I sit on the train and I am having a perfect reality television moment. The train rocks from side to side as feelings of loneliness rise and a song lyric rings through my headphones.
“There’s just me…one is the magic number.”
This Jill Scott song was once my anthem for being an independent and happily single woman. Now it’s a reminder of the handful of cancelations that I’ve received in the last hour or so.
You see, it’s the day of my Welcome Back to NYC Party. A party that I planned three weeks to the date in an effort to give friends and family enough notice. But shit happens.
People get sick. ER’s are visited. First dates are planned. Networking parties are enforced. Events for potential employment are attended. People are late. People cancel. People don’t show up. Shit happens. Many times it is out of our control. Yet I always feel so hurt.
This feeling also stems from my need to be loved in a specific way. I want others to love me with fidelity, loyalty, generosity, thoughtfulness and consideration. I want to be loved with enthusiasm and affection. I want to be loved hard. This is how I love.
Is it possible? To receive love the way we give love? It doesn’t have to be exactly the same, but it can’t be less than what I give. It has to be better. I want it to be better.
So, I sit on this train, rocking from side to side and holding back tears because I feel forgotten. Abandoned. Daddy issues bubbling to the surface again. I am about to cry like many other women have while riding on NYC public transportation. “Butterfly” from Mariah Carey now rings through my headphones .
“I can’t prevent this hurt from overtaking me.”
It’s the perfect reality television moment. It’s the perfect soundtrack.