Last week was Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Hebrew calendar. This year, I don't belong to a synagogue community. In past years, I was either teaching in one, dating someone whose family was very involved in one, or lived in a town where there was only one beit in town. This year, I was adrift.
Kind of fitting, as this is also the first year I'm living as a single fellow, and on a sailboat, no less.
Sort of last-minute - literally the day of - I ended up being rounded up by a friend to attend Erev Rosh Hashanah services at the Hillel at UW. I've been there previously, as I used to be involved in the local "bridge group", JConnect. It's meant to "bridge the gap" between college involvement, and getting married and settling down in a synagogue to raise a family. It's purpose is to keep young professionals (mid 20s - 30s) involved in the Jewish community.
This year I turned 38.
Rosh services went well. I was with friends, and the rabbi is very friendly. In no way did I feel that I didn't fit in. That didn't happen until Yom.
I showed up early to wait for the friend who'd roped me into going in the first place. I waited. And waited some more. I waited until services started, awkwardly standing alone in the vestibule, watching all the (much younger) college kids coming in, meeting up with their friends, and settling in to services. I sat through Psukei d'zimrot... Shacharit... Musaf... Right up until Yizkor. Alone. In a row by myself. In the front.
Now, don't get me wrong. During services, I was thoroughly engaged in the service. I love the ritual, the music, the meditative quality of the prayers, the psalms; the whole experience was enriching. Right up until I left (traditionally, one does not attend the Yizkor service if one's parents are still alive - it's bad luck). Walking out in a group of young'ns, none of whom I knew, I realized just how alone I was. How out of place.
Alone in a crowded room. My favourite sensation.
</sarcasm>
I've aged out of the "bridge group", but I haven't "graduated" into the next successive group with he rest of my cohort. I'm not married. I'm not even dating. Kids are so far down the road... I don't even have a dog yet (although I'm working on that).
I'm comfortable with my life most days. It's only when I'm confronted with the expectations society has for where I'm "supposed" to be, that I feel... well, a bit awkward. I feel a bit like I'm expected to be a sort of Paul Lynde "Uncle Arthur" character in the lives of my friends. The funny, smart, single gay man "of a certain age." A role I'm not certain I really want to play. Yes, I'm single. Yes, I'm idiosyncratic. Yes, yes, yes - but no. I'm not settling for that. I'm not settling for anything, I'm just doing what I want to do. I don't feel a biological ticking time bomb, there's no rush to settle down and start a family - I have a family; of friends, of community.
For now, that is enough.
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