If You Don't Like The Band, Don't Go To The Concert

About one week before I turned 35, I did something rather momentous. For the first time in my life, I moved into my own place. My residences up to that point had been shared with the following people, in order: parents, friends, parents, boyfriend, parents, husband, mom, boyfriend. In 35 years I had never experienced the singular (dare I say it?) joy of living on my own. Admittedly, I live with my children, so technically I still don't live alone - but it's not alone that I was looking for. Independence does not require solitude.

For many of my friends and family, maintaining their independence has never been an issue. These amazing people seem to move in and out of relationships without ever sacrificing their identity. I say "seem to" because we all know that sometimes the face we present to the world isn't exactly a true representation of who we are at home. This is in part why powerful CEOs pay professionals in PVC to make them crawl on the floor (after signing a binding confidentiality agreement, of course.) We can't always safely expose who we are to the world at large. There are even times when we can't share who we are with those who love us. The strong don't want to appear weak. The weak don't want to seem foolish.

My friends don't seem to have this problem. If they like Indie Rock before they start dating Bob, they are by God going to like the same thing when Bob is gone. If they dressed for comfort instead of style before Kate entered the picture, that's not going to change just to please her. More than anything else, they still take time to do what they want. I see these people living their lives completely blissed out on independence, and I wonder if I missed a class somewhere along the way. I must have, or maybe I just read the wrong books. I've been doing it all wrong for years, that much I know.

My mom used to tell me I was a chameleon, changing to match my boyfriend. At the time, I really resented hearing that. My logic told me that if I wanted someone to like me, I had to make myself likeable. Besides, look how much I managed to learn over the years about sports, cars, outdoor activities, classic rock, and computers. I used to tell her that both parties "won" because the guys got to do what they wanted and I got to spend time with them, and that I was learning so much that it didn't matter if we broke up eventually - I was richer in knowledge! At 35, I have this to say about my 17-year-old logic: I am a walking encyclopedia of trivia that only matters to people I am no longer dating. It's revelations like these that make you wonder what the hell you've been doing with your life.

Moving out was undoubtedly one of the smartest things I've ever done. For once - and I think I can honestly say that - for once, I am doing something for myself. This is not easy, it is not comfortable, and I am at loose ends constantly for want of someone to follow. Currently, I am not very good at doing "what I want" - but I am getting better at not doing what someone else wants to do. I recently did not go to a particular concert with a guy because - guess why? I don't like that band. At 35, I feel reasonably certain that this should not be such an achievement. I know some of my girlfriends will be rolling their eyes or even slapping their foreheads as they read this. But some of them might be saying, "I remember that moment." Some of them might even be saying, "You can not go?" So to anyone who is walking behind me on this journey, let me say it: If you don't like the band, don't go to the concert.

This blog is about what I'm doing to change my life for the better, and the first thing I did was get my own place. It's terrifying in a sense - but that's because there are two little people in this dinghy with me and I can't let them down. Mostly it's frustrating, because I've been hearing for so long that being on your own is so great that I keep expecting it to feel great. It doesn't really feel great yet, because this is just the first step. I have a lot of other things to work on before this even feels comfortable. But sometimes there's a glimpse of what that greatness will be like. I imagine the weather turning warm in a few months, and I picture myself taking the kids to the pool whenever we want to go. I imagine summer evenings and my neighbors grilling on the patio, and I see my back door open so we can all talk to each other. The other day I was dreaming that my mom was telling me to get out of bed to clean the house - and then I woke up and realized that I don't live in her house anymore.

Yes, every day is a little bit like Christmas in the sense that I wake up hoping that I'll get the one thing I really want: A feeling of contentment that stems from being happy, healthy and fulfilled in this life. But even though I haven't gotten it yet, I've learned a really valuable lesson: I don't have to wait for someone to give me what I want - contentment is a gift I can give to myself.

Regards,
Allison