i feel you bilbo baggins

a decade of solitude, leaning into decade six and a questionnaire for fun

Feb 04, 2024

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…
… it was a hobbit-hole,
and that means comfort."

—The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien

So I was talking to myself the other day.

I said, “Self, you have become a Bilbo Baggins of sorts. A hobbit-like creature, burrowed safely in your hobbit-hole, opting to surface only when absolutely necessary or coaxed to do so.”

And then I pondered how long it had been since I began this (very unintentional) slow and gradual slide into relative obscurity.

A decade.

I winced, and whispered to myself through a clenched jaw, “A decade is a really long F-ing time.”

Maybe you understand where it is I am coming from here. Maybe you have been contemplating your life, its ups and downs, while enjoying a bowl of wonton soup and those crispy fried thingamajigs that you dip into the little plastic container of sweet deliciousness—the ones you know you shouldn’t be eating, but you do so anyway—and before you know it, the entire bag is gone and you scratch your head wondering…

“How the heck did I get here?”

For me, my hobbit-like proclivities all began around my fiftieth birthday.

Back when the shit started hitting the fan.

I have just celebrated my fiftieth birthday with my dearest and closest friends on the planet. We are returning home from a fabulous, long weekend filled with laughter, friendship, food and wine, incomparable fall weather in New England and dancing around in our pajamas like teenage girls inside our extraordinary farmhouse rental. An experience that made turning this milestone birthday less painful and that much more special.
I am filled with dread.
You might say, “You just had the time of your life. What could be so dreadful about that?”
And I will tell you, “Not one single thing.”
It is the returning to reality part, that is. The reality that I am still not over it. The reality of the wasted time spent in the trenches after a brutally painful breakup. The curl-up-in-a-ball, ugly crying, can’t get out of bed kind of trenches.
The two years too many kind.
~
My marriage had ended in divorce. My aim was to have fun, enjoy my friends and my newfound freedom, focus on myself and, most importantly, my role as Mom.
“Go out and have fun,” my friends said.
“Who said anything about falling in love? Just enjoy yourself.”
I must have missed the memo because there I was, falling right back into a relationship.
He was different in every way, and it was refreshing. I had zero intentions of allowing myself to fall, but I could feel it happening. I was reaching the point where I could not and did not want to fight it. I was, very poorly, trying to juggle motherhood, my job and this new relationship. I was spinning all over the place, caught up in my unfamiliar emotions. How in the hell did I let myself get here?
This new love had a hold on me, and it was like nothing I had ever experienced. It was different this time. Different because I was allowing myself, for the very first time in my life, to be completely vulnerable to someone. I had both of my feet planted inside the door rather than the one foot, at-the-ready, to take a leap as soon as my fight or flight kicked in.
With vulnerability, I knew I was risking pain. I didn’t care. I was willing. And for a time, I felt it was real. He was attentive, adoring and easy to be with. This was what ‘real love’ looked and felt like. Only it wasn’t. I just talked myself into believing it. In hindsight, it was anything but.
It was several years of off and on toxic and unhealthy behavior.
I allowed it. I danced the dance. I morphed into someone I thought he wanted me to be. I needed this one to work, so I ignored my gut and kept hoping and trying. My pride and my heart would not allow me to let this one go.
I was desperate and pathetic. I could feel him detaching, checking out. The writing was on the wall. It was time. Another failed attempt at love. I was in the kind of pain and heartache you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, and I had myself convinced that I deserved it. All of it.
I couldn’t breathe.
I was sick of myself and who I had allowed myself to become. How could I expect my kids to grow into confident, kind, respectful adults if I was not setting the example? “Get it together, Charlene. Do it for them, and once and for all, do it for yourself!”

Now let me set the record straight if I may have left you with the impression that I have been pining away and dwelling on this love loss for a decade. I did pine, for a time. I was wrecked and the product of, yet again, another failed relationship. But, as it worked out, something or someone much bigger than myself was looking out for me. As we learned by the end of her story, Dorothy—the Wizard of Oz Dorothy—discovered that everything she ever needed was always right there within herself.

And so, with my single status in tact, my arms stretched open wide, I took a swan dive head first into the murky, swirling waters of the unknown and got to work. It was, at times, ugly and uncomfortable, but treading water and sitting in our own stench for extended lengths of time often will be.

Inconvenience, stillness and time.

They were my mentors.

My solitude became a space of learning and a safe refuge. A refuge free from rejection, pain and judgment, and the external loudness I relied upon for so long for life’s answers.

That was my beginning.

