It’s Fourth of July weekend—Independence Day.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people remark about how independent I am. They say, “Wow, you’re so independent!” as if it’s some kind of wonderful achievement that a single gal like me can actually go through life totally unassisted.
I’ve always found their remarks kind of curious. Handicapped folks in “independent living” programs, my 89-year-old mother-in-law gettting along by herself in her condo… now, those are people worth marveling over. I’m a perfectly healthy aging nymph—getting myself to work, paying bills and going to the grocery store should be no big deal. But I guess there’s a notion out there of “The Independent Woman” and flinging your hat in the air like Mary Tyler Moore.
I know their intentions are complimentary, so don’t think I’m complaining. I think what they really mean is, I seem to handle my single self well. And by “well,” I suppose they mean “with confidence.” Yep, that I’ll go along with; I’ve been told a million times that I project an air of confidence. But confidence shouldn't have anything to do with one’s marital or relationship status or living situation or... independence, right?
A while back I posted about how I'm sick of being independent, and I bet some of you can relate. Wouldn't you love to have somebody remind you of a bill to pay or an item to pick up at the store? Wouldn't it be nice to have to lean on someone once in a while?
Yeah, sometimes independence can be overrated, and as I say in my book, "In the end, your heart beats only for yourself." But damn, it's so much nicer when two hearts beat as one, as Bono would say.
Speaking of hearts, I'm heading to Las Vegas next Saturday for 8 days. It's been almost two months since I've seen Mike. Talk about fireworks...