Chapter 10
Summing
up - Highlights
Had I known of the many difficulties I had to face alone, I might
never have started the journey. The easier choice is to stay within
the security of marriage, however it might not be to your liking.
Leaving it needs courage, determination, and a sense of humour
because, indubitably, it is tough on your own. Especially so if you are
over forty, not qualified for a well-paid job, (and not sure you would
be capable of doing one, given the qualifications) and, in twenty odd
years of marriage have been protected from the rates, the insurance
and unwanted attentions of visiting tradesmen.
To leave a marriage in the years after the dreaded fortieth
birthday is a very different matter, I think, from returning to the
single state in the twenties or thirties. The ineluctable truth is that
after forty, your sexual attractions are considerably reduced.
However, this is no disaster if solitude is the desired goal but this fact
does make all the difference to the life to be led thereafter.
My sister, divorced and living alone in her early thirties, had more
suitors than I could count. Going to stay with her in those days was
lovely. She had a beautiful cottage in a valley under the Wiltshire
downs. In the evenings sitting by a log fire, she told of romantic
interludes in her own life with a variety of exciting men. The
telephone rang constantly with calls from would-be suitors. She was
very pretty and talented so it is not to be wondered at, I have known
other women alone in their twenties or thirties who whirl about
romantically with great success. But the demand for divorced
women over forty is definitely less. Their romances are more
usually, to be nostalgically remembered than currently enjoyed.
Obviously, I am not able to speak with authority for anyone save
myself, but on evidence gathered from different sources
(newspapers, magazines, novels and above all friends in similar
circumstances) I feel, sadly, that my deductions are accurate.
In the first few single months I was in an emotional state. I felt
extremely vulnerable, and wept a great deal. There were so many
confusions and conflicts in my mind to think and worry about.
Complete disorientation descended on me sometimes, to such an
extent that I could not remember or think who I was, or what I was
doing. It seemed that I was homeless, rootless, and lost. All day and
much of the night I asked myself the questions about the failed
marriage, over and over again. Friends at this time had to be very
patient, and were, as I constantly repeated the same dreary things.
Felicity was particularly kind while I stayed with her in the first week
after my flight. Although very busy herself, she always made time to
listen. And it is someone to listen that is needed more than anything
else. I learnt to dismiss negative thoughts as waste of time, and that
whose fault it was or whatever, is simply a thought cul-de-sac. The
decision to leave my marriage was not taken lightly or quickly. It is
not a step anyone would take, I suspect, without great thought and
deliberation. But, having made the decision, I had to believe that it
was the right one. New and difficult roads had to be taken and all my
strength needed for the forward journey. There was absolutely no
time whatsoever for wasted energy looking back.
The first lesson I learnt was that I could only cope with each day as
it came. Early on, very small things assumed very large proportions
and if normal daily happenings for some reason failed, for instance
the milkman forgetting to leave the milk, it seemed like a major
disaster. But I am so glad that I learnt then about life on a daily basis.
For me, it has proved the best way to live . I recommend reading
Philip Larkin’s poem ‘Next, please’. In it he writes of the great
importance of each single day. Before my metamorphosis, I literally
wasted days. I let them slip by, unaware of their true value. Forgive
me for repeating the pertinent old story about the octogenarian
who, asked on his deathbed to elucidate on the good things he had
done in his life, replied: “It is not the things I have done, it is the
things I have not done that I mind about, and now I have no time.” If
I had continued the way I was going, smoking, and drinking too
much, on an early deathbed I would have had only wasted years to
look back on.
It is not that great things have to be achieved daily, I found, but
daily I liked to try to achieve something, however small, that earned
my own self-respect. Something like ringing my mother, helping
someone with something, or actually accomplishing in the day what I
set myself to do, whatever it was. The importance of each day is
highlighted in a prayer I particularly like by Professor William Barclay:
“Help us ever to remember that we cannot tell if for us tomorrow
will ever come.” This is such an obvious truth, since we do not know
what will happen to us any tomorrow, so I think if today has even a
chance of being my last day, then it better be a good one.