Then…

Our country had been experiencing a political divisiveness that would last for several years, the likes of which I had not known in my lifetime. Friendships (including several of my own) and relationships were being severed right before my eyes and the overall temperature of the country had become increasingly uncomfortable and ugly, with no certain end in sight. I struggled to grasp how quickly our country had become so vastly separated in what seemed to be a blink of an eye.
Let’s take social media, for example. It was no longer an enjoyable aversion where I was able to scroll with a smile as I kept up with the goings on of friends and family. What had happened to the posts about little Johnny turning one-year-old with cake smeared all over his face and a smile as big as Texas? What had happened to the beautiful images of Aunt Mamie’s vacation in Alaska trying her hand at fly-fishing, with breathtaking views of snowcapped mountains as far as the eye can see? What happened? I was sure they were there somewhere, but the chances of those posts hitting my feed were diminishing. Feeds were overrun with a barrage of political finger pointing posts and a multitude of slanderous and ugly tirades amongst supposed “friends.” There was little to no tolerance if one had a view that differed from another’s and there was minimal effort to at least listen to understand.
Where had civility gone?

And then…

I always knew it would come. It is part of life. But it was unexpected, and I was not prepared.
In April of 2021 I lost my mom, the only parent I had ever known.

I know I am not alone in experiencing the loss of a relationship or a friendship or a parent. What I am expressing here is there is much more to our individual suffering, our method and time of processing, or what brought us to a certain point than what is surface level.

For those of you new here to TWP, it is important that you know that my father left my mother, my sister and me when I was one. Other than the one time I “met him” when I was in my early twenties, I have had zero relationship with him.

Loss and fear of abandonment are (and continue to be) emotionally triggering for me. I have had a tendency to place blame on myself, whether valid or not. I acknowledge I am not without faults and take responsibility for my own contribution to lost friendships and relationships. That responsibility is what is within my control. What is not: those who have chosen to walk away.

Aside from the death of my mother, acceptance of the loss of friendship has proven most challenging for me. Excruciatingly so. Thus, my continued burrowing.

Those who know me know that I am the sensitive type. I wrote about that here.

I wrote about the fact that I feel all the feels. And if I have learned anything from my solitude, this continued burrowing, it is that I WILL NOT apologize for that. I might apologize when I inadvertently hit a pop up too close to the net, and my partner is hammered by a long, hard drive pickleball to the boob as a result, but I am not going to apologize for being who I am. That is where I am learning how to draw the line on acknowledging responsibility for myself and taking the blame for that which is beyond my control.

And so, I continue to process and mourn those who I have lost.

We commit to continue to learn and we move forward.

This year, I will be sixty. Six-Zero. 60.

I was reading this poem and received a reality check, similar to that long, hard drive pickleball hammering to my partner’s chest. Same, but different.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

The Dash - Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
at the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
from the beginning...to the end. 

He noted that first came the date of birth
and spoke the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years. 

For that dash represents all the time
that they spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved them
know what that little line is worth. 

For it matters not, how much we own --
the cars...the house...the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash. 

So, think about this long and hard.
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
to consider what's true and real,
and always try to understand
the way other people feel.
 
And be less quick to anger
and show appreciation more,
and love the people in our lives
like we've never loved before.
 
If we treat each other with respect
and more often wear a smile,
remembering this special dash
might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
with your life's actions to rehash,
would you be proud of the things they say
about how you spent YOUR dash?

Looking forward into decade SIX, I am feeling less of a lean toward burrowing and more of one toward a reemergence.

Before you get crazy ideas in your head, understand that changing into my pj’s, grabbing a good book or the tv remote and crawling into bed by 9:30 pm is still going to remain high on my priority list. I’m simply going to spend more time focusing on my “dash,” the people that care for me and where my next adventure might take me rather than that which I cannot change.

Now to that fun questionnaire.

If you are so inclined (and I hope you are), I would LOVE if you would take a few moments and participate (the questions are at the end of this post). Please respond in the comment section (or by email: calofs4@comcast.net) and let me know that you will be participating. You can respond to this email (if you are not on the Substack app) and provide your answers and your pictures. If you are on the app, you can either restack this post and tag me

Charlene Alofs

with your answers or email me as well. I will be posting your individual responses as I receive them.

Here’s mine.

Please share a picture that best describes your essence.
Your name? Charlene Alofs
Your age? 59
Your current line of work? Paralegal
What is your passion (if outside of work)? Writing, storytelling.
Your favorite word? Because I have new community members who do not know me—yet—and so as to not offend, I will just say it is versatile, effective, can be humorous if used properly, and it rhymes with…
What do you admire most about yourself? My willingness to try and that I care.
What is your earliest memory?
excerpt from my memoir
Your most impactful memory, positive or otherwise? The day I quit my last job with no Plan B on the horizon. Smartest decision I ever made. This made the greatest impact on my life in terms of facing my fears and opening the door to my writing journey.
Best advice for your 21 year old self. Find your passion and purpose. Explore. Be curious. Trust your gut. Be true to who you are.
Best advice going forward. To myself, I say - You will be 60 this year. It is time. Emerge from your hobbit-hole. You have too much curiosity and passion inside your soul to continue that hunkering. It has served its purpose. Iceland, are you ready? Here she comes.