Sidney Eley - My Lens

Living alone means never having to compromise; but, it also means living alone.

I have avoided living alone my entire life like it was The Black Plague, a danger so grave that I have always given up a core part of my self to avoid it. For 80 years I have believed that the sky would fall, or better yet my worst nightmare would become real.

Alone? Don’t leave me alone!

At the Shelburne Museum this little kid decided to be The Scream for halloween. I can totally identify.

My lifetime nightmare would sneak into my brain while I slept and would continue on a repeat loop until the sweat dripping into my eyes woke me up. Here is a very brief recap of my life long worst nightmare.

Somehow I have made a mistake - it’s unclear to me what I have done but I have crossed some custom or belief of my elders - o.k. quite possibly my mother’s punishment for my having developed sexual feelings - most teenagers do- but that’s just a guess. Yup, that’s me 40 years ago doing sexy art stuff in a photography workshop.

Perish!

Back to my nightmare. I’ve been expelled from my village. My destination? I’ve been sent into outer space. Yes, … outer space. I cannot die. Ever. At least I am not buried up to my neck in sand and then stoned to death, but still. Living alone forever in outer space is a very big deal.

I endlessly circle the earth completely alone. Yes, I can breathe just fine. This isn’t a fancy dancy high end dream where I need oxygen. Anyway, I am thousands of miles up above the earth but my vision is amazing. I can see and hear everyone on earth up close and personal. They are all going on with their lives as though nothing unusual has happened, like me not being there. No one looks for me. No one speaks about me. I am simply forgotten. I am invisible and very lonely in my black bubble (remember, no sunlight up there in outer space) looking down at my community.

Right now my husband is out of town for three days and I am home alone. Normally I would be feeling quite anxious, planning out my day to eliminate any dark alone holes. But, I am not. It’s actually quite pleasant. I didn’t understand how much of ‘self’ I had given up to accommodate another person sharing my space. Turns out, a lot.

Beginning Thursday my tension that has been with me my entire life disappeared. Instead of being on high alert, my whole body was relaxed and neutral. Before I had assumed that I had to concede when the person I am with, ok, my husband, wants something different from what I want. Of course his punishment would be my anger.

One of the biggest issues between us is what to watch on TV. It’s our nightly battlefield: the British against the Colonists, MAGA against the lame Democrats. Our tastes diverge significantly.

We have found a few shows we both enjoy watching. Mostly they are rather mild detective, mystery type shows, i.e., not a lot of violence or capsules of blood tucked under their hair destined to run down their face on command. But when we’ve watched all of the latest episodes … well then, let the games begin. I could go into the strategies and gamesmanship we both use but suffice it to say the person who holds the control is in fact, in control.

I am now finally learning how to use the control. I know, I know, it’s a little late in my life to be learning a skill that is a part of most people’s DNA. I had managed to convince myself that I was not capable of learning how to use it, especially if someone was ‘watching’, ‘guiding’ or ‘teaching’ me. Always so helpful. Thank you, Mom.

But right now, alone, the TV is mine. The control is mine. I want to be very clear here. My giving up my power is my problem, not my husband’s. It is mine alone.

Here’s what I learned about myself while holding the control: I’ve been afraid of upsetting him. Why? Same reason I have always been afraid of upsetting my mother. I would no longer be safe. I would be expelled into the wilderness unprotected and alone. Without questioning the price I was paying I believed the other person, no matter who it was, held the power.

I have been waiting for Ken Burn’s documentary on the Revolutionary War with salivating anticipation. This is not something Gary would have any interest in watching. He would be asleep within the first four minutes… ok, three. You might be thinking, ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Guilt! I feel too guilty to enjoy watching my show. I tell myself that I am depriving him of his happiness. Usually he would nap for a half hour, wake up and say, ‘ Is that show still going?’ I would be mad but I would cave and let him watch whatever he wanted to watch. No thanks from him for letting him watch what he wanted while I steamed in contempt with no place to go.

I remember growing up, we basically had two rooms; the kitchen and the family room. The TV was there and my mother slept there. My father controlled the TV. There was no discussion. It was Lawrence Welk or The Price is Right. Don’t want to watch it? Sit in the kitchen. But my father was seriously hard of hearing. He never got hearing aids. Outside the house anyone going by could hear Lawrence Welk waving his tiny little baton singing, ‘and a one and a two …’ Stimulating.

My husband and I both want to relax with a show we want to watch every evening. Too often the one that gets to relax with the show of his choice is Gary. I let that happen. He doesn’t hold a gun to my head or deny me food if I don’t comply. I get annoyed giving up my power, often mad, sometimes enraged but I give in anyway. We both want to settle into our comfy chair and couch in our one big room. What else would we do if we weren’t snuggled into our chairs? There’s no place else to go. Yes, I could read a book in the bedroom. Yes, I could take a walk outside even though it’s very dark and cold. Yes, I would learn to knit but I don’t want to do any of those things. I need to take a survey of twenty million other couples and ask them how they handle the nightly TV drama. I’m guessing they would say they take turns. Or they have a second TV. Quaint. But what do I do with my guilt for depriving the superior power from enjoying his evening?

Again, this is my problem. No one else’s. Therefore no one else can fix this for me. Only I can do that. I know that but it still sucks.

For the last two nights I have luxuriated on my couch just enjoying the very sensation of holding the magical TV control. Titillating. Surpassed my highest expectations. And here’s something else I discovered. When I want to get something to eat, I just pause the show. Think about that! I’ve never had that privilege because I haven’t had the control. But last night I just pushed the button and the show waited for me to get what I wanted. No rush. Took my time. When I was ready I sauntered back to my couch. Sat down. Pulled my blanket around my legs. Adjusted where my tea cup was. Fluffed the big pillow behind my back so that it centered on my lower back and then … drum roll … pushed the middle button and the show was waiting for me. I am guessing that others have done this, used the pause button. The experience of pausing my show was better than a trip to Paris. Just letting you know in case you want to save some money. Give it a try.

There is an unspoken low growling irritation going on in my brain when I am sharing my space with my husband. We get up at 7:00. That’s when his alarm goes off that he keeps in his closet. He’s not particularly sensitive to sound the way I am. The first thing he does as his feet touch the floor is make the bed. I might still be in the bed but that doesn’t matter. He was raised in a military family. Every morning the bed is made. Period! Remember the alarm is ringing. As he moves down the bed he turns off his heating pad. Alarm rings. He pulls up the blinds. Alarm rings. Goes to the bathroom. Alarm rings. Then he returns to turn off the alarm. Every morning is exactly the same.

For the last two mornings I have not made the bed and it hasn’t bothered me one little bit. For me not making the bed is a defiant act of insubordination. When I was growing up, my mother rented out our bedrooms during the summer to bring in a little money. It was my job to strip the sheets from my bed after the tourists had left and then remake the bed for the next set of strangers that wanted to sleep in my room.

We are all raised with different command centers as our true star. How do we make space for each other without giving up our ‘self’ star? It’s tough. I have discussed the TV issue with my therapist for several years now. Finally in exasperation, she looks at me and says, ‘You’re intellegent. You have the capacity to create a workable solution.’ My unspoken response? “I do? What is it? Can you give me a hint?”

This was us 25 years ago. We’ve been married 42 years now. We’re still here. Discussing what we are going to watch on TV.

c