Spinster Spotlight--Living Sola in Detroit

Dear friends,

For those unfamiliar with Detroit, you may be shocked to learn of a woman living single and alone within its borders.  As you may know, the once thriving Arsenal of Democracy and Motor City has seen hard times.  Its ghettos and Cass Corridor, the once gaping wound of pocked concrete connecting downtown and midtown, were known for decades of drugs and violence.  By night, the city teemed with guns and gang shootings.  By day, the streets lay empty, the businesses shuttered, the sidewalks littered with the broken glass of crushed car windows.  Only recently has the city reawakened the world to its many possibilities.  Before it became cool to tour Detroit, few saw it for its potential, and even fewer dared live there during its growing pains.

I am fortunate to know one of those brave souls.  Please meet my friend and mentor Alison.  Alison is an under-thirty professional woman living alone in the heart of Detroit.  She has lived there since 2009.  Back then, a Detroit address implied poverty or lunacy.  Perhaps, to some, it still does.  But not to Alison.

Alison is one of those people who finds friends and adventures easily.  She knows the best late-night, early-morning, Sunday-brunch locales.  She finds magical concerts hidden behind scary, ghetto-like facades.  She bought a foreclosed condo with her own hard-earned cash back when people scorned the Detroit scene.

And she did all of this, for the most part, on her own.

One Sunday, over a bowl of mac and cheese in Detroit's burgeoning Midtown, along the very same Cass Corridor, Alison and I met for lunch.  I parked my car (doors locked, windows up, nothing in the back seat, as she taught me) on the street.   We sat at the window bar.  I asked Alison if she minded.  "Minded what?" she asked.  "Being on your own.  You're always doing things sola.  Don't you ever wish you could do things as a couple like everyone else?"  Alison pondered that for a minute.  I thought she would answer "yes."  Not only does she live alone, she travels the world alone, visiting far-flung places and camping out at rock concerts in Scotland and California.  I thought she would admit to finding that lonely.

"No," she said. "I'm used to it.  I studied abroad alone in college, so I learned to make friends wherever I went.  Anyway, I live in the moment and don't worry about how else something could be."

Alison during her Month Working at the Hague's
International Criminal Court in the Netherlands

For someone, like me, who lives either ten minutes ago or two hours from now, this is a hard concept.  I have long admired Alison's ability to be perfectly present.

"But," she continued, "I guess it would be nice to share those things with someone."  That thought doesn't last long.  "Still, I can usually find a friend to go with me if I want one.  And I like my alone time.  It helps me reenergize.  All that living in the moment can be tiring."

Alison does a lot of living in the moment.  She does Team in Training, an organization of runners who raise money to fight cancer.  She and her team have raised thousands of dollars for the cause.  To keep in decent running shape, she rides around town, too.  Just last weekend, she participated in Tour de Troit, biking twenty-five miles around the rainy city with other diehard Detroiters.  By weekday, she's a practicing attorney and a certified public accountant.  And when not working or working out, she's out with friends, listening to music, enjoying craft beer, and plotting her next adventure.  If she ever feels a sliver of loneliness, she quickly pulls it out and fills her mind with other things.

Alison Biking at Tour de Troit in Detroit

"That's the problem with too many spinsters," Alison said.  "They can't get out of their owns heads.  When that happens to me, I just get out there and do something!"

As the most well-adjusted spinster I know, Alison makes it look easy.  And, honestly, for her, it is because she does what makes her happy.

This happiness must come of wisdom, so I ask her my most important question.  "Alison, if you could send a public service announcement to all spinsters, what would you say?"

By now, the macaroni and cheese is gone.  We're just sitting at the window bar, looking at the people cruising along Cass, more cars and pedestrians than the city has seen in years.  It's a Sunday afternoon, and the sun shines on the gentle bustle of one of Detroit's most famous streets.

She turns to me with a smile, "I would tell them they're not alone.  I would tell them to get out there and do what they enjoy.  I would tell them there are many ways to be happy."

I can't help but smile, too, because she's honestly and compassionately serious.  Many people would say the same with a hint of sorrow or anger or pretention.  Not Alison.  She has no time for falsity.  It just ruins what would otherwise be a good time.

"So, how would you describe a spinster then?"

Alison takes a deep breath and smiles as she lets it out.  "She's independent.  She lives in the moment.  And she's happy.  That's it."

Floored by this succinct definition, I stare out the window for the minute.  Is that all we are?  Could I say that honestly about myself?  Then I realize that "spinsters", according to Alison, are not who we are but whom we aspire to be.  Independent, present, happy.  Our best, most joyous selves.

Alison, unconcerned with the game-changing definition she just supplied me, moves onto other subjects--her friend's wedding in Bulgaria (she discusses this without any self-pity or envy), a November trip to Iceland for a music festival, and singlehandedly fixing the front door handle to her condo building.

"I just found another handle that looked the same.  There was one in the gym.  The gym has two doors anyway, so I thought no one would mind if I took one of the handles.  After all, the front door is more important than double-door access to the gym.  I just got my toolbox and swapped the two.  Now the front door works!"

Thoroughly impressed by this ingenuity, as I always am with Alison, I just laugh and shake my head.  She would accomplish that singlehandedly, keeping everyone a bit safer by her independent cleverness.

"On that note," I respond, swiveling my bar stool around and picking up my purse, "let's be off.  The movie starts in an hour or so.  By the way, do you think my car is safe where I parked it?"

Alison in Washington D.C.

"Oh, yeah.  You parked it on Cass, so it's totally fine.  Coffee before movie?"  She smiles and leads the way.

And, following her out onto a sunny Detroit street, I believe her and agree.

Best wishes,
The Super Spinster