Being a single woman is tiring. I spend the week getting ready for work, going to work, doing work, stressing about office politics and trying to brush it all off when I get home. There is a dinner to make and clean up, projects to work on, television to catch up with and a bedtime to uphold. And then there is the imperative to try to find social situations I’m comfortable with without the natural camaraderie of school, or alternatively, putting myself in situations I know I’m uncomfortable with but feel I need to push myself into now that I’ve been single a while. Plus, everything has changed. Including me.
The last time I was single I was 22 and living in a student building in Amsterdam. I was decidedly not looking for a relationship, had very little stress over the fact that I wasn’t in a relationship and had easy access to meeting new, interesting people via graduate school. I made a new friend and that grew into something bigger. While I wasn’t paying attention (five years, countless jobs and three cities later), that “something bigger” fell apart.
At the time when all other couples who had been together as long as we had were announcing their engagement, I got to announce he was moving out. I’m not bitter about it; we still are friends, really. After being coupled so long it was a breath of fresh air to worry only about myself and have a bit of space. But its been almost a year since and I’m starting to feel ready to “get out there.” Whatever that means.
When I was 22 I was a work-in-progress with an open schedule and easy access to meeting peers. On the verge of turning 28 I’m more “me” than I’ve ever been before, am very busy and find it difficult to meet new people. My interests used to be growing but within five years, they haven’t changed; they’ve just gotten deeper and more specific. I no longer have a “job” but rather a career that I’m serious about at a company I respect. I am no longer moving as the mood strikes. I’m tied to NYC by my work and I love my little corner of Park Slope, where these days I can afford to live without roommates. I am here. Like my now ingrained interests, my work-life and the place that I live are more settled than ever before. And its not just me, its my friends too. Their relationships (or lack thereof), young families, careers, projects and activities have them as preoccupied as I am. The days of just hanging out are over; now we make plans at least a week ahead, usually focused around an activity such as a wine tasting, going to a concert or perhaps a dinner party. I will more likely be meeting a girlfriend for drinks on Sunday afternoon than clubbing on a Friday night, and when we meet its to genuinely catch up and to take a break from our regularly-scheduled responsibilities. I don’t disparage this. I like these activities and they have evolved naturally as time went by.
So. The game has changed. Now there are stakes. My mind is no longer so open about who I want to meet and my schedule has lost its flexibility. I’m looking for a partner in crime. But, much like my interests and situation, I have only gotten more specific and unbending about what I like: I don’t want them to move in but I don’t want a casual relationship. I probably want to spend more time at my place than theirs. I want to go to DIY concerts and new Brooklyn restaurants but no amount of interest will have me staying out past midnight on a work day. I want to be naked with them often, but if they don’t remember the difference between me and a porn star they might as well put their own dick in their eye. And…if they make fun of Doctor Who while I’m reveling in the newest episode they can show themselves out. No, really. I’m a dork, and if they disrespect my Doctor Who or Top Chef fandom they must pack their knives and go.
Its a fairytale list, but somehow I am both more fanciful about what I want and more skeptical that I’ll find it. I “just” want someone who thinks doing things we both like together is usually the most fun. Ultimately, I want a participant in my life and I want to participate in someone else’s life. Over the years the open space in the jigsaw puzzle of my life has become a bit more warped, a bit more curvy. Many pieces that used to look like they could fit no longer do. I can take care of myself. I have no use for a prince in shining armor. Unless the shining armor is entirely inappropriate: because despite all the serious grown-up stuff I am still ridiculous and silly and I want someone to be silly and ridiculous (and serious) with me. And to not be offended by my overuse of the term “retarded*.” Unfortunately I think that means there is so much more at stake than the last time I was single.
It means I, and they, have to be honest, open and vulnerable. It means that, now, we must want the same things out of our future(s). It means that we will no longer get together by happenstance and will actually have to work towards being together. And that scares me to death. I am not stressed out because I am single. I am stressed out by the idea that it is becoming painfully obvious that by having a mostly-formed life, interests, opinions and requirements that its quite possible I will never find someone who both fits in the space and wants to make an effort to stay in it. I’ve never been good at faith… but I have to believe somewhere out there is some retard like me who would love to stick around and be retarded with me. And until I find that, I just have to keep working towards making my life what I want without them. For as much as I’d like to share my life with someone, my lack of having them cannot be a driving force as long as there is still so much out there to do.
*you can be offended if you are the type, but its most likely a dealbreaker
