I went to the hockey game by myself last night. Round 1, Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs for my Vegas Golden Knights. Sold my extra ticket online to a stranger (who didn’t show up for the game) but I was surrounded by young couples having a great time. Our official Golden Knight spent some time in my section, banging on his shield to get the crowd going. It was a fun and exciting game … high fives and chants when we scored, more fights on the ice than I personally like to see but that’s playoff hockey … and we won! On to Game 2.
I had never attended a hockey game but decided to purchase a special Christmas ticket package in 2017, the year the team started. Fell in love with the game and my team during that very first game and signed up for season tickets. We’ve made it into the playoffs 8 of the 9 seasons we’ve existed, to the Finals two times and won the Cup in our 6th season. And that’s why many hate us. Too much success. Too soon. We’re ok with that.
It was good for me to force myself out the door for this game. It reminded me, once again, that I CAN do things alone and enjoy it. And that’s ok. But I do recall how I felt after going on a hike with some coworkers just a few months after Vern died. They took a photo of me laughing – I think it was after I did something stupid – and they posted it on their Facebook page. People responded with lovely comments about how nice it was to see me smiling again … but I only saw it as a betrayal of how deeply sad I was actually feeling and now everyone thought I was ‘cured’ of my sadness and grief.
So how are we supposed to deal with that dichotomy? Do we wear black and stay inside our homes for a set amount of time? Or do we venture out to see what our heart is capable of dealing with?
That question … going out alone … showed up in a women over 70 group I’m in and it helped me recall my first time going to a restaurant after Vern died many years ago. They wanted to sit me at the bar since I was ‘a party of one’ but I declined and said I would wait for a booth. Brought a book with me and laid it open on the table and then listened in on the conversations around me. I imagined how I would answer questions that were asked and I chuckled over some of the comments I overheard. I didn’t feel uncomfortable or as alone as I expected I would and it opened that door for me to keep trying to engage in life again.
However, doing things alone isn’t really ‘engaging in life’, is it?
I only have one couple that I socialize with here in this small town. We get together each week, rotating dinner from one house to the other or heading out to a restaurant … and I’m so grateful they didn’t drop me after Jim died. (After Vern died, invitations from our ‘couples’ group just disappeared.) But these friends will soon be heading to their Indiana lake house for the summer and won’t return until the end of October. So I’m going to need to make a real effort to get involved in some things here locally. Or at least try. I do have some rather strong introverted tendencies that I’ll need to plow through but there’s a few things I think I can try.
- My next door neighbors have been very kind since Jim died … bringing up my garbage can, checking in if they don’t see me outside regularly. So perhaps I need to encourage that interaction and invite them over for a glass of wine and conversation.
- I started a Soaring Spirits Regional Social Group in Las Vegas 4 years after Vern died and really enjoyed those twice a month gatherings. A few friends have reached out to see if I might consider gathering some of the old members to do a check in after all these years.
- I’m keeping my Smith Center Broadway Series membership and when I invite someone to join me I’m going to suggest we meet for lunch before the show so we can have some time to chat.
- I have a ton of art/craft supplies from when I was hosting retreats and doing free monthly gatherings in Vegas. I’m going to check out a space here in Pahrump that might allow me to offer those free gatherings again. I can meet new friends and get rid of this mountain of supplies.
P.S. When I arrived home at midnight after the hockey game, I headed straight to bed. When I turned on the nightlight I noticed something near the bed. At first I thought it was a bug … so I turned on the overhead light to get a better look. It was a feather! Hello Jim. I love you.