Lesson two was not only confined to being re-singled. Not only
had I become single, but middle age had arrived as well. I had,
reluctantly, to accept this fact from the amount of material evidence
surrounding me. On the kitchen table sat cod liver oil capsules for
stiff joints and approaching arthritis. I had acquired several pairs of
spectacles – in the constant hope that one of them would be
attractive – and my newest jacket was size 14. I had now to accept
that the artistic director of life’s theatre would no longer hand me
out the lead parts. From now on, I thought, it is back row of the
chorus – but it still took some time for this truth to sink in. Over the
last year or two, seeing myself in mirrors or catching glimpses in
shop windows, I had not accepted the reflected image. I would say to
myself that the reason I looked such a fright was because I had a cold
of some excuse, and replaced the image I wished to have of myself,
back into my mind’s eye. I suffered the age-old illusion of seeing
myself as I wanted to be, rather than as I really was. I have often
heard older people say that they feel no older inside than they did in
their youth, and that they still picture themselves as young. This is a
sentiment I have to agree with, though a small objective part of my
mind reminds me that whatever I feel I still look – almost – my forty
plus, years. Thomas Hardy, in his eighties, wrote a sad poem called “I
look into My Glass.” This is the last verse:
But Time, to make me grieve
Part steals, lets part abide
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.
I’m not, to be sure, eighty yet but I do know what he means. Indeed
many poets lament about youthful feelings in ageing frames.
Anyway, photographs, if enough are taken, do not lie. My friend
Michael took some of me at a seaside resort we went to in the late
summer, but it was still too hot for covering up in layers of shape-
disguising clothes. The photographs, just like me, apparently, were
not flattering. It was at this point I decided on a long-term diet:
indeed, intermittent dieting has now become a way of life for me
and, happily, the results are rewarding.
After considerable thought, I decided on a ‘middle way’ approach
to my middle years. This was inspired by study of the Buddha who,
after meditating for seven years, decided the best course to take in
life was the ‘middle way’. Not the hedonistic way, not the way of the
ascetic, but something between. I did not wish to exercise myself for
three hours a day in order to look seventeen again, or emulate Jane
Fonda (whose ex-husband is alleged to have said that she is
extremely boring as a result), nor did I wish to look matronly or
mumsy. But it is possible to keep vaguely under eleven stone, and to
buy clothes that don’t look better on your daughter or your mother,
and the importance of the effort is for yourself. If you live alone, it is
essential to learn to like yourself, be your own best friend, since you
are
your only companion for many solitary hours.
Learning to live alone depends much on your attitude to doing so.
If I had left my marriage in order to be with someone else, or if I
anticipated a new partner to replace the one I had left, I would not
have tried to learn about the joys of solitude. It is a commonly
accepted fact that most people are lonely in their own company.
They need someone to talk to, to share with, to confide in, or gossip
to, and, to love. This is entirely natural since man is fashioned to
have a mate, and it is considered odd to choose otherwise. I am
genuinely happy on my own, whereas at gatherings of any kind I
often feel lonely. Perhaps this is because I do not belong to any
particular group. People like to belong to groups, or clubs, or classes,
and feel safe when they are among their own kind. But loneliness is a
difficult subject on which to elaborate with any authority, since it is a
very personal matter. Where one might be lonely, another would
not.
One thing I have learned from living on my own is that one’s
defences are constantly alert, for the solitary life is thought to be
selfish. A harassed married friend staying with me one night said
irritably “Well it’s all right for you, no wonder you are happy, you live
such a selfish life.” If a selfish life is structuring the day as I please,
choosing who I see and where I go, then, certainly, I do live a selfish
life. But there are debits and credits to freedom. I have mentioned
many of the credits. Here are some of the debits: the bills, the
leaking roof, the quarrels with neighbours, or the constant fear after
dark that perhaps tonight someone will break in. And other worries:
if you fall and have an accident of any kind, and cannot telephone,
who would know? Or care? How long would it be before someone
came? Who would shop for you when you are in bed with flu? Who
wants you for Christmas? These sorts of questions are vital to think
about should you be thinking of a change.
