I’m bad at titles, OK? Just ask any editor I’ve ever had. In this writer’s humble opinion, thinking up catchy titles should be in someone else’s job description. You want me to birth the baby AND give it a name? Has no one except me heard of delegating responsibilities?

My therapist would say that bit was subconsciously intended to distract from the meaning behind the title, which is that, for the first time in 16 years, I live alone. Most of the time, anyway.

I mean, it kind of depends on how you define “alone” – my therapist would say this bit is me intellectualizing the issue – but I don’t count the month-and-change after my ex-husband left me and before Charlotte and I started dating as being “alone,” exactly. I don’t have many distinct memories from that summer, just impressionistic scenes that aren’t necessarily in chronological order. But I now realize that, at the time, I was too terrified and anguished to even begin processing living alone in our home that had so recently held the four of us. And then Charlotte came along and, even when I found myself alone, I wasn’t lonely anymore. The house with so many specters looming felt fundamentally different with her in it, lighter and calmer; the kids even felt it.

At the time, I did consider that perhaps it wasn’t the ideal time to begin a relationship. But a) I wanted that tall redhead real bad, and b) it unfolded so naturally and was, in nearly every way, so healthy that I didn’t feel the need to examine it from that perspective anymore. I loved her, the kids all loved each other and us, she loved us, and we were happy living together. Why haul out the electron microscope when there’s nothing to see?

Except, clearly, there was something that needed examination. Charlotte and I broke up, meaning we ended our romantic relationship, last summer. She and I could sit down and make an exhaustive list of reasons, but the vast majority of them come down to this: In middle age, a huge component of relationship compatibility is not just whether your long-term goals align, but also when you expect them to do so. Charlotte has been a patent attorney for going on 20 years, and she was a teacher before that. Both her kids are adults; one has already successfully launched, and the other is preparing to do so after college graduation. Retirement, for her, is not some far-off daydream she jokes about when she gets tired of writing patent applications. It’s not exactly right around the corner, either, but it’s on its way. With it, she wants a slower, quieter lifestyle and a milder climate (read: New Orleans is highly dysfunctional, “Island Time” gets on her nerves, and she likes cold weather).

While I love the idea of sojourning in chillier climes during the dog days of summer in New Orleans, I want to spend the vast majority of my time here. I don’t want to own ONE home, let alone two, and I dislike the negative effects short-term rentals have on communities. I like the people and the pace of life here, I love how Black and queer and European it is, and, perhaps most importantly, I’m acclimated to the heat and the humidity; could be I have cold blood after all. I even like the smell of the French Quarter (smells like money, as my dad would say). One of my favorite sensations in the whole world is walking out of a chilly restaurant or bar into a hot, humid New Orleans night. Maybe I’m less snake and more frog.

I accept that (some people think) I may one day change my mind about this, but I have never wanted to retire. I figure if I play my cards just right, I’ll die at my desk, facedown on my keyboard, typing 28 pages of the lowercase H with my nose as my final contribution to the world of arts and letters. I want to go skidding into my grave, a little drunk, madly in love, and with absolutely no talent left whatsoever. Retire? I’ve hardly begun.

(For another thing, chances are I won’t be able to retire at a semi-normal age anyway. I’m not going to get into it, but, no matter what you do or don’t have, divorce is EXPENSIVE. While most of my peers were building careers and contributing to retirement accounts, I was raising a family.)

You can see the problem here: wildly divergent paths. Charlotte and I knew we wouldn’t be together, at least not as a couple, forever. We never expected our paths to diverge quite so soon or this suddenly, though. At times I’ve been doubled over with grief and anxiety at losing her as a roommate and live-in best friend.

Charlotte left Saturday, and last weekend was hard, as expected. I tried to stay as busy as possible but also accepted that, no matter what I did or didn’t do, it would suck, which it did, roundly. I wrote a lot, but nothing you’d want anyone to see. Thankfully, she arrived safely and is enjoying the place she’s staying while she searches for her new home.

Living with Charlotte was fun and comfortable and easy; I probably could have done it forever, and I think she feels much the same way. But, as lovely as it was, time we spent together was, by its very nature, time not spent pursuing our goals and the things that are important to us now; time, unlike love, is finite. Living together, there was no need to worry, but there was also no reason to strive for more. And the things I want to do are not the kinds of things that just show up on your porch one day. So as uncomfortable as this wakeup call is, it’s also liberating. Thrilling. SCARY. So scary. I jumped the fence, and now I’m stuck. But there’s a wide open field in front of me.

I know myself pretty well, and I know I’m a serial monogamist, which may initially sound like it could be a good thing but really kind of isn’t. Thus, I made a commitment to myself that I won’t go on so much as a date until May 13, 2026, next year’s birthday. (Between the kids, writing, working full time, and going to school full time, it shouldn’t be difficult. And I’m not a dating-apps kind of gal – no shade whatsoever, I just don’t suffer fools. Like, at all.) If I have to go through this very unwanted transition, then I’m going to use this newly-free time to cultivate my priorities. Career-wise, there’s a lot I want to do: produce a play, write a biography, plan a music festival, make a short film, photograph a portrait series…and those are just the ones I want to accomplish in the next five years.

In an interview I watched a couple weeks ago, Michelle Obama was talking about how genuine happiness comes from learning how to be content in all the mundane moments of life, which are, even for her, most of the moments in life. Learning to be content when you’re alone, when you’re bored, when you don’t feel like it – that’s the secret of life. And I’m getting a crash course in it. I like to think I’m rediscovering some things I already learned, but I know there are more adventures ahead for me and Charlotte, both alone and together, than there are behind us. .