The Job. 


For the first time in what has probably been years, I stayed up last night until almost 4 a.m., drinking wine, eating food, and talking with good friends. I don't think I've had such a late night since graduate school, maybe since college. I'm tired today, and didn't get out running until noon, but I'm glad for the night I had.

I've recently lost someone from my life--not entirely, but in a certain, specific capacity--and among the myriad reactions I've had to such an experience, one thing I've been surprised to discover myself feeling is a sense of expansion, an aura of release from certain duties in my life. Relationships, no matter their genre, require work. If we want to keep close our friends, our lovers, our siblings, our co-workers, we have to do the work of keeping them close; we must be kind, we must share of ourselves and our time, we must make space and set boundaries. This work doesn't always feel like work if the relationship is a good one, but it's work we do nonetheless, happily and yes, sometimes begrudgingly, because we want to do it, we want to keep the relationship alive. What do we do, though, when we want to do the work, but the other person lets us go? Takes away our duties? Leaves us...jobless?

Most of my weekends over the past few months have been devoted to one person.  I had a difficult time accepting other invitations or extending them myself because what I really wanted to do was spend a precious 48 hours with the person I didn't get to see much during the week. I looked forward to these weekends. Now I find myself in a different place, and in this place, I'm pulled between two conflicting truths: one, I miss my weekend partner, the 'us' that filled up and gave comfort to Friday and Saturday evenings; and two, I am unabashedly thankful, this first weekend at home and alone, for the fact that I can do whatever it is that I want to do. I used to spend my weekends like this all the time when I was single; I slept late on Saturday, went for a long run, and came home to write, or clean, or cook. On Sundays I would go to church or spend the entire morning reading, not getting out of my pajamas until late afternoon. Some weekends the only time I'd leave the house was to take the dog for a walk. I was lazy; I turned down invitations; I became my most beautiful hermit self, and I loved it. I also worried. What if, I'd ask myself, I'm incapable of sharing my time fully with another person? What if I'm doomed (and blessed) to spend my life this way, only finding true peace when I'm truly alone? 

While I still feel this worry at times, itching at the back of my most analytical mind, I've nourished enough good relationship work to realize that my worry is misplaced. In fact, more and more, I've nourished enough living work to realize that most of my worries are misplaced. There are two sides to every worry, every truth. I like being alone. This is truth. I like doing things with people I love. This is also truth. Sometimes what I owe someone is my time and attention. Sometimes what I owe myself is my own time and attention. Both true. Sometimes, as much as we might want to do something, to be with someone, to make something work, we simply cannot. The world, time, the other free-willed, fully deserving person says No. We've been let go, released of our duties. There is heartbreak and utter disillusionment in such release. There is also a great lifting off of weight, an opening of space, time, attention.

This weekend, I stayed up until 4 a.m. I slept in until noon. I went for a long run. It is now late afternoon, and I won't get to many of the things I'd had planned for the day. I've accepted some invitations, but I've also declined others. Tomorrow, I will probably spend my entire day alone, and there is great peace in that. All of this is true. What is also true is this: I miss the job that I just lost. I miss the person who gave it to me. It was work, yes. But it was work that I often enjoyed, and I was dedicated. Today, I'm just going to sit with these truths. I'm going to give them space and let them reside. I'm going to do the work they're asking me to do, which really, is to simply let them be. There's no getting around them, and there's peace in that, too.

Thanks for reading.

Beth