M.M.

Traveler, your footprints
are the only road, nothing else.
Traveler, there is no road;
you make your own path as you walk.
As you walk, you make your own road,
and when you look back
you see the path
you will never travel again.
Traveler, there is no road;
only a ship’s wake on the sea.

Translation by Mary G. Berg and Dennis Maloney www.masspoetry.org

“Caminante, son tus huellas
elcamino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hacecamino al andar.
Al andar se haceelcamino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino
sinoestelasen la mar.”

 By Antonio Machado, Campos de Castilla

Being single and without children at nearly 50 was decidedly NOT part of the careful path I had laid out for my life when finishing college. I never set out to be a demographic exception– as a people-pleasing firstborn, I followed the rules and was determined to be successful and have it all! Advanced degrees, a stable and equitable marriage, the craftsman house with a white picket fence in a liberal suburb, 2.5 children, and a meaningful career in foreign affairs. That formula had generally worked itself out, if on the slightly later-than-average side, for most of my family and friends – hence I naively assumed it would all work out for me, too. And it was a devastating, difficult, shameful, and bitter pill to swallow when it ultimately didn’t. 

My heritage is partly from Spain, and literature has long been something my family and I have enjoyed and appreciated. While raised in the U.S., we spent summers in Spain as often as we could; my favorite part were the small villages where my grandparents had lived for many years before moving to Madrid, as well as the one in the mountains where I was born - the rural ways of life, so in touch with the land and farm animals, were such a contrast to city life. When spending time there, it was freeing to not have to depend on adults for rides or much else, swim in rivers and play in the town squares, and I wanted my children to have those experiences too. As more time in my adult life passed by without a partner or children, and it became evident life was not going to go as expected, these words by Spanish poet Antonio Machado about walking our own paths have brought me some comfort over the years.

Being single for years-on-end also contributed to ambivalence around motherhood. From the time I was little, I assumed I would have children someday, but doing so solo was less appealing as the realities of adulthood settled in. I’m quite certain that if I’d been partnered, my story - and my path - would be quite different.  Each time I went to a friends’ wedding or baby shower, I wondered when it would finally be my turn. I remained hopeful a bit beyond 40 and spent a good bit of time looking into adoption from Spanish-speaking countries, but ultimately the lack of a partner and sufficient financial resources was limiting. While the “Are you dating anyone?” questions dropped off significantly after 45, which was a relief, the invisibility slowly began to creep into its place.

I did do a lot of inner work – and had hard conversations – to try and come to terms with things in my late 30’s and early 40’s. But a sudden emergency hysterectomy abruptly closed all those chapters forever. Although by then I wasn’t actively pursuing parenthood, having the option taken away so abruptly, when I was otherwise healthy, suddenly felt like I had regressed back to square one and through the very hard passageway all over again. Thusly, the grief felt strange too - was it really grief? Did I try hard enough? Did I do enough? While I admittedly never made dating a full-time job, I wasn’t a hermit, either. There is quite a bit of shame in working through the “never chosen” piece of the equation, too.  

Perhaps those in-between fertile years weren’t all for naught – outside of work, I got certified to teach yoga, train for and finish three marathons, found a supportive faith community and volunteered a lot, and purchase a very tiny condo – with a bonus patio.  Container plants wound up being what I could tend to and grow,and this year’s lantana and coleus almost set records!

One additional way I’m moving through the grief is by supporting a re-forestation non-profit with projects in the U.S. and Spain - by planting trees in both places, it’s a way of honoring the heritage my children would have had.  And attending the Childless Collective Summit in Charleston, South Carolina this year was a balm for the soul.

There are moments when it’s grating to have to make every decision solo, absorb the always-increasing cost of living (and higher taxes!), and not have someone intricately familiar with my life in the way a partner would be – but thanks to several books and podcasts that cast single life in a positive light, and more inner work, I am seeing that my future path and next stage of life can be a hopeful and creative one.