Soltera

It’s funny. All the responses I get when I say I want to be single.

“You’re afraid to fall in love.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“You’re lying to yourself.”

Some people even congratulate me. Like good for you, now you can be all alone doing your thing. A dagger sheathed in compliments. 

I also get a lot of “never say nevers."

But I’m not saying never. I’m saying this is how I feel. Right now. And I’m allowed to flesh that out. Most of the responses I get are assuming I’m saying something I’m not. I’m not a hater of relationships. 

My compass lies inside me  (”not all who wander are lost”). I will follow wherever my compass points. It could not be clearer. I could not be clearer. Yet so many people think I’m confused. 

“You’ll end up alone, with cats.” (Doesn’t sound so bad). 

“Still living with housemates in your thirties isn’t a good look”  (Just great for my bank account and wellbeing).

Believe it or not, other’s views on my life aren’t my top concern. Nothing against marriage, but I don’t need the government’s confirmation that I will be with someone “forever.” I don’t even know what I’m having for breakfast tomorrow. If I’m even having breakfast. Separations are messy enough. 

Save me the divorce papers please. 

Spare my bank account from merging with someone else’s. 

Spare me the rules. 

Spare me the compromises. 

I write these words from inside a hot tub in Maine. The only soltera chica on a family vacay. In the past, I’ve always brought a friend so I’m not the odd one out. The seventh wheel. 

But, right now, I’m surrounded by ocean. Surrounded by bliss. Content just being with family. And when I say “just” it includes my two sisters, two brother-in-laws, parents, and my niece and nephew (one is a dog, one is a child). How could I feel lonely when I’m surrounded by this much love? 

I stayed in bed till ten to catch up on sleep and absorb all my enchanting dreams. I got dibs on the nicest room we have-complete with a fireplace and ocean views. I got to set the temp to whatever I want - the lowest possible setting.  

So yeah, I’d say I’m not doing too bad. 

One of my priorities as a restless gal is exercise. I need a lot of it to be happy. This morning I exercised for an hour watching BBC history of ancient civilizations. Yes I had my pick of all the channels. No, I did not want to watch sports. Nor a sitcom. Just some old fashioned anthropology. You know, the good stuff. 

I have always been drawn in by ideas, myths, and history. Watching this fascinating episode got me thinking: if older communities across the world had such strong ideas they lived by- that we now consider myths-then what is real?

I am a self-identified hippie, but if I am being honest, I don’t think love is the only “real” thing that exists. Or all that matters. 

Egypt spent more than a hundred years carving their stories into temples, to preserve their ideas. I personally never have enough time to put pen to paper, let alone carve hieroglyphics into stone. But I always want more time to express my thoughts in written form. 

The mantra on my desk is Wicked Women Free Naked Dysfunctional Men for Poetry. But maybe I don’t want all my writing to be inspired by men, or dates, in general. The current poem I’m working on is from the perspective of Medusa. 

I am loyal to my friends. I attend every birthday I can. Every wedding. I visit people in the hospital if they need someone, even if we’re not close. I call or visit my grandparents when it’s been a while. I try to see my family at least once a month. I call my college mentee, who is probably the closest I’ll ever have to a daughter/younger sis. 

I work as much as I can at whatever job I hold, and towards my trilogy. 

Hmm, I’m missing the part where I have time for a different kind of life. A societally approved kind. Man and woman. Living happily ever after. Merging their lives together.

That’s not my fairytale. My fairytale is freedom. Freedom to do whatever I want. Freedom to go to a party or a club and just enjoy myself, without aiming to “find someone.” Freedom to play soccer without turning one of my field mates into a future date. 

I just want to kick around a ball and hold my own. 

Some of you will read this as a cry for help, or an obnoxious diatribe. The musings of a lonely girl trying to tell the world she’s fine. 

But I assure you, my lowest points have always been induced by men. By relationships. My happiest times have always been in independence. I know, I know.

“You just haven’t found the right one yet.”

Well, at this time? I don’t want to. Mr. Right could be standing before me, and I’d take a detour. 

Like throwing paper into a fire, I’m disintegrating the possibility I will find someone. I’m in my soltera era. And no one can stop me. 

So please, please, please.

Let me be (happy).