Chaste

I met a 60 year old woman the other day who could’ve easily passed for 40. I was at a bar with a housemate, and she was on my other side. I am not an extrovert and don’t typically mingle with strangers unless I have to. She caught my attention when she started telling the bartender about her first records (all rock and roll). 

When my housemate went to use the bathroom, I turned to her. She told me she was waiting for her date, a pilot flying into Boston from Switzerland for 24 hours. She was glorious inside and out, so I could see why a man with a pilot’s license would fly all the way from Europe to see her just for one night. Of course, being in my single girl era, and being that her date was still disembarking off a plane, I had to ask her some followup questions. 

No, they are not in a serious relationship. 

No, they are not monogamous. 

This is one of multiple flings she oscillates among. But she has her own place, loves sleeping alone, and claimed she’s been breathing independence from the day she was born. She raised a son on her own.

When I explained to her about modern day situationships, she laughed and said she hopes she remembers this tomorrow, but that those have existed all her life. “We just called it ‘friends with benefits,’” she said, grinning. Well huh. She also said the best relationship you’ll ever have is with yourself.

I’ve been single for the past year. It is intentional, though some may infer otherwise. 

Like all detoxes, there have been highs

and lows. 

I won’t be delving into juicy specifics of what transpired over this past year. 

I’m trying to be a person that doesn’t tear people down via social media. 

Weirdly, being single this long softened me? Matured me? 

Or maybe I just emptied out all my negative emotions in the many angry poems I posted the past couple of years.

….

“Me” has strengthened this past year, in all my independent glory. I think people are sometimes waiting for their “other half” or savior to complete them. I never wanted that. I wanted to feel complete on my own, like that older woman clearly does. 

I won’t lie. Being indefinitely single has its low points, even for a brazen girl like me. I’ve started picturing the rest of my life actually alone, with a cat. Even witches are (a little) scared of that. 

I never liked pledging allegiance to flags or people. But that doesn’t mean I’m immune to loneliness. 

I don’t want a traditional relationship but I also don’t want an empty life. This has left me wondering where I fit, feeling like an outlier. An outsider.

This woman didn’t “fit” into society’s cookie cutter paths because she chose not to. She wasn’t low on options. Quite the contrary. Men traverse great distances to bask in her aura. If that’s me in 20 plus years, I’d be okay with that. 

My soltera era has involved a lot of self reflection, and it hasn’t all been good.

Truth is, I get really weird when I date someone. Even if I’ve known them for a while, I struggle with direct eye contact and all forms of vulnerability. 

But I still always manage to send at least a few (dozen) texts that leave me recoiling in the light of day. If angered, I have zero hesitation causing a scene in the most public of places. I also happen to have the navigational abilities of a small child. Past partners have questioned how I survived without them. How I survived alone. 

When the people you spend most of your time with genuinely think you’re crazy and helpless, one starts to wonder. 

And perhaps that is the biggest reason of all that I’ve been doing this. To prove to myself that I can. Be alone. 

Or it’s because I fear intimacy like the plague.

Either way, it's working.

“Need a partner?” Someone asked me recently, while I was juggling a soccer ball. My hunch was they weren’t really talking about soccer but either way it was nice to have a solid answer. No

I needed this single era to realize what I stand for: me. Looking back, I see this whole thing was a buffer to ensure I got the independence I needed. To extricate myself from all the invisible forces in society trying to pair me up like a lost sock.

I haven’t had to rebuild the shambles of my broken pride nearly as much this year. I have had way more time for my hobbies and friends. 

For the most part, I feel technicolor, and confident. The parts of myself I thought were ugly I’ve learned to see as beautiful. And when I carry myself in this way, I think it radiates out. But, at the end of the day, if I am “stuck” with myself, I’ll take it, fiery, melancholy sides et. all. 

My designated soltera era is coming to a close soon. Now that I’ve experienced the breezy sanctuary of singledom, I’m not sure that I can give it up again. 🤷🏻‍♀️ 

It would have to be a fireworks connection. 

Too bad I despise fireworks.