The Definition of being Single

In the last week, I have run into a few old friends. Though I enjoyed seeing them, I was disturbed by the consistency in which I was asked this question. “Are you getting married?” This was not a question posed after minutes of conversation, nor was it eluded to by any of my statements. I simply said, “Hi! It’s so great to see you! How are you?” Their reply? “I’m great! Are you getting married?” Enter awkward moment.

The last rendezvous was witnessed by a single friend of mine, who upon viewing this scene winced in visible pain. Let the record show, I was not offended by this question so much as I was puzzled by it’s relevance to our current conversation. I could not understand why this was the first and foremost important thing on a person’s mind when seeing me.

 I think myself to be someone with an interesting line of work, I am also a creative person who writes and sells music, then there’s my family, my health, my hair color and what sale I bought my bright yellow bag at recently. All of which should probably be covered before asking “Are you getting married?” Now, let me clarify that in certain circumstances this would be a very appropriate question, and I am not denying that. My situation is however, not one of those. I wasn’t dating someone the last time I saw this person, so there would be no reason to assume my impending walk down the white flower laden aisle. At the very least the question should have been posed on a slightly less serious level. Such as, “Are you dating anyone?” This, though still depressing in it’s reply, would have been a more reasonable line of questioning.

My beef today is not the question, or the lack of thought from the other married brains out there. It is more that our relational status seems to define us in society, which is in great part the reason so many of us feel alone. I do not deny that we are social beings. After all, God saw that it was not good for man to be alone. I get it. However, just because we are not in a romantic relationship at this very moment in time does not mean that we are in the pit of despair either. It is not simply, happily in love or hopelessly single. There is a happy medium. Though I’d like to pretend that I’m a permanent resident in this land, I will admit freely, I am not. Often it feels closer to the pit than the pinnacle, but this ever elusive place DOES exist. Even if for a moment or two a day, contentment is a place I visit quite often. I guess you could say I have a vacation home there. I own space in that land even though I’m not always present.

I am defined by many things, some chosen for me by God: my race, my family, my body type. Then there are things I choose for myself; my religion, my political views, my place of residence, my tax bracket. Singleness can be both. One day I choose to leave a relationship and  therefore I choose to be single. Then another, I am dumped in the trash like last week’s pad thai and I find myself the victim of singleness. Either way, it seems unfair for that one relationship to define so much of how people view me. If I am single, people may view me as desperate, or pathetic, sad, lonely, un-lucky in love, un-wanted, unseen, WAITING. If I am in a relationship, people tend to view me as successful, happy, blessed, lucky and fulfilled. Get it?

Single=Failure
 Relationship=Success

Why?  Why does it say so much about us? Why does it reflect so badly? All these old friends with their awkward questions, gave even more awkward, cliché pep talks after hearing that I was, in fact still single. I could see the pity on their faces. They oozed compassion, which in itself is a lovely sentiment, but when coupled with the overwhelming judgment of failure felt obligatory rather than sincere.  It was as if she had asked me if I was cancer free and I replied with “No, I’ve got six months to live.” She hugged me and offered comfort, because what can you say to someone who is dying other than, “I’m so sorry!” I guess that’s what I’m most upset about. This feeling that I am in a constant state of failure at life, and that every year that passes is one more close to sealing me in a tomb of singleness forever, which to all of us seems the very definition of death.

Do I want to get married? Of course I do! I think about it everyday, and some days it does actually feel like I’m dying of a disease called loneliness. However, I have watched one too many of my married friends trapped in abusive relationships or legally tied to a person, but not linked to them in any other way. Talk about being entombed in a miserable situation! Just because you lay next to someone in a bed at night does not make you happy. It does not make you immune to loneliness or a natural success at life. It does not mean that you have arrived. I have watched too many lives torn apart rather than be put together, here from the other side of this impenetrable fence. Yes, I still want to jump the fence and live in that world rather than mine, but I’m just saying I know that one’s happiness and success aren’t defined by another person. They’re defined by YOU. A ring on your finger is not some trophy or prize to symbolize a level of life you’ve completed. It is not the sign of accomplishment, or a gold medal you’ve earned.

It is a sign of commitment. A sign of choice. You CHOOSE to be married. You choose it everyday. That ring reminds you that you’ve made your choice for good, for bad, for success and for failure. It is not a finish line, it’s a starting point.  Even then, you are not defined by it. You define your relationship, it does not define you.

