Festive Home Alone Singleton

In Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget references her favorite poem, “A Christmas Poem” by Wendy Cope:

At Christmas, little children sing and merry bells jingle.
The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle
And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle
And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful if you’re single.

It makes me a little uncomfortable to relate too closely to Bridget Jones.  (I do relate, but that’s a level  of singleness that I’m not emotionally prepared to commit to at twenty-five.  Give me five more years.)  However, this is the real deal.  This is how the holiday season makes me feel sometimes.  And I love the holidays.

I know, without any doubt in my mind, that being in a relationship does not solve problems, nor will it make me a better, more complete human being.  In fact, I have spent the past many years establishing this fact with other single friends:  I am a complete, wonderful person.  I am not looking for someone to complete me.  I am looking for someone to complement me.

I know that I do not need another human being.  I have a lot of other people in my life, all of whom are marvelous and loved beyond even my comprehension.  And somehow, miraculously, they love me, too, and that is the best thing.

I know that I do not like holiday or over-the-top proposals or greeting cards or romantic comedies (with few exceptions, most notably being Bridget Jones and When Harry Met Sally) or public displays of affection or Facebook statuses/wall posts about how amazing your significant other is.  I think it’s weird when boys remember the anniversary of the first time they ever saw you.  (Please remember and relive the moment forever and ever, but don’t remember the exact day and time.  That’s weird.  Save your brain space for important things.)  I don’t particularly believe in fairy tales, and just the phrase “treat like a princess” makes me nauseous.  As girly as this little sorority alumna is, I can’t handle mush.

I think I want a very specific, probably impossible to find kind of love.  But here’s some more things I know:  I am an optimist.  My parents will tell you, maybe with some level of concern, that I am super Type A and a perfectionist.  My best girlfriends will proudly tell you that I refuse to settle.  My bosses will tell you that I am relentless in pursuit of goals.  And I’ll tell y’all this:  2011 was my second least favorite year so far, so 2012 will be my year.

And I’m going to get what I want.

PS:  The title comes from Bridget Jones’s Diary, too, of course:  “So glad decided to be festive Home Alone Singleton like Princess Diana.”

Joyful.

Last week was one of the better weeks of 2012.

I typically suffer from a bit of residual homesickness after I’m back at MY home after a holiday.  Also, last week was my first full week back in the office since August, so I was little apprehensive about returning to the office environment.  I’m so used to making my own schedule during travel season; readjusting is always a little bit tricky.  Anyway, needless to say, I was NOT expecting last week to be spectacular.

And again, I was wrong.  I’m wrong a lot.

Early in the week, I had lunch with an old friend.  He was one of my closest friends when I first moved out here; I have missed him so much since he left, but it was wonderful to sit and talk and laugh with him and some of our mutual friends.  It felt exactly like every other lunch we’d ever had.  I’m thankful that nothing feels like it’s changed — a few more miles between our houses but not much else besides that.

In other news, some of my friends formed a band about a year and a half ago, and their first album came out last week.  When I talk about them and how talented they are, I think people think I’m just saying that because I know them, but the truth is that I would love them just as much if I didn’t know them.  They’re that good.  Naturally, I am obsessively, crazily proud of the boys — so proud, in fact, that when I first heard the finished album, I cried at my desk at work. I am not even remotely embarrassed to admit that.

And the very best news:  A sweet former coworker of mine and her husband welcomed their second baby boy into the world on Saturday.  He is healthy and precious and beautiful, and I am just delighted for their whole family.  And if things can’t get any better, there’s this:  One of my very best friends and her husband are expecting their first child this summer.  She and her husband are going to be amazing parents; their baby is already so lucky to have them as his or hers.

Hearing my best friend tell me such beautiful news was probably the best moment of last week, which is saying something.  I started crying as soon as she said it, of course.  That’s been a theme this week:  being happy to the point of tears.  With happiness, I think there’s a point where you can’t do anything but cry.  It’s past happy, past ecstatic, past giddy, past joyful, past all of that; you’re just overjoyed, and there’s nothing else in the world you can do but laugh and cry at the same time.  But, as Truvy from Steel Magnolias says, “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.”