Sitting by candle light in a room adorned with the chatter of lovers in different languages, all seated at tables for two, all starry-eyed on holiday. It is a seated dinner, each course served, each table laid out at this cozy Berber Riad at the ends of the earth. None of us got here by mistake, yet I am the only one that looks out of place. I man the only table prepared for one, seated next to the fire as if it were some thoughtful gesture, that it might keep me warm since I had no one. All the women do a double take as they walk in. All choosing tables seated farthest away from this single feminine intruder until the ones cloest are the only available, making sure their prized catches don’t face me. As if I care.
The real fuck of the whole deal, I didn’t even wear shoes. So here I sit, shoeless, all too sober, thankful I at least threw on a hat before I came down, left to contemplate, and eat.
At first this is a horrifying predicament and I almost run up to my room to grab a book or my laptop. But decide better of it. I instead poor myself some water, taste the olives, really taste them, they are so salty, look around a bit, sit back, flex my toes and just start taking things in. I breath. And it is a wonderfully satisfying breath. I am here.
I wonder why I am here, what has brought me to this moment? I have a husband of a decade, kids, a house, cars, everything…right? Yet here I sit alone surrounded by people who don’t even speak my language and this is where I feel like I can breath. Half way around the world from everything I know, this is where I can breath, in a moment I should feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness……with no shoes, this is where I start to find my own two fucking feet.