Truth is, you get used to it.
It takes some time, but living single and alone grows on you.
You chew your food better for lack of dinner conversation.
You sleep longer alone without a chatty someone stealing the covers, cuddling, or wanting something more.
You save money not buying silly flowers or something special for no one special for no special reason.
You learn to be self-sufficient when sick, make your own soup and get your own toilet paper.
You stop worrying about dying alone, just dying, and you gradually forget what it used to be like.
The sad silly truth is you get used to being single and alone.
It grows on you like a prolonged annihilation of everything that might have been, drawing your heart, mind and soul closer to all the good things that actually are.

I never used to be like this. I’d wake up anxious, ruled by ‘what ifs’ of the day ahead and what to do to defend against consequences of the yet unknown. It’s a miracle how things have changed.
For these many years since I first acquiesced to the fact I’m not in charge, my first waking thoughts are now less ‘what if?’ and a lot more ‘maybe today!’ What a hopeful difference in my morning outlook.
I’m not sure exactly when I pivoted from viewing time and unfolding experience as the enemy instead of my comrade and frankly, I don’t wonder much about it anymore since the view is so much better looking with life as a heavenly menu of possibilities versus dodging the anxious unknowns.
But at some divine moment, anxiety turned away to reveal anticipation, its friendlier counterpart. And mornings haven’t been the same since.
Looking expectantly to the day’s unexpected revelations sure beats blind strategizing against them as foreboding enemies.
There’s an untapped power in ‘maybe today’ thinking and a good morning is what you make of it. Try plugging into the power of expectancy and today might just be yours for the taking.

It was the first cold night of the season and from her trunk, she handed me a beautiful blue wool pea coat. “Dad, do you think you could find a home for this?” I said “Yeah honey, I’m sure it will find a good home on its own. They always do.” She replied, “I know. I’ll be waiting to hear.”
Fast forward two days.
78 year old Lettie had taken the bus several miles up Boulder Highway and walked another half mile from the bus stop in chilly 30mph winds to my office. I took her back for our appointment to help pay her utility bill since the week before, her purse had been stolen along with all her money. Still shivering, she described making the police report and in tears that dripped frozen to her cheeks, she shared how she’d stowed another $35 saved in a zippered pocket for a special Christmas gift she would have to now go without.
With her utility bill paid, I carried two bags of groceries from our pantry and asked her to follow me to the parking lot.
And just as it happened two days prior, I opened my trunk and handed her the Christmas gift she’d saved to buy herself. The blue wool pea coat fit like a glove, just like the pair I’d received from another donor that morning to accompany a moment just like this.