She asked if I was excited to meet my grandson. I told her yes, and that is the truth...but in truth I don't really know all of the angles and ins and outs of what I feel about this event. It's exciting and it's joyous. I feel happy for Jackie, and proud of her. In the small corners of my soul though, I feel old, and alone. It's hard to explain.
Before I was married I didn't really imagine what it would be like to be married. After I was married, I got really comfortable with that life, with having a place of my own and some sense of belonging. I felt I had built something. I felt that I was creating meaning and purpose. That's not gone completely from my life. In fact, most of the time I am pretty much self-satisfied, but every once in awhile I feel a certain sense of sterility. Here we go 'round the prickly pear...
I never would have imagined being a single grandfather. When one is a divorced man, living by oneself, there is that feeling of debonair freedom that one can entertain. Even if one doesn't live the life, one can at least indulge in the fantasy of being a bachelor at liberty, a man dangerously available and tied down to no commitments, able to indulge impulses that responsible family men could only dream of indulging. Being a grandfather and single is kind of like being a widower, a remnant. It feels like waiting for the clock to run down.
I'm not exactly indulging in self pity, except that I am. That's disgusting, but I would get nowhere denying it. It does no good to compound a mistake with a lie. I could do something about this. Most of the time I'm just not motivated enough. I don't want it badly enough. Damned pull. I wish it would either go away and leave me alone or else trouble me enough to give me a reason to break out of my comfortable inertia.
Why does that voice make me desire a woman's company so viscerally, when most of the time it's not much more than an interesting abstraction to me? That's silly, isn't it? There are no voices in this house now, save my own, and I'm feeling somewhat quiet and pensive myself right now.
I get tired of this cycle, but life itself is a series of cycles. I get tired of complacency, and then I get tired of desire. I'm not entirely sure what I want, and that's not good. I'm pretty sure of what I don't want. I don't want to be another woman's mistake. I have better things to do with my life, like indulging in monkish contemplation, for one thing, than to play the villain in someone's story, or to be someone or something that somebody thought was someone or something else. There's no percentage in that, thanks, but no. Bah.