Jam 2: All By Myself

On Thursday this week I’m going to Baltimore for the NCTE Conference.This will be my second time going and I’m really excited. I love learning new things; I’ll get to see old friends and some I’ve never met offline before; I get to take a train; I get to go to the National Aquarium; and I get a whole hotel room with a king sized bed all to myself!

I actually really like traveling by myself. Not that I don’t like traveling with friends and family, but there’s a pilgrimage aspect of going it alone. I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s wants or needs. I find myself more present when I’m alone, able to take in the experience in a way that I can’t when I’m with other people. If I were there with my husband, I’d spend the whole time talking; alone, I’ll spend the whole time observing and thinking and reflecting. I’m not an introvert by nature, but I do enjoy that sort of headspace once in a while.

My mom, however, is a mess of nerves over my trip. She can’t believe I’m going to the big, bad city alone. She’s appalled that I’m taking the train alone. She’s worried about some apparent danger in me going to the aquarium alone. 

Now I guess to some degree it’s just a matter of mothering, right? I mean, even as a grown adult, I’m still her kid and she’ll worry about me. But I’m wondering if it’s something more than that. I wonder if it’s a generational thing, or life-experience thing, where she can’t fathom feeling comfortable doing things alone the way I can.

My mom met my dad when she was 15. When she graduated from high school, she moved out of her parents house and into an apartment, and I came along the following year. Suffice it to say that my mom has never experienced being alone for any extended period of time. She never lived on her own or supported herself completely on her own or really ever had a reason to go anywhere significant on her own. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just the way her life played out.

I, on the other hand, had a very different life experience. When I graduated, I went to college and lived in a dorm for four years. After that, I packed up my little purple car and drove myself 900 miles to Nashville, a city where I knew no next to no one, didn’t have a job or a place to live. I went there and made those things happen for myself. After moving back to PA, I lived on my own for another seven years before moving in with my now-husband.

Me on a plane, alone.

I’ve gone to movies alone; I’ve gone to restaurants on my own; I LOVE shopping alone; I’ve travelled alone many times; I’ve made my own meals, done my own laundry, put a spoiler on my own car, adopted my own cat, paid my own bills, suffered from my own big mistakes, and loved in my own stubborn way. 

But truth be told, I’ve always struggled to find peace in the way my life has turned out. I wanted to get married young, and have kids young, and the traditional life everyone expects. It seemed like that was the key to adulthood, moving through these milestones that were expected. I always thought my parents’ experiences were pretty good. By the time my mom was my age, her two kids were both in college. Here I am without even managing to have one. It’s always seemed a little unfair that my life has just never seemed to take a straight line to anywhere.

But on the other hand, my experiences of spending my 20s alone have given me something that might be more valuable than a straight line to adulthood. There’s a peace that comes with knowing you can handle life without relying on someone else. There’s a confidence in knowing I can be alone and be okay. That I can get on that train to Baltimore alone and not be afraid, not be nervous, not be lonely.