I never sleep alone.

Don't get too excited, new friends: this title is incredibly misleading if it's scandal and sexy times you seek. However, it's incredibly accurate and entirely indicative of how I spend my twilight (the time of day, not the shiny-ass vampire) hours. 

See, I'm a single lady (Beyonce) and I don't share my bed with any members of the opposite sex. Sure, I'll have the occasional visit from Baby Spice Emma or Ferb the cat, but there are no gentleman callers to speak of in the Estrogen Festival that is my house. And guess what?

I. LOVE. IT.

Obviously there was a period of transition post-divorce where I was devastated by the sheets I felt bundled up next to me at night instead of the warmth of my best friend. Obviously it took me months to sleep soundly after spending the majority of my grown-up girl life sleeping next to someone else. Obviously I wallowed in tear-soaked sheets for longer than I care to mention. Obviously.

But there came a point in time when I really started to sit down and think--and I mean really THINK--about what being alone meant to me as an individual. What exactly did I think that being alone meant? What did I think it should mean? How should I react to solitude? How did I feel when I sat alone with my thoughts?

And my Truth was startling to me because I honestly never felt truly, desperately, Sylvia Plath-opening-the-oven alone. I just didn't. I think this speaks more to my sense of community more than anything else, (that's for you to judge) BUT I never really felt alone because of all the people who I knew cared about me and wished me well. I never felt alone because I never let myself feel alone. I knew that I had amazing friends and a pretty awesome family and co-workers who would do anything for me. I knew that my daughter is the coolest kid around and that her being in the world was a testament to the fact that I'll never *really* disappear from the Earth--gotcha, Universe! You're stuck with me! I never let myself feel truly alone because it was never true. 

When I talk to a friend or co-worker or family member, I feel like I take the best possible piece of that exchange and the best possible piece of their personality and put it in a sparkly, glitter-fied fanny pack that is perpetually glued to my waistline. I make a choice to hold on to little moments and big ones alike and carry them with me throughout my days AND nights. That's what they're there for, right? To keep me warm, to remind me what I'm doing here, to remind me that life is genuinely an awesome experience that I'm lucky to have, to make sure that I don't put my sweaters in the dryer because they'll shrink (thanks, Mom). It's a choice, sure, but it's never been a conscious one for me, nor has it been one that I've resented making. 

I've always considered myself just a walking, talking, windblown hair-wearing amalgamation of all the people I'm lucky enough to come in contact with every day and I think that has been my greatest attribute since Kindergarten. Who I am has very little to do with me as a solitary woman, but more about the company I keep and the memories/experiences/exchanges, good, bad and ugly, that I put in my fanny pack. 

Part of the reason I titled my blog "What I Like About Me" is to remind myself why I've genuinely enjoyed becoming who I am at this very moment. It's been a total pain in my ass some days and it's been so beautiful and amazing that it's brought me to tears on others, but what do you expect from growth?

Part of my point, or my point entirely, is that I've never really slept alone. I'd be willing to bet that you haven't, either. Think about it & get back to me.

Also, have an amazing & restful Sunday night!

Love, hugs & fanny packs,

Karen B.