by Meredith Siegel Cohen, Creator, Single and Striking Out
I love dirt.
Well, to be clear, I’m talking about dark, rich, moist soil—the kind that comes right out of the MiracleGro bags. I love pulling on my gardening gloves and digging into it on a sunny late-spring day, when I have flowers, pots, and the leisure to create a little bit of beauty. When I’m invested in an outdoor project, I feel a childlike freedom. I don’t care if my clothes get stained, if there’s dirt under my nails, or if my freshly power-washed deck ends up speckled with soil.
The peace I feel when planting, all by myself, is unmatched. I was able to enjoy this most indulgent hobby during the latter part of Memorial Day weekend. The contrast between that and the two weeks that preceded it is striking.
It was an interesting time, with some true highs and lows. We had my son’s graduation from graduate school, and then I attended an out-of-state medical appointment with my mother. In both cases, I felt the sting of solitude.
A lot is expected of me, and I try really hard. I’m the cheerleader, the planner, the shoulder to cry on. The problem-solver—or at the very least, the answer-seeker. The loving mother, the devoted daughter, and the reliable sister.
My son received a diagnosis just shy of two years old that left us wondering whether he would ever talk, walk, read, or write—and uncertain about what his future would look like. Boy, has he blazed through his challenges! This graduation was a crowning moment for him. Not only does he have a college degree, but now he has a master’s as well. The accomplishment is a testament to so much work, grit, persistence, determination, and heart invested over the years.
It was very, very special—a moment to be savored by the entire family. A moment to put aside acrimony and come together for the communal celebration of him. I wish I could say that is what happened.
But as I’ve come to learn (over and over again)… we can’t control others. We can only control ourselves.
Some divorced couples have amicable relationships. They gather for special occasions, smile, and understand that unifying and communicating in the best interests of their children is more important than arguments of yesteryear. Unfortunately, that is not my situation—which makes celebratory times like graduations, well, challenging and uncomfortable for my children. It takes a toll on me, too.
In a crowd of families in the arena, my solo status was heightened—and hard.
By contrast, I cherished my alone time in the garden center, weaving through aisles of flora. In particular, the shades of hot pink, rich purple, opulent orange, happy yellow, and luscious lavender smiled at me. As if the petunias, pansies, begonias, hibiscus, and marigolds were vying for my attention—Pick me! Let’s enjoy a beautiful summer together! I took a deep breath and wandered, unbothered by who was to my left or to my right.
The weekend after graduation, I accompanied my mother to a medical appointment out of state. She was nervous, and I was determined to be her rock—to make a difficult time at least a little enjoyable. Amidst some fun meals, questions loomed, and the air was thick with tension. We made it through, received some positive news, and solidified our next steps. But I was keenly aware, as I was trying to be there for her, that there was no shoulder on which I could lean. There was no one to stroke my hair, hug me, or tell me they were there with unconditional support as I cried into my pillow, alone in my bedroom.
Once home, I labored to make a pretty summer space. I made a friend at the store while picking out pots (shout out to Ivy for her style sense!) and dove into my project with gusto. I relished the heat, wiping the sweat off my brow (I’m sure those close to me are reading this and wondering who I am and what I’ve done with Meredith). I reacquainted myself with muscles that had been dormant for quite some time, and felt oddly relaxed and grounded in my own company. There was no need to answer to anyone, no worry, no conflict, and no stress. Nature asked nothing of me other than to pause, breathe, and be present.
Like burrowing through the soil, being solo in my 50s is messy.
Admittedly, dealing with the chaos of challenging family responsibilities on my own sometimes makes me feel sorry for myself. But then, there are magical moments when I derive quiet clarity by doing something as a single—like potting a few flowers and watching them turn into breathtaking blooms as the summer moves on. And in those moments, I am grateful to be alone with my own company and my own thoughts.
Maybe, like the flowers, I’m beginning to see how all of these experiences are helping me blossom, strengthen, and grow into my full potential. Just as the planting process is imperfect, so too is this solo season. But I’m learning to embrace the weeds, the heat stress, and the deadheads as part of the path—one that’s unfolding in its own brightly colored way.
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