The most important lesson of all was to learn to ‘know myself’.
To recognize my faults, to see myself as a reality, not as a fantasy,
and to be my own judge and jury – ‘mine own executioner’. I needed
to find self-respect, we all do, since without it we despise ourselves
and are in turn, despised. In Chapter 1 ‘know myself’ was mentioned
in a slightly defensive and pejorative way. But it is fourteen months
since I started writing this book and I am now of the opinion that ‘to
know thyself’ is the one important statement in it. My argument, to
those sceptical, is this. If you start your life again, it has to have a
new beginning. And the new beginning starts with you. And if you do
not ‘know yourself’, do not understand your nature in the least, and
have never questioned your attitudes or beliefs or why you have
them, how on earth can you contemplate setting out? And if you do
set out, without the vital knowledge of your own intricate workings,
then success, I feel, is likely to elude you.
A subject constantly discussed is appearance and reality; nothing
is what it seems. On that premise it is possible that you are not what
you appear to be. Just because every year you take your annual
holiday in Margate, or play golf on Sunday afternoons, or sit on
committees, does not mean necessarily, that that is what you would
wish to be doing, or even like doing. For years I sat as a magistrate. I
sat on committees, and I sat at dinner tables where I discovered, on
knowing myself, I did not wish to be in the least. I wrote a letter of
resignation to the Lord Lieutenant, no longer sit on committees and I
am no longer asked to fashionable dinner parties. The ensuing bliss is
indescribable. It may cause merriment when I say “I found myself”
since it sounds so ridiculous. But I did and will risk being accused of
foolishness by so declaring this. I like to think I am not self-satisfied
or complacent as a consequence, since it is well-known that life is
‘downhill all the way’ after forty, and I will no doubt have my share
of tumbles.
When unhappiness predominates your life, and you hasten ever
faster and faster trying to chase elusive happiness, you observe
nothing. But with the slower tempo of life suddenly ordinary things
are viewed with a different eye, with a new sense of wonder and
awareness. Driving slowly along the country lanes these days, the
hedgerows tell me their seasonal stories. The first green buds, then
the Flanders poppies and cow parsley, later the mistletoe and then
the dark and bare branches of winter. I had never seen and thought
about them before – just seen them, unaware.
I have often been asked how I knew I had made the correct
decision to reapply for a single ticket. I did not know at the time of
departure, but I know now. The man I married, and I were simply not
in the least compatible. He likes rural pursuits and the touch of
heather round his ankles and I like the touch of a pavement under
my feet and a bus stop down the road. These are two fundamental
differences where compromise is almost impossible. So, leaving was
right for me. But each marriage is individual. Only you know how
unfulfilled, unhappy, and unloved you are. And this could be your
own fault. You could be unfulfilled because you do nothing, unloved
because you are unlovable, and unhappy as a result of these two. To
blame your partner for the misuse of your life is not justifiable. And
leaving would solve nothing. But if, when thinking in the silence of
the night, every aspect of your existence appears untenable, that the
debit side is full, and the credit side is empty, then leaving it might be
right for you. As it was for me. Obviously there are problems and
worries with any way of life, whatever it may be, shared or not
shared and these last five years have not been easy. But I have found
the peace I knew to be somewhere, and happy with it, I am very glad
I made the break.
Many middle-aged women are supposed to seek consolation from
religion. I suppose this means that, married or single, despairing of
the human race, they turn to God as a last resort. The British as a
race are inclined to shy away when God gets a serious mention: not
many of them think of Him in terms of a possible strength, When
talking about Him even in the vaguest terms, the facial expression of
my friends leads me to believe that they think I have, finally, gone
dotty. But for myself – and I suppose I am a middle-aged woman
seeking consolation, I know that I could not have existed without
God’s support, guidance and most important, His Love, during this
time. Therefore, I end this tale with a favourite quotation from
Proverbs 15, Chapter 15: “He that is of a merry heart hath a
continual feast.” In my re-singled state, I have found this, unlike
fallible human prophecies, to be one of solid truth.
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