Dear Readers, What does independence mean to you? Is it something you always think of related to a democratic nation? Or is it a developmental stage of a 3-year-old? For me, I lived through the early 2000s version of Charlie’s Angels being released in theaters accompanied by Destiny’s Child’s Independent Women, so when I think of independence, that song is the theme track behind my thoughts.
I remember when I got my first apartment all by myself and how successful and mature it made me feel to be so independent. I loved that when I put food in the refrigerator, it was still there anytime I went back to look for it. When I prepared meals, I could put anything I wanted into my recipes without having to worry about upsetting roommates who didn’t like carrots or gluten or seafood. I could make absolutely anything my foodie heart desired, and it was glorious!
However, I ruined my girl-power, party of one, autono-bliss-ness by getting married within six months of a hookup, concluding my brief chapter of true independence, and I returned to mitigating cooking preferences and hiding treats in the fridge for myself. More than 20 years later, I’ve unexpectedly spent a great deal of time alone as a consequence of my bizarre rendition of empty-nesting that has accompanied my PhD work. They say that earning a doctorate is a very lonely endeavor, and I’m certainly learning that to be true firsthand.