One last thing before I finish this rant. I would like to thank all my married friends in all honesty, for being so aware of my singleness. For not ignoring it, because you don’t know what to say. For trying. For loving me, and wanting me to find love like you have. For wanting me to be loved as you think I deserve. I am overjoyed that you are happy and fulfilled (most days) and that you want me to experience that too. I know your heart and your intent, and that, I do not question. I love you all dearly, and hope that one day soon you will celebrate with me as I make the choice to be married and start a new journey, a new(not higher) season. I’m glad that you are so happy that you feel sorry for whoever isn’t, as I feel sorry for homeless people. That’s how it must seem to you. That I am homeless. I want you to know that I am not. I have a home. Yeh, maybe you view at as a cardboard box down by the river. No air conditioning, no running water. My view? No house payment. Nothing to clean. Free water. I’m still a whole person without four bedrooms and three baths, and believe it or not, there are happy days down by the river too.

The "List"

The longer you're single, the longer the list of expectations for your future spouse. In this particular instance I'm referring to the list that others make for you, rather than the list you make for yourself. To be quite honest, I think as I get older MY list gets shorter. I'm less afraid of ending up with someone who has different taste in music or movies than when I was at 16. Ha. I realize common ground is important, but where you have that common ground is slightly deeper than one's like or dislike of Leonardo DiCaprio. Dislike, btw.

I'm more sure of what I'm looking for, and what I can live with than ever before. However the outside pressure I receive from a dedicated parade of family and friends who desperately want to see me happy is often a daunting one. Just last evening I was sharing with a couple of my married friends about a blind date I'll be going on soon. Rather excited to have the opportunity to meet someone new and perhaps a chance at romance, I showed them a picture of my potential Romeo on fb. Yes, I know I just called it a blind date, and I suppose by traditional standards, seeing a picture isn't exactly blind. Stalking them on fb provides even more personal info than most friends would give you, but this is the new norm. I hardly think true “blind” dates exist anymore. Unless it takes place with someone who is visually impaired, it's a form of dating that is basically extinct. I think the term is used more now to clarify that this is a date with a person that you have never met and it has been suggested by a mutual friend that you are compatible. In this case, our mutual friend knows him a lot more than she knows me, so I'm not sure how confident I am in the match, but I'm willing at this stage to give it a shot.

So, there I was showing my friends his picture and telling them what information I had gathered from his fb page, such as his membership in a jazz orchestra which is a very good start! The motorcycle and earring were not quite as exciting, but again, I'm willing to give it a shot. Who knows? Maybe I COULD love a man with a motorcycle.

My friends responses were a little less than favorable. They were happy that I was excited, but they all quickly expressed the higher standard they had set for me, which included the a fore mentioned “list.” The “list” literally went a little something like this; he MUST be tall, dark, handsome, better than average looking, strong, broad, muscular, and funny. That's about as far as they got before I started interrupting with questions as to where they got their design plan from.

Hearing their reasoning was equally flattering and offensive. First of all, tall, dark and handsome hardly seems imaginative. As if they didn't put any thought into what was right for me at all. They just spit out something they thought every girl wants to hear. Here's the problem. Tall. I don't necessarily have a problem with tall. I have loved my fair share of over six foot men, however I happen to have an affinity for short men. The under six footers. Why? I can only speculate that my attraction goes to the fact that these men often feel they have something to prove. They can sometimes come across as cocky, but I try to stick with those that ride the line between confident and cocky well. I think I just admire that they're trying so hard! Typically these guys aren't the lazy ones emotionally. They really try to connect. In my personal experience what shorter men lack in height they more than make up for in heart. So therefore “tall” is NOT on my list of needs.

Dark? What does that mean anyway? Is he ethnic or just really tan? Or does dark refer to his hair and eye color? Cause again, I prefer light eyes. I mean, if I'm making a list. Not that I wouldn't date a brown eyed boy, and I've loved my fair share of those too, but if I had a catalog or something, he'd probably have blue eyes and dark hair. Handsome? Well, I don't suppose there's any arguing that point. Of course he should be handsome! That seems like stating the obvious. Better than average looking is a nice sentiment, but what exactly makes me worthy of that? I can't say I expect to marry Patrick Dempsey or Gerard Butler or Daniel Craig or Colin Firth, who I know is half sexy because of his epic role as Mr. Darcy, but I just had to include him. Btw, respective heights are as follows; 5'10, 6'2, 5'10, 6'2. I didn't plan that, but it worked out nicely. I think I have proven my equal love of men no matter their height.

Strong? Yes. A man should be strong. Stronger than me. I'm pretty weak, so that's not a hard role to fill. Though I look for strength of character and emotional consistency more than physical feats. However, it should be duly noted that a man who can scale a 30 foot tent pole with his bare hands, no matter his ability to bench press my weight is HOT. Yeh...that happened.

