Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me
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As I write this, it is mostly cloudy, and a balmy 27 degrees outside of my window. I am in my apartment (5F Baby!) wearing one of my favorite dresses and eating leftovers straight from the storage container. This is how the winter always starts, with me patiently waiting for my roommate to come back from an extended vacation. And I am by-and-large alone.
Don’t get me wrong. I have friends. I have 302 followers on Twitter. 1,150 Facebook Friends. And my LinkedIn Connection list is rapidly expanding thanks to the new kick-arse iPhone app update. Just call me Mrs. Popularity.
But no one is seeking me out tonight, nor am I seeking out anyone. For all the crushes that I rotate in and out of my scope, I am chronically single. To be honest with you, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I did not always feel this way. I used to whine along with my formerly-chronically-single roommate about how foolish men were not to be stampeding our door, cell phones, and Facebook walls with marriage proposals. We were, (and still are) in our own heads the cream of the crop, pick of the litter. Nor could we understand how some ladies our age could possibly be chosen over us for long-term monogamous relationship potential. It was the worst conversation to have but it felt necessary. We often found ourselves engaged in the self-pity that usually accompanies being single in the wintertime when it’s freezing outside and all you want is a warm body snuggled next to you.
I have, in recent weeks, had a great deal of clarity consume me around how I feel about being single. At 25 years old, I have never, ever been in a serious long-term relationship. Ever. I’ve dated here and there. I had two boyfriends at the same in time in pre-school. Other than that, I have belonged to no one. All this while, one of my closest friends is coming up on her 7th year of marriage and taking her two daughters to school every morning. Another of my closest friends continues to trudge along in his relationship with his live-in girlfriend and their 2 year-old daughter. Even now, I call another one of my dear girlfriends every few weeks or so, only to be met with her voicemail, practically begging her to come up for air long enough with her now-live-in boyfriend to call me and let me know how things are.
I can’t even count the amount of times friends have come to me for relationship advice. While they know my status, this is something I will never understand. “Ask the single, inexperienced girl what to do. She’ll have all the answers.” I freely give of common-sensical advice that I hope will contribute to a solution but lawd-a-mighty if I don’t ever want to scream, “HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?!”
I am realizing that I have been conditioned by society to believe that as a woman, I am born to seek out a relationship, ready myself for marriage and children. But this is in direct conflict with some interesting statistics I keep hearing about college-educated black women such as myself. I watched this video the other day – a feature on the plight – produced in Atlanta.
And I decided nothing is wrong with this mindset because I have things to do. Lots of things. Socialite, philanthropist … this all comes at a cost of my time. And if my future significant other, whomever that may be, is looking to be involved with me, he’s going to have to learn to share me with me with my myriad interests and social responsibilities. I don’t have the desire to drop anything I’m striving toward right now. All the above folks I’ve mentioned have sacrificed a great deal to be in their relationships. For me, this is not an option. Maybe I’ve been drinking too much of this New York water. It is hard to find young professionals out here in serious long-term relationships. Most of them are transplants from other states, out here living the dream, trying to take a bite of the Big Apple …
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I even asked my mom if I was doing something wrong. I was preparing myself for a lecture from her on getting out there and making myself available. Instead, she almost prefers me not hung up on someone, distracting me from what I think my purpose is. When I explain to her my dating habits – which are based purely in convenience and less in seeking out “the one” – she’ll respond, “Sounds good to me!” And at a time when a lot of friends’ moms are starting to get the grandkid itch, this is a huge relief for me.
I’m not saying I’m completely closed off to the idea. It’s simply low on my priority list. I think it may be lower on my list than lots of my friend’s lists. Some people also see this state of mind as a largely masculine trait and may assume that just because of my physical make-up and gender identity, that RELATIONSHIP is the first thing I am seeking from the opposite sex. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m just trying to live the life I was meant to live, full of fabulous people, jazz concerts and dance parties. I don’t need to commit to someone to do that. I love to flirt. I love to make out. And the magic of these activities can be lost when you are suddenly “required” to call someone and check in, considering that person in every last move you make. I haven’t found anyone I think would be worth all that. Not yet anyway. And even if he is close by, he should know it’s going to take awhile for me to come around to the ideas of “sacrifice”, “compromise”, and “commitment.”
In so many words, “I don’t wanna be your girlfriend.” Let’s just vibe on some good music and talk about the blues and the impact of social media on global issues and politics. We can rap about deep shit. We can talk about Nicki Minaj and Nikki Giovanni. And at the end of the dance, however fast or slow we go, let’s agree to be friends and go our separate ways, still perfectly in love with ourselves and who we are as individuals. Deal?
Signed Sincerely,
