Single And Fabulous?

A few weeks ago I was approached by a woman I’d never met. She told me she reads my column, and she wanted to tell me her boyfriend has left her,
‘For someone younger, of course. Like that isn’t the biggest cliché in the book.’ I made sympathetic noises, not sure what to say in return. While I awkwardly stirred the froth in my coffee she added, ‘I figure what the hell? I’ll take a page out of Jennifer McGuire’s book. I don’t need a man to be happy – I can do it on my own.’
I say again, I’ve never met this woman before in my life. Which, in her opinion, was neither here nor there.
She waited for me to say something, to offer her some sort of advice. To tell her that yes, my life is pretty terrific and yes, I am much happier without a man. Which is true, most days. But do you know what is more true?
There are still moments - like when I am crying in frustration about some bill or a broken whatever or the futility of ever planning a family vacation – when I am genuinely surprised there is no one there to make it easier for me. No one is stepping in and saying, OK, clearly you’ve had enough today. Let me take the reins.’
So I suppose my advice would be this; don’t mistake positivity for a perfect life. Sometimes a big smile is just a front. And I think that’s probably okay.
This has been happening a lot with me lately. I’ve gotten some beautifully written emails from women who feel connected to me through our shared experiences. One woman actually wrote to tell me she loved my book so much she finally decided to leave her husband. I think she was kidding. I hope she was kidding. I also hope her husband is not a vindictive man driving the streets of Owen Sound at night with my address clenched in his sweaty hands. Either way, my publisher and I are hard at work on a new disclaimer for the back of my book (you know, something like WARNING: Contents may make your marriage seem worse than it really is. If you experience a loss of sexual appetite or an increase in eye-rolling when your husband calls out ‘Have you seen my keys? I know I put them here...did you move my keys?’ PLEASE step away from the book for no less than forty-eight hours. However, if symptoms occur, pleases consult your nearest divorce lawyer and/or mediator depending how messy you feel things may get.
Despite the emails from moms on the brink who seem to trust me or the girls on the street who want to talk, I have fought the ‘single mother’ tag. Despite it being exactly who I am, all the time. I didn’t want to become a one-horse pony show, you know? Like how Kevin Costner could never really play anything other than a slightly funny, well-spoken accidental hero with an American accent. Even when he was playing Robin Hood. I wanted to try my hand at other roles. Matchmaker (more on THAT later), teacher. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker. I wanted to shrug out of that coat and try on something a bit lighter, like maybe a movie critic. Challenge myself. Being the boys’ mom, it’s what I know. It feels as warm and comfortable as a well worn pair of slippers at this point. We’re a team, the five of us. And not to get all gross and mushy here, but they’re it for me. The loves of my life. So why the hell do I fight my role so hard? I don’t think I want to fight it anymore.
Because there are a whole bunch of women out there exactly like me. Reinventing who they thought they’d be as women and moms. Trying to figure out how to change the stupid bathroom light bulbs (we’re down to one right now, and there is just no way I am finding replacements anywhere, they’re very weird looking) and trying to do right by their kids.
So maybe I’m not Kevin Costner. Maybe I’m more like Harrison Ford. See, he could have gone on trying to reinvent how people saw him too. Anyone remember Regarding Henry (DON’T see it)? He tried on other roles and no one wanted to see it. Instead, he embraced his role as accidental, affable hero. Made a long career out of it, in fact. He realized something – there is comfort to be found in sameness, in knowing what to expect. And there is even greater comfort in finally letting yourself be...well, yourself.
That being said, I do still plan to keep you on your toes every once in awhile. Next week – elective hysterectomies, love ‘em or hate ‘em?