The joy of being one

I have been single and unattached for the majority of my adult life. This has been especially true of the last eleven years, since L. moved to California. L. was a man whom I found captivating and frustrating in nearly equal measure (he was as close to the human equivalent of the Star Trek character, Spock, as I'd ever met). Ironically, before I met L., I had wished for a man who was as comfortable with solitude as I; L. was that--in fact, he was probably even more solitary a person than I--but I found it wasn't nearly so enviable a thing to have once I had it (funny how that happens, eh?). I loved him intensely, but I knew that he wasn't a man that I could be with for the rest of my life. When he moved to California, I was heart-broken, and yet I also knew it was probably for the best. L. and I are still friends to this day. He is now married.

I'm just fine with being one, but I wasn't always. I spent my 20s in bars with my best friend B, who was outgoing, flirtatious, built like a brick shithouse and, okay, let's be honest, easy. Men flocked to B. like flies on shit. I was cute, but I couldn't compete with that--I was an old-fashioned Ohio girl! I attracted my share of guys, but I had absolutely no luck at having relationships; at that time, that is what I wanted more than anything.

In my late 20s, I went through a spell where I would go out with B. and come home having met no one. I was despondent about it, because I was still locked in that quaint American mindset that I was supposed to be married by that age (this was the 70s). I became so unhappy, in fact, that I dropped out of dating entirely during much of my 30s and instead hung out with my new (at that time) gay guy friends. It may sound like a pathetic cop-out for a straight girl in the prime of her dating life, but it was one of the most joyous times of my life. I was able to go out, dance and have copious amounts of fun without the pressure of "Is someone going to ask me to dance? Will someone find me attractive? Will someone ask for my number?" I received unconditional love from my gay friends and I didn't have to be anyone but myself.

In my 40s, I found that I was no longer attracted to men my age or older as I had been in my 20s. I dated younger men during this time (which is when I met L., who was 13 years younger than I), but found that--except for L., who was intellectually and emotionally much older than his years--most of them weren't very interesting to talk to. It was in my 40s that I finally came to peace with the concept of being one. Perhaps I just wasn't meant to be paired, I reasoned, and what is so wrong with that? If it was meant to happen, it would; why spend precious time and energy worrying about it?

One of the joys of being one--at least for me--is that you become more comfortable with being with yourself (i.e., not always needing other people to enjoy yourself) and you learn more about who you are and what makes you tick. In my 40s, I definitely developed a clarity about who I was, what I wanted and what I didn't want--and I was no longer afraid of expressing that (I was an absolute wallflower in my 20s, so this was new ground for me). I learned to appreciate solitude--and eventually to require it.

One of the frustrations of being one--at least for me--is that most people have no concept for what it's like to be one. Since most people are paired and filter what they see through their own experiences, feelings and fears, people who are terrified of being alone tend to either treat me like a leper (I have been at the movie theatre alone and had people stare and give me wide berth as if I might infect them with my oneness) or like some pathetic creature who needs their nurturing.

Case in point: Years ago, I once had lunch at a regular haunt near my workplace and was paid an incredible amount of positive attention by the beautiful young man who was my waiter. I was not so silly to think it was attraction, but I couldn't figure out his motivation (it seemed overkill for a good tip, esp. since I was already known there to be a good tipper). At the end of the meal, he presented me with my check and said "I'm sorry that you had to have lunch alone." Ah. A nurturer. I gave him a smile, put down my book, and explained to him that I didn't have to lunch alone--that the hour I spent with a good book and a good meal was my oasis in an otherwise very stressful workday--and that, though he may not understand it yet, there are people who actually enjoy being alone and that I was one of them.

Being one in a society that trumpets "pairedness" as not only the norm but "the way" isn't always easy...but it is who I am.