A few months ago—New Year’s Eve, to be exact—I posted this satirical photo to Instagram and captioned it with a declaration about spending the last night of the year by myself. I was wearing a sweatshirt, drinking from a bottle of wine and donning a festive NYE tiara. I was alone and you know what, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. After a particularly busy year, I was quite content to spend its final night in a low-key fashion, making and savoring a delicious dinner (something I rarely get to do) and being in bed well before the clock struck 12. No fancy party or midnight kiss to speak of; just me, my wine and scenes from “When Harry Met Sally.”
As I approach my mid-thirties and one by one the last of my single girlfriends get snatched up, I realize I have a choice. I can sit and wallow in my singleton status or embrace it. Take advantage of the freedom from significant other obligations and child-rearing responsibilities—two things I look forward to one day having—and live my life for me, not according to how society tells me I should be living at the ripe old age of thirty two. Nope, instead I choose to be happy and to make the most of my independence. To work on fulfilling creative projects, sleep in (even if “sleep in” means waking up at 7am), travel, start a blog (wink, wink), read more books, go on hikes, etc., etc. I realize these are all things that can still be done even when you have a husband and kids, but from what I’ve heard, “me” time becomes increasingly less attainable once those blessings occur, so I’m capitalizing on all the guilt-free “me” minutes that I can.
Do I get lonely? Of course; I’m human. And even when the loneliness gets the best of me and I do the ugly cry (as my dear friend Danielle calls it), it’s usually fleeting and I’m back to feeling happy and fortunate for what I have. I spent so much of my twenties worrying about the future and trying to live by this idealistic life plan that I missed out on the carefree happiness of just being in the moment. On the heels of a heart wrenching break up and in the final year of my twenties, I realized—through a lot of self-reflection and some much needed therapy—that life is too short to spend it wishing or willing things to be instead of just living, day by day, and enjoying what I have right here and now.
Yes, I want a partner, lover, husband and friend—someone to share in life’s little and big moments, to laugh with and yell at, to make up with and make love to; someone to raise a family with, to make mistakes with and to ultimately share this crazy life with. I want all of those things and look forward to that phase of my life, but at the risk of sounding trite, it will happen when it’s supposed to.
I’ve met so many great guys in the last few years since being single and before that I was fortunate enough to have three meaningful and loving relationships that taught me so much about myself and about the type of man I want to spend my life with. I’ve also encountered a few crazies along the way, but we’ll save those stories for another post (or several, haha). The point is, I don’t look back on my past and wonder what I could have done differently nor do I look so far into the future that I forget about today.
I’m 32 and single and life is pretty darn good.
– S A D Y E E V Y N R E I S H
And until I meet Mr. Right, at least I have my Singer (current companion of choice) by my side. Thank God I’m allergic to cats.