maybe it is a silent existence, but it is mine – and loved
Do you ever get the feeling your life, however much you love it, is somewhat different from the lives of those around you?
I was about to write that I have struggled all my life to fit in, but that’s not true. The truth is that I as a kid I wanted to play, and later hang, with the popular girls and this meant that I spent a great deal of time observing what they did and how they did in order to make my own life like theirs. And though this stopped around the time I was 14, and though my life never became as theirs, I still kept on observing other people’s lives and comparing them to mine. And because I am who I am, my life was naturally always the one that lacked something or did things the wrong way.
We borrowed my parents’ car this week and yesterday I returned it. I took the train back to the city. By my side was a bag with fresh eggs, a green squash, a twig of rosemary and dried cherries my mum had bought for me. I sat in my everyday clothes, skirt, tank top and flip flops, and read my book. And it wasn’t until other people started getting on the train that I realised it was Saturday night. People were dressed to their nines, people had beers in their bags, people called friends to arrange where to meet. I sat with my book and my bag and wondered if I had already been labelled boring. No one could see, so my bag could have contained bottles of whisky or beer or a cute dress to put on with the girls later on, but I felt that everybody could see right through me and my bag and see it. See that I am not – and might never have been – where they are.
I love parties and I love dancing. I am going to have a hard time convincing anyone who doesn’t know me, but have just read those first paragraphs, but I have partied and danced my share of nights away. But I have only on very few occasions been on a train on my way to town and to the unknown and a night of whatever comes, whatever music they play.
I feel as if I am painting a picture of a person I am not so I will skip everything and get to the conclusion:
I love parties and I love wine and gin and tonics and champagne and music and dancing around. (Especially that last bit about dancing around – I even do that in the afternoon in the living room while waiting for J to come home.) I love having people around me. I love good company. But yesterday when J left for a boys’ night out and said that he might skip the last part of the evening because “I don’t really care for the disco part – the part where you stand in a crowded room and you have to shout to communicate and you can’t hear what people are saying and the beer is overpriced,” I knew exactly what he was saying.
I don’t see myself as living a silent existence. I don’t think of myself as a boring person. I love hanging out with friends and being tipsy and laughing and dancing the night away, but I have come to a point where I prefer the familiar rather than the unknown. I love to spent time with people, but I have come to expect some other relation than “you got into this club and so did I” – whether it’s mutual friends or mutual interests, I just want a starting point and not go from scratch every single time.
And most of all I love closing my eyes while lying in my own bed at 2 am. And I love those Sunday mornings where hangovers are substituted by jazz music, coffee and typing away.