unionizations/"the only exception"

I've always been alone.

Even in a crowd of people, there is always something that sets me apart, makes me different, makes me unable to be part of whatever group I am around, I'm too tall, too old, too young, too something.

I spent the years of my childhood, the oldest of four, the gray sheep in the bunch, always different somehow, it started that long ago, I always felt misunderstood and apart from them, from everyone. I careened through the rest of my life with the anger of those years behind me, expecting to be barred for being different, anticipating being misunderstood, cringing for the moment of expulsion.

I made the best of it, preferring to spend time with my nose in a book or finding solace in stringing words together, observing people from the distance we created in our differences; I accepted that I was just an outsider.

It is a strange thing to spend so much time feeling that way and suddenly find myself belonging to people. And not just any people, but ones that I am proud and privileged to know.

It began a few years ago with my group of friends, we found each other in the cafe, disappointed by life, artistically gifted but stifled by life, we found commiseration in each other, and joy; the first time in the span of my life that I had friends who knew me, understood me and loved me, for everything I was and everything I was not. These few gave me hope that life was worth living, because at last, finally, I was not alone.

They helped me shed the anger I had for so long, because love and time are the strongest balms for healing pain.

From there I found another friend, I remember when we first sat together and talked, I offered him my chair and within ten minutes I knew he was another kindred spirit who had experienced a similar disappointment in life and we became fast friends. There was no work, it was not hard the way it had been with other people, I looked forward to seeing him and spending time with him. And now we are living together and it makes me very glad. He thinks of me as a sister, he says, and I know what he means with the closeness and comfort we share.

He loves one who is another of us, a misunderstood and aching soul, and we three have become a trio. We have adventures, we have easy good times and it is a relief to live with them, to realize we are all happy to see each other, even early in the morning when seeing and speaking to anyone is a chore, it is good.

And then there is him. I don't even know how to say it all. I pretended for a long time that it didn't matter that I was alone that way. I filled my time and wasted my energies well enough, fell into bed with exhaustion, but for the ten minutes before and after sleep that empty bed could not be ignored.

I consoled myself with my friends and alcohol and the gladness I felt that I no longer had to feel like I was forcing myself into relationships that didn't suit me. Men had always been a bad solution to feeling alone, being an outsider, feeling misunderstood. They didn't know me, they only knew my body and who I tried to be in an effort to please them. I remembered that no matter what good times I'd had with them, there were plenty of times when were angry and fighting stupid useless fights. We fought to prove ourselves to each other; from our own deep wells of doubt and there was nothing that could get us past those wells, not even wanting love more than anything.

I spent two years single. I had men in my life, but they were temporary, and we knew it, so it was just a way to pass the time. I enjoyed the time, finding that being alone, choosing to be alone, restored me somehow, reminded me who I was, not for anyone, not because of anyone, I was always defined by who I was in relation to someone else, but for the first time in a long time, maybe since I was very young, I was able to be myself for myself. It helped that I had friends who coaxed me away from the anger that defined my life, who appreciated things about me others found strange, things that I appreciate about myself. I learned to trust myself, my intuition, my choices, my ideas, my desires, my wants, I learned myself, got to know myself and I enjoyed being me. I stopped holding up the past for scrutiny: all the failures, all the bad things, all the guilt, let those things be part of my experiences with life and I started to enjoy life newly.

I wasn't looking for another relationship. I was open to one, but I was not searching or hoping or wondering or waiting or wanting one. It's not like I didn't care, but I had reached a point where I'd spent a majority of my adulthood in a relationship, usually one I was unhappy in, so I reasoned it was better to just be alone for a while.

It's so funny that I can't just say the good things without explaining why it feels so good. Where I've been, how disappointed I was, how resigned I was, and that I wasn't looking or desperate for it, that's what makes a good thing better, greater than good. And to find someone who matches me, suits me, appreciates all the little quirks and things that made me an outsider for so long, it's a wonderful feeling. I have to admit I find it harder to believe than I do with my friends, because it is a deeper level of intimacy, the road to becoming an "us." I am out of practice, but I am glad because my practices back then were bad and this is a chance to have better habits and routines, to learn how to be in a good relationship. Believe me when I say I have never been in one I wanted to be in before this one and it is an unsettling but delightful feeling.

As I get used to enjoying the people in my life, I find that my smile is never buried and I am nearly always glad. It has been a good time.

fiesta del sol

It was dusk in the piazza. Such a simple thing. No one else seemed to be impacted by it. It brought tears to my eyes, it was that achingly beautiful to me. I stood there for a full moment, long enough to let that scene imprint itself in my mind and then we moved on from the most beautiful moment in my life.

It was an accident that I was even in Madrid, Spain to begin with, you see. I was supposed to be flying home that day. There was fog in Rome and the fog delayed our flight and Madrid was where we landed and I ran to the plane, lunging past and dodging casual European travelers and I arrived at the gate just in time to watch the plane that was supposed to take me home fly off into the sky. And I was stuck in Madrid.

