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Several months after my second husband's death in 2005, I moved into a small (54 units) senior apartment house (not assisted living) near where my daughter lives. I like living alone (with my cat) and indulging in my favorite activities (on the computer, listening to music) without feeling guilty about neglecting someone else. I guess I thought my neighbors, most of them older than me, would all have mellowed by this time in their lives, but I'm seeing the same petty animosities and disputes (and cliques) that develop among younger people. At this point, I think it's amusing but I try to steer clear of taking sides.
My favorite saying is, "You are as happy as you make up your mind to be." I miss my husband every day, but I have never been a moody person (rarely depressed, never bored), and I'm not smart enough to agonize over the world's woes. It has always seemed to me that the higher a person's IQ, the more likely they are to be miserable—and/or suicidal. I don't worry about things I can't control. I tell my two grown children I love them and ask them to please be careful driving, then hope for the best.
Here's a funny thing: Until about 10 years ago, I was a stutterer all my life. No amount of speech therapy helped. It affected my self-image and -confidence, but it didn't stop me from living. I altered my ambitions (can't be an actress, so be a writer) and muddled through. In my first marriage, I learned that the most important thing in a relationship is trust. If your partner is not your best friend, sooner or later the relationship will unravel. Eventually I was lucky enough to find my best friend and to spend the last best years of my life with him.
Maybe that's why my stuttering stopped. I finally felt totally accepted as I was, and I relaxed enough to stop stuttering. Amazingly, not even the stress of my husband's illness and death nor the upheaval of moving to another state has caused a relapse. Now, you can't shut me up. I'm making up for 60+ years of not being able to express myself freely through speech.
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