My brother got married to a lovely woman this past December. I flew down to Bombay for their wedding, and amidst all the crazy family wedding drama, I had well-meaning aunts and older cousins pull me aside and ask--"Is everything okay?" I would look puzzled and nod, not quite sure what they were getting it. "No, no, I just thought that since you still haven't found someone...." and they would look at me pityingly. These whispered confidences would usually end with either reassurance that I would definitely find the "One" or with generous offers to assist me in the process ("I know this nice boy who is well-settled in the US..."). I would usually squirm uncomfortably through the whole exchange, wishing and praying that it would end soon, and then I'd find something that needed to be done urgently, that couldn't wait another second and flee as soon as I could.
When I returned to the US, I heaved a sigh of relief, only to be confronted by single-o-phobia, yet again. At a recent meeting designed to help new colleagues maintain a good work/life balance, the topics of discussion ranged from getting help with children to coping with a commuting spouse. All very helpful, I'm sure, but the single person in the room might as well have been invisible. I wanted to protest my invisibility, but the meeting ended, and I never had a chance to raise the issue.
A faculty member asked me what I had wanted to say and when I raised this question he said, "Darling, I totally understand--the queers are all having babies and getting married. Single is the new queer". He couldn't be more right. Every time I mention that I am single, the person in question will have one of two reactions--oh you poor thing or I'm sure you will meet someone soon. Single-ism is a disease and I need to be cured. Soon.
I would like to propose a heresy--but what if I LIKE being single? What if I WANT to be single? I am sure, you reader, are reading this and thinking--oh, the poor thing has been hurt once too often. Once she recovers, I'm sure she will want to be with someone again. To you, my reader, I respond with an anecdote.
I used to watch and still do watch Romantic Comedies with relish. My younger self watched these movies for the romance, and now I watch them for the comedy. The idea that two people fall in love by the end of the film assumes that they live happily ever after. Anyone who has dated someone for even a brief period of time, will know that this is hardly true--dirty dishes, late night work meetings and an untidy kitchen are not cute after a point.
My point in narrating this is only that I am not jaded about love, just realistic. My larger point of course is that love has ceased to occupy centrality in my life and I am (ohmygod--can it be true?) NOT in the least unhappy about that. Yes, I am on a dating website, and I do casually meet men (if and when my busy schedule allows), but I treat these dates as social experiments--fun, casual encounters with sometimes cool, sometimes pretty strange men. I am not looking to find love on these dates--I'm looking for a fun diversion, maybe friendship, good intellectual conversation for sure. If I do fall in love with one of these men (a highly unlikely possibility), so be it, but if I don't, no big deal.
Reader, the heretical truth is: I LOVE my single life! I love waking up in the morning to a clean kitchen, I love eating the whole bag of popcorn at the movie theater, I love waking up at 4am and reading Gordimer in bed because it fancies me. At the risk of sounding narcissistic and self-indulgent, I'll say it: the best dates I've had so far have been with myself.
When I returned to the US, I heaved a sigh of relief, only to be confronted by single-o-phobia, yet again. At a recent meeting designed to help new colleagues maintain a good work/life balance, the topics of discussion ranged from getting help with children to coping with a commuting spouse. All very helpful, I'm sure, but the single person in the room might as well have been invisible. I wanted to protest my invisibility, but the meeting ended, and I never had a chance to raise the issue.
A faculty member asked me what I had wanted to say and when I raised this question he said, "Darling, I totally understand--the queers are all having babies and getting married. Single is the new queer". He couldn't be more right. Every time I mention that I am single, the person in question will have one of two reactions--oh you poor thing or I'm sure you will meet someone soon. Single-ism is a disease and I need to be cured. Soon.
I would like to propose a heresy--but what if I LIKE being single? What if I WANT to be single? I am sure, you reader, are reading this and thinking--oh, the poor thing has been hurt once too often. Once she recovers, I'm sure she will want to be with someone again. To you, my reader, I respond with an anecdote.
I used to watch and still do watch Romantic Comedies with relish. My younger self watched these movies for the romance, and now I watch them for the comedy. The idea that two people fall in love by the end of the film assumes that they live happily ever after. Anyone who has dated someone for even a brief period of time, will know that this is hardly true--dirty dishes, late night work meetings and an untidy kitchen are not cute after a point.
My point in narrating this is only that I am not jaded about love, just realistic. My larger point of course is that love has ceased to occupy centrality in my life and I am (ohmygod--can it be true?) NOT in the least unhappy about that. Yes, I am on a dating website, and I do casually meet men (if and when my busy schedule allows), but I treat these dates as social experiments--fun, casual encounters with sometimes cool, sometimes pretty strange men. I am not looking to find love on these dates--I'm looking for a fun diversion, maybe friendship, good intellectual conversation for sure. If I do fall in love with one of these men (a highly unlikely possibility), so be it, but if I don't, no big deal.
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