Let's see...what's left? Muscular. Well...I think what I said about strength kind of covers that, but I will just add that I saw a man in Starbucks today with arms the size of cantaloupes, and I wondered why any woman would want to be held by a boa constrictor. But hey...if that's your thing...go for it! Add it to YOUR list. It's just not on mine. Broad? Hmmm..that sounds nice. I like a good shoulder to cry on. Again, I don't think it's necessary to a happy love life, but it could definitely be considered icing on the cake.

Last but not least, funny. That is the only thing I totally agree with on my friend's imposed list. My man needs to make me laugh. A lot. I love any kind of humor really. I'm not too picky. I like corny jokes, silly slap stick stuff, I love sarcasm and intelligent humor. I can even laugh at the gross stuff, though a little goes a long way. Jim Carrey (6'2) every day could get a little exhausting, but give me Tom Hanks (6'0) forever, or oh my goodness..Jack Black (5'6) could make me incessantly happy! Humor is HOT!

So, MY list currently looks a little like this; single, male, alive, willing, funny. Really...how hard is that? Sigh...okay...okay it's a little longer than that. I haven't quite reached “I live in my mother's basement and draw pictures of comic book characters” guy status just yet. He needs to have a job and a few other things, but that's all for another post.

Just Friends

I have at many single moments in my life experienced being assumed, married. This is both an equally exhilarating and embarrassing event.  Obviously it all depends on to whom I'm being tied to in false matrimony, and also to my current state of mind in reference to my singleness.

There was the time I was sitting next to a very handsome young gentleman whom my heart longed to love forever and ever, and someone approached and asked how long we had been married. The delight my little heart felt caused it to cease it's normal activity for a beat of two. Just long enough for me to view the gentleman's reaction, which was to this day one of the most impressive and respectful responses a man in his situation could conjure. The man quickly replied "it is not my privilege as to be wed to this beautiful creature, but any man whom she finds worthy will be a blessed one no doubt."

 Okay...okay...that didn't really happen, but I'd like to think it did. Here's what really happened.

I was at church, sitting next to what I thought at the time was the love of my life. Tall, dark and handsome was just the beginning of his description. However, we were "just friends." I hate that label! More on that later.  A very nice old lady came over, introduced herself and politely asked how long we two kids had been married. I smiled and looked at the object of my affection. I thought as the man, I'd let him take the lead on handling this potentially awkward moment...and I really wanted to hear what he'd say in response.

 Guess what? He said nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. He sat in awkward silence, smiling broadly as if he was hoping the lady would just take the hint and walk away or maybe magically disappear. After seconds that seemed like days, I felt the potential awkward moment had now achieved monumental proportions, and any further delay would only add insult to injury.

 There I sat, offended that my leading man couldn't come up with a silver screen worthy response for this sweet golden girl granny, and I couldn't let her walk away ignored. So I spoke up, and politely said "We aren't married. We're just friends. Do you know of any other single men mam? 'Cause I'm lookin.!" I can't say it was silver screen worthy. Not even soap opera worthy, but I wanted to do two things. I wanted to give her the answer she needed, all the while letting him know that I wasn't holding my breath for him or his response. I'm not sure I really accomplished that last one, but it was the best my brain could do with all the other processes it was running in that five second span of time.

Then there was the time that I was at a concert with a guy friend whom I was less than interested in, and a woman approached and congratulated us on our recent nuptials. Again, I took the backseat to the man, not wanting him to experience the pain I had previously. He all too quickly responded, waving his hands and shaking his head like a mad man..."no no no!," he exclaimed. "We're just friends." With an uncomfortable giggle (yes I know men don't usually giggle, but when they're extremely uncomfortable or frightened they tend to act like idiots.) my friend engaged in a very serious staring contest with the faded blue rug under our feet.

Both of these experiences led to me being hurt. Not "my life as we speak is over!" kind of hurt, but my ego was definitely deflated and my self worth brought down to an all time low. In fact, I think I was more offended at the second story than the first, as I suppose I thought it would be a compliment to this man for people to think we were joined as one. Apparently no one wants to marry me. There it is. Plain and simple.

Here's the thing men. Don't act like it's just my fault that people think we're together. You're the one inviting me to concerts, sitting close and putting your arm on the back of the chair. You're the one "close talking" and in constant need of my attention. Let's be honest here. Neither one of us was really trying to make it clear to the room that we're alone, cause neither one of us really wants to BE alone. We just also don't necessarily want to be tied together. I am not offended that Miss Daisy thought I would marry you, I was flattered that she thought I had obtained "Sadie, Sadie, Married Lady" status. And this "just friends" business...let's get this settled now. If you and I are seen together enough in public to be considered married, we are NOT "just friends." We are best friends at the very least.

