my mom on Saturday, I tell her all about the events of the week. I describe the free class and how nice the gym staff is. Barely taking a breath, I add the stories of the ways Britt and I have encouraged one another, and even about meeting Eleni yesterday and about the competition.
Confusion tinges her voice. “Who are these people again?”
I was probably talking too fast. “These are my friends. I mean kind of.” I like to think so.
She’s quiet for so long, I have time to pull off a baseball cap and reach for the brush on the end of the bed.
“I just can’t see that this is a good use of your time. Honey, what about all the plans you’ve had? This all sounds like maybe it could be a distraction from work and even meeting a man.”
I swallow the hurt in that. I know she’s hoped I would get married a lot sooner. In all fairness, I did too. “Well, I was giving that a lot of effort the last few years, and then recently, it’s just been nice to kind of switch gears and be able to enjoy—”
“I hope you’re still going to that singles group at your church. Seems a good way to meet someone.”
I nod numbly, wondering if she’s really hearing all that I’m trying to say. Of the joy that’s sparked in my life again. “Yeah. I think it could be. But honestly, it hasn’t—”
“And have you been styling your hair? Or just putting on one of those beanies?” I flick the baseball cap to the floor as though she could see the evidence.
“Mom, I’ve been doing my hair. It’s too hot for beanies.” Maybe I won’t mention the hat I wore on my walk today. For good measure, I tug at the hem of my cut-off shorts. The length is moderate, but she’s not a huge fan of this look either. “I just wanted you to know that I’m doing well and that for the first time in a long time, I have new energy and something to be truly proud of.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. I’m sorry for worrying. How are things going at the magazine?”
I don’t have the strength for this one. It will be too much at once. “The editor liked my last article. Said it was the best yet.”
“Honey, I’m proud of you. Janice and all the ladies love your articles. A few of them even share it with their girls.”
“That’s very . . . nice.” Honestly. I want to be proud of the work I’ve done, and grateful that it’s content people have connected with. “It turns out, I’m going to be working on some new topics in the future. I’ll show you my plans next time we’re together. It’s time for me to pursue some new avenues.”
“I don’t know if I like the sound of this.” But at the very least, there’s nearly a laugh in her voice, which means she’s coming around to the idea.
Despite it all, I smile. “We’ll talk more about it soon, mom.” Now to change the subject. “I don’t mean to keep bringing it back to climbing, but I also called to let you and dad know that I’ll be in a competition on August 29th. I hope you guys can come.”
“Well. . . ”
I squeeze my eyes tight, bracing for more disappointment.
“That’s really nice to hear, Sadie.”
My eyes ease open again.
“Thanks for giving me the date. I can’t make any promises since that’s the week we’re house sitting for some friends who will be in Ohio, but I’ll sure put it on the calendar, honey.”
“Thanks, mom.” It’s not the strongest commitment, but this has also been a lot for her to process. If worrying was an Olympic sport, my mom would be a gold medalist. “It would be great if you were there. How are things going at home?”
She fills me in on the latest with her Bible study, women’s pickle ball group, and how things are going with their little dog, Yoyo. I tidy as we catch up. She finishes with, “Keep me posted on these new article ideas of yours. I know you’ll be coming up with some good topics.”
That bolsters me. “Thank you, mom. Is dad around? I’d love to catch him too before you have to go.”
“Sorry, sweetie, he’s out on the course right now. Won’t be back until after lunch, but I know he’d enjoy catching up. I’ll tell him to give you a call?”
“Yes, please. Love you guys.”
“We love you too. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, bye.”
We hang up. Today, like most Saturdays, I stave off thoughts of work and writing, and instead like to use this day just to be creative or even to rest. It’s a stunning day outside. Crisp, with enough cloud cover that the air has cooled some. I throw open a window, inviting in the soft breeze, then grab my hammock and a journal and decide to head down to the tree line of the nearby park. It’s a great place to string up my hammock and pass the afternoon journaling. On a whim, I shoot Britt a text. Maybe she’ll want to get out of the house, too. We could even grab lunch afterwards.
Heading to the park on Sixth Street. Come by if you’re free! We can grab a bite. :)
The text whooshes as I hit send, then I top off Calypso’s food, grab the last of my stuff, and head out the door. The flannel wrapped around my waist is just insurance in case it rains, but the clouds look more ominous than they probably are. I probably should have changed into jeans, but hopefully I won’t regret it. At the park just a few blocks away, families play and picnic. I scoot past them, closer to the woods where hundreds of trees keep the air cooler and the view incredible. I string up the hammock in a favorite spot. Britt texts back that she’d love to join me and will be here in half an hour. Fun! Plus, it gives me just enough time to tackle some writing.
The hammock sways as I climb inside and stretch both legs out straight. The fringe of my cut-off shorts tickles my thigh, so I smooth it out and plop my journal into place. Click. Pen uncapped, it hovers just above the page. Instead of writing down a string of ideas, I scribble a thought that’s been circling my brain:
Single Sadie.
Could it be a book title? And what if I don’t write it for anyone else but myself? At least to begin with . . . what if I just write it for me? A way to express what’s on my heart. Maybe even a chance to heal further. After sliding the pen between my teeth, I turn to a blank page and ponder what the first chapter could be about. Recalling the Monopoly night, I shake my head. While that would make an interesting chapter, it could hurt Britt’s feelings to have her rough evening displayed on the page. No, I’ll start somewhere else.
