I read through a friend’s blog about being single and found myself able to relate to much of it, and also unable to relate to it. When I started writing One Sharp Broad (back on wee little Blogspot!), I had a run there that focused on my dating and that kind of “oh ha-ha dating suuuucks” Carrie Bradshaw type of writing.
And then actual life happened, and I stopped giving a shit. I still don’t.
Don’t get me wrong: I want love in my life, and yet …it’s still terrifying. It scares me, to fall in, and get hurt. There was a moment last summer where it looked like things could have gotten a little more “real” with C. and even there, it scared me. So, when that didn’t happen and it just went back to business-as-usual, it was comforting its own way. At least I knew what to expect, the pattern was the same.
I also think men don’t think about their singleness in this manner. Is it the baby thing? Is that where it all comes from? Last summer, that crazy hot mess of insanity that was last summer, I felt that little tiny urge for a kid. Actually, scratch that — it was a HUGE urge, and I was at a total loss about what to do.
At this point, it’s passed. There are definite reasons for that, but I’m much calmer about it these days. But it was there, and it’s real, and I’ll never laugh at anyone else’s baby fever again. It’s a yearning that comes from seemingly nowhere and it claws at you.
And while I’ve been single for a long time now, and have felt pangs of crazy loneliness, I’ve never really “identified” as “single.” It’s not me. I don’t give a shit about eating alone at the bar or about shit like Valentine’s Day. I’ve stopped lamenting it like I did in 2007. And I know exactly why I’m single: I move a lot, I’m a blogger, I’m kinda anxious and nuts, and I’m weird looking and chubby. I realize all these things. None of those things are going to change any time soon. You either have to want me nuts and chubby and with a sick love of airplane travel or you won’t like me at all.
But despite all of my shortcomings, I’ve gone out on dates. I’ve been pursued. I’ve had my fun. There hasn’t been a lack of male attention. Sometimes I think I’ve had too much, and I’ve wasted so much time on it. But, who would I be without it? That’s the scariest part of all.
This post originally appeared on my blog, One Sharp Broad.
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