Just once, I'd like someone to pose the question of marriage, and my male friend's answer to be something like..."No, we're not, but we ARE extremely close friends, and I wouldn't trade that for the world!" Sure, maybe the old bitty walks away thinking "that boy should marry that girl." Hey..maybe she even says that out loud. What's the harm I ask ya? Can you not handle it? I can. It doesn't mean anything. I don't take it as a sign from God that we were meant to be. The truth is, you'll probably never see grandma again, so maybe you should think a little less about what SHE thinks about you, and a little more about taking this opportunity to make your single girl "friend" feel good about herself, and think you're a really great guy. Then maybe...just maybe...she'll set you up with one of her hot friends!

The same principal applies to being mistaken as dating. Just this week, my best guy friend confessed he wanted to make a joke to a waitress, but he was afraid it would leave her with the impression that I was his girlfriend. He WAS NOT interested in said waitress. To this I say..."Sooooo!!" What on earth would be so bad about that? It made me feel like the ugliest woman alive! Even though I don't want to date my best guy friend, obviously I think he's great, I certainly wouldn't think it was the end of the world for someone to pair us together. What is the fear guys? What?!!

One last thing. I know guys are afraid to lead girl's on by reacting too positively, and I do appreciate the thought. It's just that the damage you do to a girl's self esteem by making her feel like you'd rather marry a woolly mammoth is often permanent. You'd do better to compliment the girl somehow, and then upon evidence she's taken things the wrong way, clarify the situation. She'll respect you communicating like an adult and not a 8 year old who thinks girls have cooties.

As I started this blog silly and girly, and have now worked myself up into quite a dither, I think I shall shut up.

Shoot for the Moon

(I wrote this at the end of last year, but felt like sharing it today)

This year has been a hard one. For all of us. Natural and unnatural disasters alike struck multiple nations. Some catastrophes received more attention than others. One of the saddest losses this year was perhaps one that we cannot see or touch or hear, but one that we feel. We lost our vision. Our hope. Our faith. A body of proof lies in our apathetic attitudes, our loss of drive and ambition and the previously ever reaching hands of humanity now lifelessly hanging at our side. In example of this loss of vision, I would like to bring recognition to the end of our space shuttle program. Here’s the part where, unless you’re a Trekky, you tune me out, but read on and you’ll discover the gravity or rather the lack there of that this event contains .

The race for space was inspired by many motivations, without argument.  I will refrain from the political aims and war strategies involved for the sake of focusing on the main objective of this piece. There are also those who believe that the entire arrival on the moon was nothing more than a deceptive  rouge.  I will also steer clear of that controversy, and bring us together into an understanding that we can all agree on.

Going to the moon was more about discovery, conquest, and reaching to touch the untouchable than it was about anything else. It was a picture of mankind stretching our boundaries further than we ever thought possible to see how far we could go. It was something that was thought to be only a dream. An impossibility. Somewhere along the line, rather by competitive nature or insatiable curiosity, we became determined to find a way, and the race began.

In the process of the pursuit we made life changing revolutions. The name “spin-offs” was given to the surprisingly long list of products and technology originally invented for the space program but then were adapted for consumer usage. Everything from the athletic shoes I’m wearing to the iPhone I’m currently addicted to, and even the computer I’m typing this article on were all invented or directly effected by the lofty goal of outer space. Without these advancements our existence would be admittedly less convenient, and in some cases our life spans even effected. The medical advances attributed to the space program are astonishing.

Bringing all this to your attention is really to point out a more protruding truth. Setting high goals for oneself , for our nation, and for humanity is essential to our advancement. Reaching said goal is more than noteworthy, but the discoveries along the way often influence our lives in an even more profound way than that single moment of accomplishment ever will. Only two men stepped foot on the face of the moon that 20th day of July in 1969, but we all went on the journey. We all benefited from the accomplishment of that moment. I wonder who will benefit from your personal pursuits. How will the world be effected by your goals?

So what happens now?  What do we chase? What do we seek? If the inspired inventions needed for space travel are now abandoned what will keep us dreaming of the impossible? What is our vision? What is our hope? What is yours?

