Why I'm Always Single (and couldn't care less about it)

Here’s a fact of life: I’m single AF.

I am so single, my greatest romantic experience in the last month has been the time a stranger asked to take pictures of my bare feet.

I am so single, my mom is already dropping when-are-you-gonna-give-me-grandchildren hints and started the it’s-okay-if-you’re-gay conversation; and my aunt has taken it upon herself to give me dating tips as we sip wine in her living room.

I am so single, the mention of a potential beau sends the group convo into chaos only matched by Jon Snow and Khaleesi finally getting together.

I am so single… yeah, okay, you get it.

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I think I should preemptively add a disclaimer here: there is nothing about me that would prevent me from entering the dating scene. I have the right number of eyes and arms. I am educated enough to carry a conversation. No angsty backstory here. I do not have strict parents belonging to a cult, or a curse placed on me as a baby by a vengeful witch. I have done enough cool stuff to make me kind of interesting (go on, ask me about the time I went to a fetish dungeon!). I have a solid group of friends whom I love and love me in return, so I am not a social outcast.

Honestly, I am just a painfully average twenty-something woman… who happens to spend terribly long periods of time single.

Does it hurt? Sometimes. Do I care? Occasionally. Do I let that stop me?

Naaaaaah.

It would be very easy for me to justify my spinsterhood. My focus is inwards, toward my family, my friends and my career, which can sometimes lead me to ignore my dating life. I also have had a rough past few months, which have made it hard for me to be in a place mentally in which I could foster my already existing relationships, let alone go through the song and dance of dating someone new. The few relationships I have been in have been a strange combination of gut-wrenching and yawn-worthy, so I have decided to have some me-time, which has slowly devolved into ongoing, indefinite amount of me-time.

The honest truth is this: I have lost a little bit of faith in romance and in romantic love in general, and I am too comfortable where I am to make that fact change.

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Dating has suddenly become this thing that is both too simple and too complicated: “let’s see where this goes.” “we don’t have to call it anything.” “we are only having fun.” Any of this sound familiar? I have heard them A LOT and it makes me cringe when I look back on these days and remember just how much I believed in the meaning behind those words, head nodding with conviction as I raised my fist and shouted “YASSS GIRL BE FREEEEEEE!”

And yet I also shake my head at the do-or-die attitude I had when going into these relationships I logically knew had no chance of making it past the two-month mark. I settled with someone I wasn’t compatible with because of superficial reasons like “he was just there tbh” and “I mean, I don’t think I’ll get anyone better so,” and then was baffled and hurt when my affections and efforts led to nothing.

And right now, I am right smack in that age where people are either desperate to settle down in a last-ditch attempt not to end up alone, or are still looking for that short-lived fling that will burn brighter than a flame and fizzle out just as fast. What happened to the walks in the beach and hours-long phone conversations, dammit!?

Man, no wonder I can’t be bothered!

Logically, I know that this view is apathetic at best and downright bleak at worst. That it might be narrow-minded and skewed and even shallow. But honestly, right now, I can't be bothered to care too much about it. 

If being hopelessly singly is evil, I don’t want to be good! (unless you are Sebastian Stan, in which case, feel free to slide into my DMs!)

Meanwhile, I shall be here, taking up all the space in my bed, eating the entire portion of French fries, and waiting until a week after valentine’s day to buy all the chocolates at 70% off. Sue me.