Low

It's 9:47 on Saturday night, and I am home alone.

Don't get me wrong. I haven't been sitting on my couch all night, although, truthfully, I'd probably be in a better state right now if I had.

In my efforts to put myself out there for March Madness, I went to a birthday party of someone who I barely knew. I had actually been really excited about it. I didn't expect that a date would manifest itself this evening, but I thought it would be a chance to meet new people and expand my networks since i'm still new to this city.

The party was in a small space, so with 30 people in the room it felt packed.I couldn't move without bumping into someone or standing in the middle of a conversation. And yet, I felt so totally and abysmally alone.

It was as if I spent the whole evening on the wrong side of bullet-proof glass. I was able to look into their world and hear their voices, but there was an impenetrable barrier between them and me.

During my walk home, I was surprisingly not sad about being single. I was sad because at that moment I desperately  wanted to stop by someone's house and see a familiar face, but there's no one near here who I could do that with. I was sad because at 9 on a Saturday night, I couldn't think of anyone who would pick up their phone if I called. I was sad because the greatest tragedy about growing older is that it's hard to make new connections and even harder to maintain old ones.

Tonight I didn't feel as if I was missing a boyfriend. I  was missing all of the amazing and talented women who I have ever had the privilege of calling my friends.