A SOLITARY WALK

Labour Day Weekend is the last chance for some summer fun for many: a wild weekend at a cottage, family barbecues or a couples' getaway.

I've had a good summer and in many ways a more social one than I imagined. In my The Third Phase Solo, I am opening myself to new people.

But, inevitably, there are lulls in a social calendar - in mine at least - and suddenly when it seems everyone is off partying, the calendar is blank. I was ready for it, or so I thought, after a busy time. In the past, I welcomed lazy summer days with no plans, enjoyed doing practically nothing for a whole day. But then there was a partner, Peter, to share those days with. Even blank days were filled with all I needed. 

And I found myself this Labour Day missing Peter in the week before the third anniversary of his death.

So I took myself to a wild, deserted park near my home where I can walk through the woods and along a beach where I have to climb over trees that have been brought down by erosion. 

Being in this spot, I am often alone but yet feel more connected to Peter. It always makes me feel better.

Among the rubble on the beach, I came across a solitary shoe, a loafer that could have belonged to a woman or a man. There is nothing more useless looking than a shoe without a partner. Where has your mate gone to? I wondered as I scanned the beach. That shoe seemed to say it all: I was that shoe and I had lost the other one. With the lake waves crashing behind me I stared at the shoe and shook myself. How pathetic was I being? But I let myself feel like that shoe for a moment and then I moved on.

But the objects around me kept speaking of loss: uprooted trees, a broken dock and then, surprisingly, part of a staircase.

 

I posted the staircase on Facebook with the label, "Staircase to nowhere," a play on the song,"Staircase to Heaven." And I felt more sad and pathetic. Why couldn't I think of it a staircase to the unknown. Why did I persist in seeing loss as leading me nowhere, instead of into some surprising new future? And then I thought of Peter and the optimism he had and encouraged me to live with. And I felt grateful for this wild beach I could escape to and hold an existential discussion with a shoe and a staircase. Finally, I could laugh at myself and head home to cook myself a favourite breakfast.

Another lesson on learning to live solo.