“I’ll put my suitcase here for now
I’ll turn the TV to the bed
But if no one calls and I don’t speak all day
Do I disappear?”— Everything But the Girl, “Single”
I was telling Mom, of one of my boys, he’s just happier being single.
Like, he’s happy he doesn’t have to put a roof over anyone’s head or food in their mouth or wine in their belly on a consistent basis.
He answers to no one. Does what he wants, when he wants. Does a lot of “we should get together” but suddenly forgets to answer the phone that never leaves his hand when you’re, say, passing through his neighborhood.
But he’ll always text you later. Sorry I missed you, he’ll say. Hope you had fun, whatever you did. Next time, for sure, we’ll hang out.
I picked up on his game early but didn’t just let him win it till far too late.
I changed who I was for him at first. I was sweet. And sunshiney. And boring. And trying to picture “the life” with him. Which, I could clearly see, if I shut my eyes tight enough.
Then I turned back into who I really am. He liked her more, but that was it. I was still the wide-eyed girl, to him, who thought he was more special than he really wanted to be to anyone other than himself.
“And how am I without you
Am I more myself or less myself
I feel younger, louder
And like I don’t always connect
Like I don’t ever connect.”
And from my vantage point of actually being me, I was fine. Better than fine. I tried to show him how alike we were.
In any event, I was thinking about him today. And I realized I really am happier being single, too.
In my rare free moments, I want to have FUN. Fun to me isn’t learning someone’s quirks or hiding my own or trying to be lovable or pretending that I’m loving when I just don’t have it in me.
Fun is, “I don’t have much but I want either a lot of laughs or complete silence as I do my thing.”
Fun last weekend was leading part of my Weight Watchers meeting and having the room laughing and crying and encouraging me to keep entertaining them. And when people approached me afterward to friend me on Facebook or hook up with me on Fitbit, I smiled politely and said, “Next week, for sure.”
Again, don’t get me wrong — I’d love to meet a companion for sharing opinions and meals and bottles of wine and screaming orgasms that are not of the alcoholic variety.
But if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that “investing time” and “wasting time” are very different, and I can spot each from a thousand miles away.
Look, I know that the pretty years, they’re nearing peak sunset. And while I think a part of me longs for something to show for them, the rest of me is actually pretty damn OK knowing I’m not so tied down that I’d miss something special if it did come my way.
Even better, I’ve more than shown I’m pretty OK on my own. Better than OK, actually.