When my last relationship
went to hell in a hand basket ended, I decided that it might in my best interest to bow out gracefully from the dating scene and spend some quality time with me, myself, and I.
There’s definitely something to be said for embracing singledom – it certainly allowed for honest and uninhibited self-reflection as I tried to figure out who the hell I was and what I wanted and needed in a partner. Those first few months post-breakup were great: I ate whatever I wanted because who cares if I gain ten pounds. I saved some money on my cell phone bill because I wasn’t texting someone a thousand times a day. I threw myself into work and school and whatever else I found interesting or self-serving in any way. I carried my “don’t want a man, don’t need a man” banner with pride…until I started to realize that maybe I wasn’t as committed to this life as I thought.
And then life started giving me very clear signs that I, in fact, actually did not want to be single anymore:
- *casually scrolling through Facebook* – Oh look, ________ and ________ got engaged! How sweet! She’s going to make the most beautiful bride. I haven’t spoken to these people in ten years but am I invited to the wedding or nah? Her ring is beautiful….I want a ring. Why does she get a ring and fiancé and I don’t?! WHY ARE THEY RUBBING THEIR HAPPINESS IN MY FACE? So selfish. I hate them. I hope they skip hand-in-hand down the yellow brick road to the pearly gates of hell.
- People asked: “Are you dating anyone?” What I heard: “Have you succumbed to the inevitability of your impending cat-lady status or will we be seeing your Instagram pictures on Tinder for a little while longer?”
- That one time I took myself out to eat on some “strong, independent, self-sufficient woman” type shit and this old lady asked to borrow the extra chair at my table since “it didn’t look like I would be needing it for anyone else.” Check, please.
- My younger sister asked if she could read my palm (since the Internet had convinced her that she totally knew how to do that). She looked down at my hand, looked up at me, and – with more confidence than I was prepared for – said, “It looks like you’re probably gonna die old and alone.”
- The idea of sending myself flowers at work on Valentine’s Day from a faux beau just to impress my coworkers. That, my friends, is what the kids call rock bottom.
While I certainly miss the joys of companionship, I have never been the type to throw myself into a relationship simply for the sake of not being alone. However, I now give the universe permission to send my “single” signal to all of the eligible bachelors. I can’t cook and I get lost easily, but I love football and I know the first 31 digits after the decimal in pi. Holla at ya girl.