Memories circle of the moment I bumped into Seth on the tent aisle. I don’t exactly want to relive that experience either, but it’s honest, and in so many ways it symbolizes some of the growth I’m grateful for—and struggles that I still wrestle with. That could be the best place to begin. I scrawl a few lines, then scratch out a sentence and replace it. I don’t usually write with pen and paper these days but it felt good to leave my laptop behind. Ideas flow and a page slowly fills, then a second. As darker clouds roll in, wind stirs the journal. I brace it open. Ink stains the side of my hand but I don’t slow. There’s so much to say. So much I wish I could express to others. Even to my mother. So much I need to say to myself and, just as importantly, to other single women who might be feeling as lost and puzzled as I have been feeling.
I’m halfway through the third page when Britt’s sing-song voice comes from the distance.
“Helloooo!” She waves overhead, and it’s so good to see a smile on her face again.
I sit up and wave back, nearly tipping out of the hammock. “So glad you found me.”
Wind stirs her strawberry-blonde hair and she grips the edge of a calf-length sundress. “This weather is crazy!” A dimple dents one of her round cheeks.
“I know.” Two droplets just hit my arm. “It’s really rising. Wanna get out of here and grab something to eat?”
“For sure. Let me help you pack up.”
I clamber ungracefully out of the hammock which sends the journal and pen tumbling. Britt gathers them up while I untie the hammock from the obliging spruce trees. As droplets continue to pitter patter here and there, Britt and I duck and giggle. We gather up the last of my stuff and hurry across the park’s meadow to the parking lot just as the sky churns darker. It hits me then that I walked here, so with more laughter, Britt and I dash toward her car. Sprinkles tap the windshield as I cram everything into the back seat. We hop in and Britt aims her tiny sedan toward the bakery across the street.
It's another mad dash, and then we’re in line, swiping at the dampness on our clothes while we order at the counter. Two soup-and-salad combos. Two sodas. And some fresh-baked bread. Britt insists on buying to say thank you for the order I dropped off the other day. I was happy to do so, but am equally touched by her offer. We fill our cups to the brim then slide into a booth not long before a waitress brings along our order.
Surrounded by the smells of chicken noodle soup and fresh baguettes, Britt unwraps the paper on her straw then glides it into her bubbling Coke. “So I heard yesterday that Katie and Jason are getting pretty serious. I guess she’s going with him to a family wedding as his date.”
“Oh wow. How did you find out?”
“Well, word travels fast on the worship team. Someone was teasing him about it before practice and he didn’t deny it. Just turned all red and looked like he was in love.” She grimaces, but I know just talking things out is a key part of healing.
“Oh my gosh. That would have been hard to have to overhear. Are you doing okay? I know that’s a loaded question.”
“Yeah.” She sips from her soda. “I’m honestly doing all right. I still feel kind of crummy but I’m recognizing that it’s not so much because I was in love with Jason, but because I had thought God was opening up a door for me. I had hoped the weeks and months prior had been a sign that God was finally going to bless me with a good, godly relationship. Then I realized I was wrong and felt like God had forgotten me.”
I soak that in, saddened for her. And so able to relate.
“I’ll admit that sometimes I think maybe God has forgotten me, but I also want to hold onto faith as being more important than my own fears and doubts. It’s a battle each day, I’m not going to lie.”
“Britt, I have felt just like that, and sometimes I still do. Sometimes I think that God must see everyone but me. Like I somehow slipped through the cracks.”
“Exactly.”
“I have to remind myself that it’s not true, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”
She leans an elbow on the table and digs into her salad. “I know just what you mean.”
I unwrap my fork as well. “So, what sort of thing has helped you through the last week?”
She sighs. “Well, I had to recognize a few things. First, that my feelings or desires weren’t going to change Jason’s mind. He’s on his own unique path with the Lord. It’s comforting to think of that, and just like I’ve longed for God to help me in this area, I’m sure that he and Katie have longed for the same. God is showing that in a very clear way in their lives right now and that’s something to rejoice over. I’m not saying that in a phony way, and no, I’m not exactly rejoicing.” She giggles. “But I am coming to see that it’s true all the same. It makes it a little easier to let those hopes go.”
“Oh, Britt.”
“And you know how I said that I was visiting my family?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it turned out that they had a barbecue where my cousin and her husband did a big gender reveal event for their coming baby.” Her eyes start to glisten. “I just stood there, watching them send a fountain of pink confetti in the air. As everyone cheered them on for having a girl, all I could think about was the fact that at thirty-six, I might never have that opportunity. But I had to stand there and congratulate them with everyone else, even though I was sort of dying inside. I feel really guilty about that, Sadie.”
“You don’t need to feel guilty. It’s such a hard thing. I think of the verse about rejoicing with those who rejoice, but the catch is that as single women, we are always summoned to rejoice with others. Babies. Weddings. Engagements. But rarely do we have reasons to share something that people consider rejoice-worthy. Our accomplishments—the moments that are special to us—seem to pale in comparison to society’s standards. There are no greeting cards for the moments that we try and feel joy over.”
She nods solemnly.
“And so we live quieter lives and that’s something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately . . . and honestly trying to do something about.” I drizzle ranch onto my salad and take a bite. “No one’s going to throw a barbecue for us to celebrate the fact that we’re on our own, or even that we survived another breakup, and that’s fine. So, I think we have to find ways to have our own joys. Our own special experiences. They might not be what the world—or even Christians—deem as special or truly worthwhile, but we have to celebrate the little things regardless.” Even if there will never be a celebration card with our names on it. There will never be balloons or a shower.
“And so you bought climbing shoes,” she laughs, and raises her soda to toast with mine.
I laugh back as we clink glasses. “Exactly. And it was a beautiful day.”