Living in a Liminal Space

After three years of living in a residential community in Boston with a rotating cast of 18 other individuals, most of whom were half my age or less, I'm back in my apartment in Medford Square—living alone and trying to figure out what to do next. My original plan was to live at the Beacon Hill Friends House for four years, the maximum time permitted by House policy.

But life at the House grew contentious around the Israel-Hamas War and what the community should say and do about it. So, at 67, I decided to reduce my stress and tone down the drama by moving back to my small apartment in Medford.

'Be careful what you wish for' might be my new mantra. Though I enjoy having my own bathroom back at my place, (rather than sharing one with four others!), living alone has turned out to be a major adjustment. Instead of having companionship and an instant social life just outside my 8'x14' room at the Friends House, I have to make a conscious effort to get out, to make plans in advance, to see my friends IRL—in real life—rather than over a phone line or via email.

I'm reminded of life during the first year of the pandemic, when my already limited social life dried up like a summer shower and left me isolated, in a sort of perpetual timeout. In those early days, my life consisted of teaching on screen, walking in the Middlesex Fells with a friend, and watching TV. This time around, I can have people over and see friends out in the real world, but there's the rub — it takes a lot of work, effort, and planning, and requires me, a naturally lazy man, to get up off the couch and formulate those plans in advance.

And though I'm less nervous about being among people and life has returned to some version of normal post-Covid, my memoir-writing classes are still online, and I miss the energy and connection that comes from teaching "in person," from sharing our stories in a shared, intimate space.

I moved back to my apartment as a stepping-stone, a place to hunker down through the winter. In April, I'll head back to my hometown of Cleveland, Ohio, where I haven't lived for 40 years, for a three-month trial visit, and then decide if I'll stay here in Boston, move back to Ohio where I still have several friends, or go someplace else.

I know that I don't want to live alone again long-term. Now, more than ever, going into the Trump-2 era, a thrill-ride with the guardrails removed, I need friends and a sense of community. Ideally, I would have a boyfriend, partner, husband to nest with, a supportive spouse to navigate the upcoming shitshow.

But that partner hasn't shown up, and so I'm in this liminal space, the in-between, between Boston and Cleveland, employed/retired, late-middle-aged/old, a sixty-something gay man living without a road map, piecing my life together one day at a time, and wondering what, or who, comes next.

Judah Leblang is a Boston-based writer, teacher, and storyteller, and the author of the memoir, Echoes of Jerry. Find out more at judahleblang.com.