"What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?"

I've been prompted to think a little about my life (thanks, Pete). Writing is cathartic; it helps sort out the mind. Well, sometimes. Other times too much thinking can just be confusing. One friend commented I seem to be thinking to myself on here. If no one was reading this blog I would still find an outlet in writing because I have done that for so many years; written either my own words, or someone else's since the day I learned to write. I am thinking to myself when I write. I can see the counter going up and that tells me people are reading my words and of course the occasional comment confirms this. So my life must be interesting enough for others to read about. Why do we read? To escape? To learn? To be amused? Simply to pass the time? Until four years ago I had always lived with some one, except for a year when I lived alone in a bed sit in London. I was excited about that prospect, fresh from college, going to live in The Smoke. No more curfews, no disapproval of what I did. No threats of what would become of me if I didn't behave. I found that far from becoming a gallivanter I haunted the library and read, alone, at night. I recall I had a crush on Tony Blackburn (arghgh) - he was a constant in my life, a cheery voice in the morning. I had gone to work in a very large organisation where people went into London from far and wide. I was 17 in a bedsit in London. The friend whom I'd gone up to London with and I had parted company after just a few weeks when she got on drugs. The girl she palled up with was dead within the year. I either went home at weekends or was visited by my then boyfriend, husband to be. For all my life until four years ago, apart from the bedsit period, I have lived with someone and though I may have, did, pull my weight in a relationship and at times was the stronger spirit I nevertheless had the 'luxury' of being able to feel 'looked after', either by parents or partner. Parents died, partners gone, it's just me. It's scary to be 'just me' for the first time in your life at 50! A front goes up. Getting used to travelling alone, at hotels I decided not to be pushed into a corner, the lady on her own consuming one glass of wine, being the one speculated about by dining couples. "Just one?" "No, all of one and I'd like a centre table, please." "A glass of wine, madam?" "May I see the wine list, please ... I'll have a bottle of .... " I could be the voyeur instead of the viewed. I may be able only to consume a couple of glasses of the wine but I'd have the remainder sent to my room. I'm a loner. I always have been. I didn't realise that as a child. My grandpa bought me a bag of oranges one day as a gift. I rarely saw him. He gve them to me and said something about my being a loner. I didn't understand what he meant. I put the fact that I didn't seem to be a crowd person down to feeling my parents would not, somehow, be happy if I invited friends back home. I did, on the odd occasion and there was no problem with that. So maybe it wasn't a potential lack of hospitality on my parents' part but more the fact I was simply a loner. A leader, yes. Not short of friends but someone who preferred her own company? We moved house a lot anyway and it didn't do to cultivate friendships since one never knew when the next uprooting may happen and have to start all over again. Broken home. Strange place, strange people. Yet again be the outsider and have to conform or be admired or to excel to be acceptable. Average intelligence but with potential not realised. I was told 'we know you'll do your best.' No direction given though. How does someone young know where to go if there's no one to lead? I was practical, a good athlete, developed a knack for making people smile. Maybe my own ready smile helped? If you smile people are nicer to you. You're not a threat. So introduced into new communities and situations time and again, once just smiles. So what of my first four years as all of me? Returned to these shores traumatised. No home, no job, but some money. Anyone having lost a 'loved one' be it through break up of relationship or death knows it takes a while to get over ... if one ever does, entirely. I once read a list of the top 10 stress factors and in the first couple of years I had about 8 of them, all at the same time. Within a month I had a home and two jobs, one of which was wholly new to me, learning on the job. Maybe working on automatic pilot but I was independent. Though not quite because I was living two lives. My own and that of my incarcerated partner. When the cancer came to light I realised, at least, that I had to live just one life, my own. And I only had one opportunity to do this. I gave up one job .. the one I had been trained for, for the one I enjoyed. Anti social hours and all. But it's taxing at times. A few months ago I applied for and was granted an NUJ card. I realised I had succeeded in something I'd done for myself. I would like company - at the same time, being self-employed and new to this keeping oneself, it was (is) scary. At the moment I sacrifice company for security? Maybe one day that feeling will go. Maybe it's as well to keep an element of fear, since it does, at least, drive one. So, do I need to get a life? I did get one. It's my own. It's not ideal but it's mine. I can do what I want and when I want. I can't belong to things that need attendance on a regular basis .. I did try the choir but their busy time coincided with busy work periods too. I used to quite enjoy golf but don't really have four hours to spare very often. Also, it's better with a partner but I'm shy of my skills and I'd probably be a fairly irregular player. I thought about joining a tennis club. I tend to think that everyone is brilliant at the game if they own a raquet. Clubs are very competitive. I like to play for to enjoy the experience, not to compete. Sports tend to be very competitive. I swim (alone) ... I now cycle (alone) :) Other 'societies' also tend to need regular attendance. Anyone in the newspaper industry, well, on the photography/writing side will know full well what I mean. Maybe it's difficult for others to comprehend? A loner, I appear to have acquired what is essentially a loner's job. So I suppose it suits me for all that. I enjoy company and I think I'm fairly amusing company. I have been the new, independent me for only four years. With luck I'll have it sussed in a few years' time. Am I loitering on the edge of life? Actually, I think I threw myself into the deep end of it and I flounder a little at times. When I've learned to swim more strongly I'll be OK though.