Although I’ve been writing lately about how much better I feel, I don’t want to give the impression that I haven’t occasionally stumbled. One night this past week I found myself in another one of those Facebook spirals (a terrible compulsion, when it hits) in which I started looking up more people from my past to see if they also all had spouses and children.
I found a woman I knew back in junior high– someone with whom I had one of those up-and-down, catty adolescent friendships. I ran into her once in my twenties and did her a big favor by loaning her something that she then didn’t return, causing me stress and a potential financial loss. I had to diligently track her down to retrieve the item, which somehow made me the asshole, or at least that’s how it felt at the time.
She is now one of those women who married late and managed to have a child, her first, at the age of 40.
Alone in my apartment, it is so easy for me to assume that everyone else has been gliding along in life, not being particularly nice or conscientious but somehow ending up with everything they wanted. For all I know, though, she has been through the mill and this baby is a well-earned bright spot. If that is the case, I can hardly begrudge her for it.
When I’m around other people, I realize quickly that hardly anyone has been just gliding along without hitting any rough patches after two decades in the real world. I don’t know why it’s so easy, when I’m alone, to assume otherwise… maybe it’s something about those happy, happy moments captured on Facebook.
In any case, this woman’s husband is a funky artist and appears perfect for her. I haven’t been in a relationship yet with a man who was both committed to me and in which I could imagine people (or more to the point, myself) thinking the same, so I’ve been right to hold out, I think.