Spin Stir

There is a significant chunk of my life that I spend completely unworried about my relationship status, and for that I am grateful.  By unfriending people who viciously inflict virtual PDA on me via Facebook, and avoiding all contact with social media on February 14th, I often manage to forget that I am one of the few single people I know my age.  By focusing on all the perks of being unattached, I regularly forget that I don't really want to be single at all.

I am good at a lot of things.  In fact, I would venture to say that I have a wide variety of talents.  Give me a skill and I'll master it.  Give me a challenge and I'll meet it.  I am a strong, happy, and confident individual, capable of so much.

But all of that changes when relationships come into play.

It has been a long time since I've gotten to a third date, and a longer time still since I've made it past the three month mark.  The last time I was in a relationship that lasted more than a year--or better yet, the only time I have ever dated someone for that long--was seven years ago.  I was twenty-one, and it was a dysfunctional relationship.  Or at least that's what counseling professionals have told me.

Being perpetually single is like being perpetually unemployed.  Sure, you may start out calling it "fun-employment" and unabashedly rubbing your carefree lifestyle in people's faces, but eventually, the time gets past you, and by the time you realize you need rent money and health insurance, you can't seem to get anyone to call you back.

Every new single man I have met in the last month has been at least five years younger than me.  Any single man that has shown interest in me in the last year has made no attempt at pursuit or has flat-out told me he's just playing the field.  One recommended that I get knocked up so that I could trap a husband.

"I think I'd rather be chosen," I replied.

I am fully aware that I am the common denominator here.  I am aware that this more than likely has something to do with me and the way that I interact with men.  But in all honesty, I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing wrong.  Dating is like chess to me.  I know some of the rules and none of the strategy.  When I think I'm doing the right thing, I'm actually walking right into check-mate.  I have always preferred checkers, but it's the unhitched version of chess.  Great for visual pattern recognition (ie. eye candy), terrible for extended interest.

My family has taken different approaches to my apparent spinsterhood.  My parents and siblings pretend like they don't notice.  My cousins ask casually if I'm seeing anyone at family events.  My aunts try to set me up on dates with doctors fifteen years my senior.  They all do it with a sincere and genuine desire for my happiness.  But none of it makes me happy.

And so, I begin to wonder if maybe I shouldn't start making back up plans.  You know, a plan B in case I never end up getting married and having kids.  I don't know exactly what that would be.  Being childless would certainly benefit my bank account; maybe I could travel.  My Uncle Bubber never got married or had kids, and he had a limo and a house in Puerto Rico.  Then again, my Uncle Bubber was not a school teacher.  I don't foresee a limo in my future, and I don't really want one (they get terrible gas mileage).  When I was in high school, I thought about joining the church and being a nun.  Of course, I realized pretty quickly that it wasn't for me; it's not what I wanted.  I don't know if they'd look kindly upon making out on Florida dance floors, either.  Maybe I just need to start taking quilting classes and buying government bonds and investing in cats.

I don't bring God into the conversation very often (not as much as I probably should), but I do sincerely believe that He has a plan for me.  I do believe that at some point in my life, all of this will make more sense.  I will look back on these years and see the context that frames my frustrations.  What I do not know is how long it will take before the picture becomes clear.  I do not know if that picture will look anything like what I'm hoping for.

I have seen a lot of Hallmark movies about confident and talented women that just can't get it right with men.  I know that I am a walking stereotype.  But Hallmark is not real life.  Happy endings aren't guaranteed.

When I was in college, I took a class on Surrealist literature to meet a French lit requirement.  My professor was a jerk, and for the first two months of the class, I was lost.  The stories didn't make sense.  Despite a fairly good grasp of the language, I had no idea what was going on.  It wasn't until the end of the semester that it started to click, or more accurately, that I finally came to peace with the incoherency that is the genre.

They say that truth is stranger than fiction, but it seems to me that strangeness has nothing to do with it.  Truth is messier than fiction.  Its symbolism is less obvious.  Its plot doesn't follow conflict-climax-denouement every time the way it should.  Instead, we are left to sift through the mess, to try to make sense where nonsense may reign, to seek out peace in moments of sharded satisfaction.

Like JFK did in 1962, I will seek peace with patience.  I will wait to see what comes.  I will quietly guard hope.  And in the meantime, I will continue to enjoy this adventure and all the surprises that come with it.

What is it those pesky kids say nowadays?  You only live once?



SWF seeks SM for late-night conversations, tennis ball juggling, and jaunts on the beach.  Must have ambitions, enjoy sports, and be tolerant of bad puns.  Muscles a plus.  Smokers need not apply.