The path winds and twists ahead. I breathe in the musky pine air and feel the soft moss-covered ground support my steps. The birds beckon me with their trills and tweets. I pause to sit on a sturdy wood-carved bench forcing myself into my meditation to-do. Instead, the tears gather at the corners of my eyes afraid to budge. In the shallow first second, I want to laugh believing that the welling wetness in my eyes is born from the ever-present frustration I carry of not being able to quiet my mind. (Ever). But as I sit with my senses acutely awake, I feel it first, and then my brain concedes. I am lonely.

This concession feels like weakness wrapping me in a too-tight cocoon and I want to resist it with the determined resoluteness that drives me through most of my days. I am reminded of a friend who just a week before confessed his own struggle with singlehood after an unexpected health scare. In his vulnerability, I admired his strength. I ducked out from under the double standard I had applied to myself and let my heart soften and tears fall.



You can find more of Angela's writing in her book Patched Up Parenting.