08 Jan 2018
Lame title, sorry, I know.
Speaking of living the single life is scary. It’s strange how I am always brave to think it but afraid to say it. This post is inspired by yet another conversation I had with my very good friends, a couple who have been together 15 years (!). Basically, they don’t believe me. In fact, nobody believes me when I say that being alone suits me best, I feel the most content and free when I am by myself. But remember how I myself have just said that writing about being alone is scary? That is because, of course, I cannot know what if I change my mind and one day, old and well crusty, wake up and cry myself to death because being alone is so sh-t that I no longer want to move forward without a man by my side (this just made me chuckle and is Karma going to punish me for this chuckle because now I am even more afraid). This would mean that everyone I spoke to was right all along and I am a loser and they tried to tell me but I wouldn’t listen.
Here’s the deal: I had been in relationships – long, brief, medium – my entire adult life. I hated every last one of them, I still hate them when I think back, which is not my favourite activity. None of those relationships had brought out the best in me, I was miserable and, like any good girlfriend/wife would do, brought out the misery in my partners. I am neither a patient person nor a compromising one, and although I can be both when I have to, like in the instances with my parents and my daughter, with a man – WHY do I have to? What is the destination please, because the journey is anything but enjoyable.
I am the person who lives in books and films, I am that girl (used here loosely, for the sake of the argument’s flow) who develops crushes on fictional characters especially if they look like Cillian Murphy or Timothee Chalamet (don’t google his age, it will gross you out). And I would honestly rather this than the real-ass obsessions I used to carry for real-life men and omg that was so creepy and so intense I wore out everyone involved, no wonder I am on a life-long breather now.
Back to the convo I had with my two friends the other day. And with my parents. And with my other close friends. Or with not so close friends. Or with strangers. Nobody wants to see how living alone is advantageous, people generally assume it’s hell – everyone is scared of dying alone or some sh-t, but I don’t understand: if your other half kicks the bucket well before you, aren’t we then in the same boat? Is this what makes me feel chill about the situation, the fact that I have no fear of being on my own? I have never had it, from the evening my parents asked my permission to go out to the cinema for a late night’s screening when I was 4 years old. It’s still debated in my family whether I might have been five but I am pretty sure it’s four, which sounds cooler.
Being on my own then, is not an issue. Of course, now I have Sofia and when I say “alone” it doesn’t mean completely alone. Indeed, it was having a child that became the deal breaker between me and relationships: I could not – cannot – raise a child with someone’s constant interference. It f-cking drives me insane and I hate every second of seeing all the things I perceive wrong instilled into my child. It’s the only “for real” responsibility I have ever had in life, I can’t f-ck it up because someone else’s ideas of what humans should grow into are polar different to mine. Do I hear the judgmental “You should’ve thought about this before you had a child”? No? Good.
And you know, I half believe that the disillusion comes from my having gone for the “wrong” men, the theory supported by evidence that most of my exes, save maybe two, have been vile. And I fully believe, I do, that there are “right” men out there (how’s John Legend to you? Seems like a solid dude?), men who would contribute into a relationship that is “a source of joy and love and mutual support”, but if I haven’t met one by now and even if your argument is “you’ve been looking in the wrong places”, the argument which you would win hands-down, the chances of my meeting this someone now are zero. The chances of meeting a solid dude who is also a single dude are a negative zero.
So, as fearful as I am that one day being alone will scare the living daylight out me, I am believing in the now, and in the freedom of my life and the stillness of my days and the love for my family, whilst quietly planning to grow old in a house in Italy, with cats, a dog, a piano, f-ckload of books and my sister and Sofia visiting in the summer. I tell you what I AM afraid to go on living without: friends. That is my only fear.