putting others’ needs in front of my own.  But while I was giving these gifts–wrapping the emotions and the efforts up in these pretty little packages–I was the kid sitting under the Christmas tree wondering why Santa hadn’t come.

                Before you go feeling too sorry for me, I should say that I have pretty healthy relationships with my family and friends.  I give to them; they give to me, the balance shifts back and forth in gentle oscillations.  Let’s be honest though—-I’m talking about men.  And in the interest of not boring you with the details of my love life, let’s just say it’s been a long time since I’ve been single.  I tend to throw myself into relationships, displaying all that is lovable about me from the get-go, making deposits without demanding withdrawals.  And this works for me….until one day it doesn’t.  So now I’m vowing to listen to my mom’s advice from years ago, and hope that I’m not too late.

                Last week, I was toiling with a decision.  I went back and forth, asked for advice from friends and weighed the pros and cons.  Finally, I sat on my couch, turned on a favorite song and put my head in my hands, focusing all of my energy on the question, hoping an answer would pop into my head.  I didn’t exactly come up with an answer in those four minutes that the song played.  But what came to me during those minutes was the realization that for the first time in many years I was making a decision without taking anyone else into account except for myself.  It was just me.  It felt selfish—but wonderfully so…..