Reaching, growing, evolving, changing, learning, expanding; that is what makes life worth living. Life is the point, isn’t it? After all the first thing we wanted to know about the moon, or any newly explored land was and still remains,  “Does  life exist there?” I suppose all of this really comes down to our most basic quest. The search for life. So, I say to you, despite the events of the last year; The things that have been lost, the things that died, the recession, the soldiers still abroad and the ever rising price of gas, let the search for life continue! Let hope endure, and our future endeavors be even larger than our past accomplishments.  May shooting for the moon be what we used to do, for now we shoot for something farther, greater, and still seemingly impossible.  Mars anyone?

Mr. Green Shoes

Hello Mr. Green shoes! I’m in love, and it’s only been 30 seconds. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly I can access the potential of a man. Yes, I have a chronic disease called P.M.S. (Potential Man Syndrome) I see every man as potential to be mine until proven otherwise. Mr. Green shoes is no exception. With his fit tee, his just loose enough gray pants that make him look easy breezy, and his fabulous green shoes…he’s definitely got my attention. Any man that wears colored shoes deserves a long look. I mean, that says a lot about his personality. Not afraid to be different. Confident. Creative. Quirky. Cool. These things all add up to major potential.

Then I listen in like a stalker to his coffee order. Even deeper layers of his psyche are revealed. No frilly latte for this man. No chocolaty smoothie thing claiming to be mocha. (which men think means coffee, but actually means chocolate.) It’s the first way to spot a poser. Yeh….just because you get your chocolate milkshakes at Starbucks rather than McDonald’s does not make you a grown up. This man orders coffee straight up. Well, an Americana, which is espresso and hot water. No foamy mustaches for this guy. No sugary coma. He does however add a dash of cinnamon which leads me to believe he has a more refined taste than most and cinnamon being one of my favorite spices, automatically wins him more potential points. The usually competent girl behind the counter calls out his name and hands him his potentially perfect cup of coffee.

The name, you ask? A manly one of course. Jack. Jack is good name because it’s simple and strong. It can belong to a rock climbing, Jeep driving, beach loving, wood chopping, movie quoting, adventurer or a button up, mortgage paying, long term goal oriented, penny pinching, broad shouldered, square jawed family man. Jack is often short for Jackson which is the lead character in a steamy soap opera, the shirtless man on the front of a romance novel or at the very least the name of a hero. Jack is the stuff fairly tales are made of. Jack and the beanstalk. Jack and Jill. Oh, if only my name was Jill, I’d have a great opening line. Sigh…

Back to the usually competent girl behind the counter. Likely distracted by the same magic I am, coffee girl got Jack’s order wrong. Politely he corrects her, and she begins the flirtatious apology. You know, the one where she talks about how stupid she is, begging Jack to say something like “no you’re not!” Only, he doesn’t say that. He says one of my favorite and equally frustrating phrases. “No worries,” he says. “No worries,” is a very easy breezy thing to say, which only proves the potential his pants told me earlier. It’s a comforting phrase. A calming one. It says don’t sweat the small stuff, you can fix this, and I’m strong and not easily shaken, all in two words. It can be frustrating when overused, such as in the situation of a fire or other life threatening or emotionally wracking event. Then the guy saying "no worries" is a complete jerk, or does not understand the concept of reality.

Mr. Green shoes, armed with his now correct and perfect cup of joe, stroll ever so effortlessly towards me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was floating on air or at least some sort of invisible conveyer belt that only works for incredibly good looking, colored shoe wearing men.

This is my moment. My one fleeting moment to make an impression. One bare foot is folded innocently under my purple floral print skirt, while the other dangles playfully. I hold my giant coffee cup with my name emblazoned on the side, proclaiming I’m a regular here, and I’m serious about coffee, but not too serious about life. With the other hand I hold down the pages of the classic novel in my lap. The cup lifted to my face, and my head pointed down, I wait until I’m aware that his approach has brought him to the optimal spot for viewing my cuteness. Then I glance upward with my eyes, but not my head. It says, I’m mostly interested in what I’m doing, but I’ll give you a chance to catch my attention. I make eye contact and lift the left corner of my mouth in a sly flirtatious grin. With my body I’m saying I’m comfortable with who I am, and I’m not focused on finding a man, but with my eyes I’m saying, “come on over here baby” like Joss Stone on her best day.

The moment passes and Mr. Green shoes leaves me with one last shinning example of his potential. An award winning smile that makes me feel warm all over, as he walks out the door and out of my life forever. Thus ending his potential. I giggle a little to myself, thinking “if people only knew what goes on in my head!” Another sigh escapes my lips, and I lift my head to the sound of a deep sexy voice saying “Grande Sumatra black,” and the whole things begins again.

I love coffee shops. An endless parade of potential, a thousand chances to perfect my sly grin, a million possibilities.