I am single. Unattached. Whizzing through life solo. Now, let me stop you before you start with the inevitable questions like, “Have you tried eHarmony?” or “Would you like to meet my neighbor? He just got divorced.” I am single by choice. And I’m not alone. CNN reported on August 20 that “There are 96 million people in the United States who have no spouse. That means 43 percent of all Americans over the age of 18 are single, according to the U.S. Census Bureau...Of the singletons, 61 percent of them have never said ‘I do.’"
I am one of those 61%. I used to tell strangers that I was divorced because people seemed to find that more understandable than never married. If I did say I’d never been married, inevitably the next question was, either directly or implied, “Are you a lesbian?” I’m not, for the record. I was never offended by the assumption, but I was irritated by the fact that “not married” meant “not interested in men.” I love men; I just don’t want to live with or answer to one.
I am a quirkyalone, a term coined by writer Sasha Cagen in 1999: Quirkyalone-- n. adj. a person who enjoys being single (or spending time alone) and so prefers to wait for the right person to come along rather than dating indiscriminately; relishing equal doses of solitude and friendship; attracted to freedom and possibility. (quirkyalone.net) This is me to the letter. I don’t reject the idea of pairing off someday, but I’m perfectly content for it NOT to happen. If I do, the guy will need to be PERFECT for me, and no, I will not lower my requirements to accommodate a less-than-perfect partner into a life that is already good. What will be will be, and I’m not going to waste one precious second trying to force my life into a direction that it’s not naturally heading. I have lots of good friends, I have two devoted dogs, and I have an unwavering, obsessive love of solitude. These elements are entirely under my control and are enough to complete my happiness.
I HATE dating. Friends of mine talk about how they love the first date, the opening salvos of a potential relationship. Not me. I loathe sitting across the table from someone and feeling like I’m on a job interview, (What music do you like? What brought you to California?) I have to admit, at some point, that I couldn’t care less about sports or cars or video games or what a guy does for a living. and so therefore, I’m interviewing for a “job” (either wife or girlfriend) that I don’t really want.
And if I do make it past a dozen dates, that’s no good either. Throughout the years, I’ve increasingly become a bad girlfriend: self-centered, insecure, defensive, indifferent. All those things guys complain about to their friends, I embody. I don’t like who I am when I’m someone’s girlfriend, and that reflects onto whatever hapless man I’m linked to. It’s not fair to either of us.
Adding to my resolve is the objective of dating. If the ultimate goal is to find a life partner, then again, no thank you. I have no intention of ever voluntarily living with anyone. My space is mine, and as much as I respect a guy’s right to have all his guy stuff around, I don’t want it polluting my space. I love coming home to a quiet house, the only noise being the joyful yips of my dogs, celebrating my return. Once that scene plays out, I can melt onto my couch and relish the silence for as long as I like. I don’t worry about making conversation or being pouty about having to watch something on television that I don’t like. My home is my cave, my fortress, my domain, filled solely with things that please or amuse me. I can’t see giving that up, ever.
Then there’s the touchy issue of children. I don’t want any, either full-time or part-time. The men I meet all seem to want kids or already have them, and this is an instant dealbreaker for me. Again, spare me the platitudes like, “But parenting is the most rewarding thing you can do” or “Medical advancements have made such strides. You can still have one!” I know. I made the conscious decision not to be a mother, either biological or adoptive. At various times in my life, I thought I would have children, but it never completely felt right. I assumed I would because that’s what women do: breed. But it slowly began to dawn on me that I didn’t want kids, I didn’t need kids, and all the things I love about my life would be drastically changed or eliminated if I had kids. Perky moms tell me that you don’t MIND giving up all the fun things in your life, because they’re replaced by other fun things involving your children. But I really, REALLY like my fun things, and I can’t imagine that hanging out at a playground or child’s birthday party can be any better than say, a spontaneous roadtrip, a wildly experimental cooking session, or a day with no plans or activities at all. I have many friends who have kids, and while I don’t mind listening to stories about their parental adventures, I do need to sit on the urge to say, “That’s cool. Now you listen to the cute things my dogs did.” I have nothing to add to parent talk, except the occasional “Oh, that’s sweet.”
I'd say that 90% of the people I talk to about it are fine with my decision not to procreate, as it's becoming more commonplace. Pew Research Center reported that nearly one-in-five American women ends her childbearing years without having borne a child, up from one-in-ten in 1970 (June 25, 2010). But every once and awhile, I'll meet someone who assumes that I didn't have kids because I couldn't land a man. That rankles me and gets me snarky about parenthood and smug coupledom. It’s an archaic notion that all people need to pair off and breed. Or they'll say something like, "You can always adopt" like I'm a moron who wants a kid but doesn't know where to get one. It makes me laugh when they suggest that I'm just being selfish. I counter with "You bet I'm selfish. Good thing I don't want to be a parent, because purely selfish parents turn their kids into clingy miniature versions of themselves." And really, no one becomes a parent for entirely unselfish reasons. You become a parent because you want something to nurture and love, and to love you in return. How is that not just a tiny bit selfish? If you’re up for the lifelong task, all the best. My dogs fulfill my limited needs for loving and nurturing, but I can also leave them with a dog sitter or home alone with a chewy, with a minimum amount of guilt on my part. My mutts and I have an understanding that the law does not extend to a human dependent. I know. I watch the news.
I’m very happy with my life. If someone should come along who will complement that rather than complicate it, that'll be fine. I’ll shove aside some of my stuff and let him bring a few boxes in. But I’m not holding my breath for it, or scanning the internet.
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