Ive retired now, and this enormous feeling of loneliness has crept into my lifea sort of loneliness I never thought Id feel. Only in my old age have I truly come to realise that I may not have lived my life in the best way.
People often say that loneliness is dreadful, and real happiness comes from having a big, bustling familyeven if it brings its own basket of trouble and worry. But I once disagreed wholeheartedly. Ive spent my whole life thinking of myself, living for myself. No one ever truly needed me. There were no demands on my time or energy. No familial obligations pulling me this way and that.
After university, I landed a good job with a well-known British travel agency, which introduced me to places far and wide. I also worked as a model with quite a reputable agency. In those days, I earned a considerable amount of moneyenough to never worry about finances. My friends, all high achievers themselves, shared a similar independent and affluent lifestyle.
I saw myself as a successful woman: Id explored the world, dipped my toes in different cultures, and had a string of relationships with charming men. But whenever I lost interest, I simply moved on. Throughout my years, not once did I seriously consider having children. Why would I give up my precious spare time? Wasnt it better to enjoy evenings at galleries or weekends in Paris, rather than stalking about after a child who might put sticky fingers on my sofa? The thought of responsibility frightened me; I was always running from it.
Time ran away faster than I could have imagined. Now, as an English retiree sitting here in my small London flat, Im overwhelmed by solitude. I never married, never had children. Now, in my old age, regret sits beside me like a constant companion. I wish, at the very least, Id chosen to have a child. At first, I just didnt want to. Then I kept telling myself I was too busy, and finally, it was simply too late. I never saw motherhood as a blessing or destiny for a woman.
When I look at my sister, Patricia, with her two grown children and three lively grandchildren, I realise I was quite full of myself, refusing everyones advice because I thought I knew better. Now, more than ever, I want to make things right: mend ties with my family, spend afternoons with my great-nieces and nephews. Maybe, just maybe, find companionship with someone who understands what its like to face these empty rooms and silent evenings. Perhaps theres still time to find a bit of warmth and closeness, even now.
