Have you noticed the spring in my step, the blush on my cheeks, the joy in my eyes? Why yes, I’m happier than I’ve ever been because I’ve recently got engaged. Fully engaged in my life, that is. Previously, I was just busy.
I’ve always been a super organized person, making lists, grouping errands and penciling in cool events—long before social media, smart phones or even the internet! My mind operated in hyper drive. I always had something creative to do. As soon as I figured it out, I made it happen. No matter how half-assed the end result. Better half ass than full ass and smart-ass is better than dumbass.
When I was in college, I walked into a bookstore and the vast collection of interesting books I couldn’t possibly read in my lifetime nearly overwhelmed me. Growing up, I’d heard some variation of the mantra “books before boys,” which fit in perfectly with my nerdy self. What I didn’t know at the time was that unless I prioritized finding a boyfriend/husband/whatever, I would not just suddenly find someone.
If you believe that love just happens when you’re not looking for it, then you’ve never met me. Love only happened to me when I pounced on it. It’s my personality, you see. I had to learn how to be more thoughtful of others, a better listener and within the past few years, empathetic.
I realized in my 20s that I was far too self-absorbed to be tied down to some presubscribed role I thought most heterosexual men wanted from a woman: a combination baby-making and domestic labor machine. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a very diligent and dependable worker, but that’s not the kind of labor I want to do. And in this century, the 21st, one wouldn’t think possessing a female set of genitalia and being heterosexual would still, STILL in the minds of modern heterosexual men, sentence us to that ancient combo role.
Every time I shared my exciting life’s schedule with a man, he’d react as if it had to change, not realizing my scheduled activities reflected my identity. To be fair, one has to schedule time with a significant other, but that’s something I’ve always battled with, even as a teenager. When I first started dating, most guys couldn’t keep my attention, which is best held by intellectual pursuits, combined with my creativity.
The best person to entertain me is myself. Not some man, who comes along, equipped with his own desires, priorities and baggage. Nothing makes me happier than spending a lot of time with myself, doing whatever the hell that captures my attention, usually in the form of writing, researching, creating art and participating in other creative expressions.
How to best share that with another person? I used to think I’d find THE guy who wanted to do all the things I wanted to do. Then I learned 1) that was what female friends were for; and 2) what I really wanted was a weekend boyfriend, which does NOT include married men or men who are in a committed relationship, but have an “understanding” with their woman. I’m not an understanding woman and I don’t share men. It’s not merely due to jealousy, but I’m also a borderline germophobe.
Relax. You don’t have to tell me how unrealistic I am. I began to feel like a relationship pariah in my thirties, partially due to the fact I was living in developing countries, where people married, reproduced and died young. OK, so maybe they were weren’t all married. But when I was 38, living in Honduras, I was the same age as the average Honduran grandmother.
I swear to you, I didn’t look like someone’s grandma. Having reliable access to food, safety and recreational exercise slows the aging process. Yet, I wasn’t going through the domestic drama of a relationship and/or child-rearing.
How wonderful to return to the States and discover other older adults living by themselves, with no interest in getting married, regardless of whether or not they had reproduced. One of the most beautiful things about being half way to 90 is that very few fools utter that I can still have children if I want. As meticulously as I plan things in my life, I’m quite sure I would’ve birthed someone long before now had I wanted to. And for the record, I don’t want to adopt children either. It’s childfree for me!
My art, performances and my math and science students who I’ve taught over the years are the fruits of my labor. Besides, I have nieces and nephews. I see in them that my good looks and brilliance have passed on to the next generation without the necessity of having to birth and raise them myself.
There’s some backlash against childfree adults being selfish. A common question is, “Who will take care of you when you’re old?” Why, my money, of course!
More importantly, when I’m old, I’ll reflect how wise I was the day I decided to bravely, selfishly, love myself.