On being single

I just watched a (to me) fascinating documentary by Alan Zweig called "Lovable." Apparently, it's one of a trilogy of documentaries he made. The other two are called "Vinyl" and "I, Curmugeon."

"Lovable" (funny...I keeping wanting to call it "Lonely") is about being single. It's filmed in an interesting manner. Whenever the filmmaker is on-screen, all you see is his face in a small vanity mirror. The camera itself is always in there with him. It's as if he's interviewing himself. His other subjects, all women, are filmed at their homes, sitting in what I would assume are their customary spots on the couch or a chair. They were all types of women from youngish to oldish and the only obvious thing they had in common was that they're all single, like Zweig himself.

I missed the first half or so of the film, but what I caught, I found frequently very moving. There was so much in there that I related to quite intensely, both in the positive and the negative aspects of being single. (I've been completely single for exactly three years now.)

A common thread between all the women, and Zweig himself, was the self-questioning about whether being single should be considered a bad thing or not. One of the women even questioned whether being in a couple was always necessarily a good thing (of course it's not). Several of them spoke about how they felt when people would say to them that they must not *want* to have a relationship, because if they did, they would be in one. Even subconsciously, even if they didn't realize it on the surface, if they wanted it badly enough subconsciously, they would have it. Most of them found that offensive. I haven't decided how I feel about it...mostly, I suspect it might be true.

I found myself with tears in my eyes several times because I just related so intensely with what they were saying and it was as if I suddenly realized I'm not alone in the world. There are other people who feel the same way I do, in a good way and in a bad way.

I loved hearing from the woman who spoke about how much she genuinely likes living alone, how she can come home and find things just as she left them, and she only has to worry about doing things for herself. But then Zweig suggested that she might like it if she found someone to live with who might come home after her and sense that she just wanted to be left alone and wait quietly downstairs until she was ready to come down and be with him. She thought about it for a moment and then agreed that that might be nice. I found myself thinking "no way." That would never work for me. If I had a partner who came home after me I could never in a million years just go on with what I was doing till I felt like going downstairs and joining him. Even if I did stay upstairs for a while, I'd be in a constant state of "I should go downstairs and say hello." So I didn't buy that she was being honest in her reply.

I think the one who moved me the most was the 50-something lady who answered the question "what do you think you would miss out on by being single." She answered that it would be the fact that she would not be the most important thing in someone's life...of "being of profound importance" in someone else's life.

That really resonated with me, and I think her words encapsulated the thing that, for me, is the great regret I have about being single. I remember so vividly a single moment after my ex and I decided to separate. Suddenly it occurred to me that I would no longer have someone to "tell my day to." Somehow that seemed to sum up everything and it shook me deeply.

There's often a sense that people consider "singletons" to be somewhat pathetic. It's as if we didn't succeed in life. It's as bad, or worse, than being unemployed. It means you can't take care of yourself properly somehow, because you can't provide a partner for yourself. There's a sense that singletons are to be pitied. And often we pity ourselves. "What's wrong with me that no one wants me."

I know those words often go through my own mind. But then I ask myself "do you really, really mean that?" I know I have a lot to offer (my parents tell me so often enough). I'm smart, I'm witty and intelligent, self-supporting, sane...most of the things people look for in a partner. But then I also know that I sabotage myself by not taking good care of myself and living like a hermit. You can't meet potential partners if you don't go out (and never mind about Internet dating -- it pays off about as often as the racehorses do). Do I *really* want a partner?

For the most part, I think not. I really do like living alone. I like coming and going as I please, and I am constantly and ravenously hungry for alone-time. Having a partner would mean sacrificing most of that alone-time and I clearly remember how antsy and suffocated I used to feel in relationships when I didn't get enough of it. Mostly it's because I never feel truly at ease with other people around, no matter who it is. I have no idea how I got this way.

I had a long-distance relationship once, and that actually suited me quite well. The only problem is that, inevitably with relationships like that, you begin to plan for a more "normal" relationship, which entails one partner moving and then you're right back into the cloying typical kind of relationship that everyone expects. I've often said my ideal relationship would be a long-term, monogamous boyfriend who lived on the opposite side of town and who I only saw once or twice a week. Kind of like a perpetual high-school boyfriend. The only thing is, I suspect that there's not a man on the planet who would be able to maintain a relationship like that.

Traditional relationships do have their appeal though. It sure is a lot cheaper for two people to live in one place and share the expenses. It's nice to always have someone to take to the company Christmas party and family gatherings. It's nice to have someone you can call in the middle of the night when your car stalls on the 417 and not feel guilty about it. It's nice to be able to expect there will be someone there with you in your old age.

Having to be totally self-reliant, and knowing there will be no-one there beside me when I get old and feeble. Those are the things that bother me most about being single.

But obviously they don't bother me enough. Because, as they say, if I really, really wanted it badly enough, I'd have it. Wouldn't I?