Empty Nesting: You Can't Go Home Again

The Boy is out of town for a robotics competition. I love my lil Pumpkin, but lordy, there is something about having an empty house! I often marvel at the fact that kids his age don't go anywhere. When I was 18, if you gave me $20, I was immediately in the streets. Kids these days? Give them $20 and they buy a computer game and continue gaming from the comfort of their bedroom. I now fully understand that my mother was beyond glad when me and my sisters were in the streets, doing God-knows-what. As she saw it as long as we weren't dead or pregnant, she was good. And yeah, same. There's just something about an empty house, after having kids around for so long. 

I got off work in the evening and immediately tried to figure out where to go. I decided to pop out for some nachos and margaritas. My homegirl was supposed to join me, but she was late, so I told her that we'd link another time. As I sat there eating, I decided that I wanted more action. I wanted someone to hang with. Let's drive aimlessly around the city! Let's go back to my house and watch movies! Let's do something! In that moment, my ex happened to call me. I immediately suggested to him that he meet me out. He hit me with a plain "I'm in my pajamas," which I know is middle-aged speak for "I'm not going any-damned-where."

I sat there and stewed. I wanted action. I wanted to call Fred. I wanted to unblock FAMM and call him. I wanted to call up another guy I'd previously had to move on from. I wanted it ALL back! I wanted all of that toxic shit that I had to work out of my system! I wanted to drool over some fine ass man, I wanted to be all over the city in bars and clubs, where everybody knows my name! 

I called my network of homegirls to talk some sense into me, because I knew that I'd lost my damned mind. But at 10:30? Most of them were tucked away, already asleep. I knew, because I'd reached out. I guess the blessing is that I knew that I was losing my shit. I called my guy bestie, "Mr. Atlanta" and encouraged him to meet me. He said that he'd be at a spot at 12 for karaoke. It was 10:30 at that point, and the margarita was starting to speak to me and I knew I wasn't going to make it twiddling my thumbs for another hour and a half, waiting for some action to kick off. I decided to head home.

I got home and unblocked FAMM and texted him "Up?' and then I took to my couch.  I knew this behavior wasn't healthy. I stewed in it. Then it hit me. I'd wanted so bad to be an empty nester, so I could get back the life I had. The parties, the hanging out, the friends at all hours. God, how I'd missed that action. I couldn't even get a friend to roll through on a random Thursday at 10pm! And again, it hit me- in your 40s, most of your friends are supposed to have their own cribs and responsibilities, and jobs and whatnot. If I was in my 40s and all of my people can just roll through on a random Thursday, that doesn't say very good things about the company I keep.

I really wished my therapist was available. I wanted so badly to process all of this. How I'd worked so hard to undo my demons, and the first moment that I'm alone, I wanted to undo all of my progress, just to feel alive again. I sat in my home, with just me and my cats. I always thought this would be the move, but dammit man. In this moment, I'd finally gotten what I asked for, and I had nothing to show for it.

This morning, I woke up, glad to not have to jump up to take Pumpkin to school. I lay in my bed and thought about the dream I had. I dreamt that I ran into my former fling, a younger man, who attended Clark Atlanta University with me, who was in his early 20's, while I was in my mid 30s. In the dream, he'd taken off his underwear and I found them later, and noticed they were much too small, almost small enough to be for a child. When I woke and pondered on the dream. In the dream, he was child. In that dream, I was chasing my own young adulthood.

I got up and started cleaning, putting things away, opening windows and doors, airing out my home, listening to birds chirp, while I played Michael Jackson records in the background. I went chasing my 20s, only to find that the party ended. Or at least, the party has changed, and now it's up to me to redefine what this part of my life is supposed to mean. It slapped me in the face that being an empty nester does not mean that I will magically be 25. I also knew that I don't wanna be one of those middle-aged women hanging out at clubs with people half my age, embarrassing myself, trying to look younger than I really am. Seriously, put a bullet in my head if I ever try to become that woman.

The saying is true, you can't go home again. And I gotta learn to be okay with that.