Later, I learned that my luggage had managed to get on that plane. But I didn't make it. So after nineteen days of being in Europe, traveling to five cities in four countries; my first time traveling abroad, my first time traveling alone (for some parts, at least), I was ready to go home, I had had enough art, churches and history, beautiful sights, now all a blur, except for those my camera pointed at; I wanted to go home.

I was the first one from our Rome flight to reach the gate and I sank into a chair in immobilizing misery. The rest of the faces were similarly stricken, eager to get to Chicago, not happy about a delay, so I followed them to the airline's help desk where we learned that the flight we'd just missed, the flight I watched depart, it was the last flight of the day and we would all be welcome to fly tomorrow and in the meantime stay overnight in a hotel at the airline's expense.

Everyone was glad. I was not. I don't just mean I wanted to go home. I was ready to be home. I needed to be home.

Europe had been wonderful and kind to me. It was exactly what and where I needed to be at that point in my life. It affirmed something in me that I knew all along but could not express until I saw it for myself. I may have been born in the United States of America, but my heart and soul were of the old way, of the European way. I fantasized about moving to Paris, I was thrilled by the clashing of cultures in Amsterdam, I adored every bit of Florence (the most charming place in the world), Vienna showed me Beethoven's Frieze and an exhibition on women in comics in one building, and then in Rome, I learned to love the metropolitan air. And after seeing all these things that made me love humanity, that made me fall in love with human artistry, human invention, humanity in its entirety, I was homesick and I wanted to be with the people I loved most in the world.

Except I was stuck in Madrid.

The petulance I describe amuses me now, to be stuck in such a wondrous and vast city, the shame of being so disappointed, to have a free night's stay in a bustling urban metropolis similar to New York (a place I still yearn to see someday), had it been the beginning of the trip, I wouldn't have minded so much. But it was the end. And what awaited me when I returned was freedom. I had cut myself loose from something I knew I wasn't ready for, and the freedom I'd chosen came with a man I felt as unsure and certain over just as a coin has two opposite sides, embarking on my college education and living alone for the first time in my life. I was 26 and my life was just beginning in a lot of ways, and I was eager to get started.

But first, Madrid. She lay before me in a splendor. So many trains, streets, sights. At the hotel, a group of us discovered we spoke the same language, primarily English, but also deep, speculative, explorative words too, and I was cajoled into exploring another city.

We set out to wander. A lovely thing to do as a traveler. To let the world lead you to where it wants you to go. A train stop, a noise, a crowd, a left then a right and we found that this weekend in Madrid was one of the biggest citywide celebrations devoted to the sun and people went to the streets to dance, sing, drink and relax. Decorations of suns were everywhere, strung across streets, lit up even in the waning sunlight, a myriad of colors.

I was deemed good with maps and given the title of Navigator. A thing I still smile over, to be in charge of the directions, to make sure we didn't go too far astray, to lead us in a big enough swirl around the city; it was a joy. No one had ever let me be in charge of something like that before. I enjoyed it very much and still enjoy staring at maps, determining where we are and where we're going.

We wandered through the streets, smiling at the people, taking it all in. Another beautiful side of humanity, this time in Madrid. There was nowhere we were going and nowhere we had to be, and home and freedom and him were all waiting for me, tomorrow. Sometimes learning how to be patient is a good way to appreciate what's happening right now; today.

And then there was a turn and a left, and maybe we were looking for the palace, but it was dark in the glower of dusk, a vague shadow in my memory. Across the busy street, perhaps that street had once been a garden, a path, a walkway; there sat the piazza.

The sky was a bowl over it. A globe of streaky dark blue clouds against the day's blue background, with the sun's departure imminent. There were birds. All over Europe, birds wander the skies in packs, more visible without the expanse of tall buildings to block them, and at dusk they circle overhead, I felt they were lamenting the darkening sky. There was a building, very symmetrical in its architecture and it was made of marble, which glowed pearlescent in the last light from the sun. A statue sat in the center of the piazza, centered in front of the building, all the paths of the gardens led to the statue of a man on a horse, riding triumphantly away from battle. The paths were laid with a peach colored gravel and lined with dark green manicured bushes. And then, it began to rain, a light breathy mist that feels good on your face.

I had already seen a million beautiful things, countless paintings, endless historical sites and buildings, every person themselves seemed a work of art. I saw them all with a blurry scope of innocence and rabid curiosity, but nothing more.

In the piazza that day, I saw something that no one told me about before, no one told me I would love it, no one told me I had to see it. No one told me how to feel about it, I just felt it.

I felt the rush of pleasure in humanity's clash against nature. The sky was showcased so that no matter which spot you stood in the piazza, it felt like you were in its center. The sky overhead might have any number of cloudscapes on a given day, but what surrounded you on the ground was a soothing palate of colors, a pruned and cultivated garden exhibiting man's control of some elements (stone, metal, plants), and in the middle, the statue of the man on the horse celebrating his triumph over his enemy.

For everyone else, it was just another piazza, another pretty spot some King had designed for him a long time ago, and with tears streaming down my face, I took one last look. I turned and felt the brightness of the day finally fade, dusk shut out the sun with a suddenness. And then we moved on through Madrid, exploring more, taking the train back to the hotel, enjoying each other, while internally I marveled at that spot and wondered when I could be there again.