It’s mid-February, that time of the year when stores fill with red plastic hearts, red enveloped cards, red foil-wrapped chocolates, and red blush-inducing underwear. It is an annual reminder that red has never been my color, Saint Valentine has never been my guy, and cupid is just a naked baby. In elementary school, when we exchanged Valentines with classmates, I went to great lengths to remove all the cards that said, “Be my Valentine” because I was too shy and self-conscious about declaring interest to a girl. All the girls in my class got a card from me with a pizza eating Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle on it that said, “You’re Mondo to the Max!”
This year I will face the fact that I’m 38 years old, and I am still single. Over the last decade and a half, I’ve watched as nearly all of my close friends have married and entered their child-rearing years. All the while, I keep saying “someday.” Some people assume that I must be gay or something. Honestly, this doesn’t bother me too much. If I were gay, I would say I’m gay, but I’m not gay. I’m just single.
My singleness is not the result of a lack of trying. I’ve done my fair share of asking. Friends have set me up with people they know. I’ve spent too much time online, swiping left and right in what is a miserable human cattle-call numbers game called online dating. And yet here I am. The Rolling Stones were right: You can’t always get what you want.
I do occasionally experience an elevated heart rate (I won’t call it a panic attack) at the thought that one day I will die alone in a nursing home and nobody will know who I am. I imagine there will be a Filipino nurse named Grace that will take care of me in my final days. She’ll come into my room and ask me how I’m doing. She’ll make small talk by telling me about her kids and how they’re growing up so fast. She’ll ask me if I want something to drink and how the temperature is in the room. I will reminisce to her about the places I lived and people I met there. She will say “how interesting” and wonder who I am. On the day I pass from this world, she will go home, and her family will ask her why she is so sad. She will say, “Mr. Davis passed away today. He was a nice man and told interesting stories.” Her family will say, “That’s too bad.” And she will say, “Yes, yes it is.” (Okay, I’ve probably put too much thought into this.)
But being single has its advantages. In fact, there are many reasons why I’m grateful that I’ve been “#blessed” with an extended season of singleness.
My taxes are easy. Without dependents, everything is more straightforward. In fact, I've already finished my 2017 taxes and collected my refund. This perk extends to other grown-up decisions like choosing insurance, a healthcare plan, or a doctor. Easy peasy.
I can do stuff. I need not ask anyone for permission to go out with friends nor do I have to puzzle through logistics to make a night out happen. If I want to go out, I go out. If I don’t want to go out, I don’t go out. If I want to see a movie, I see the movie. If I want to go to a concert, I go to the concert. It’s that simple.
I can travel. Travel is not impossible with others in your life, but it’s a lot easier if you’re rolling solo. The freedom to spontaneously travel is one of singleness’s greatest gifts, especially for someone who loves to travel as I do. No negotiations about where to go. If a place captures my imagination, I go there.
I can take more risks. I doubt I would have been bold enough to move my life to California without a job and without knowing anyone who lived here if I had a family to provide for. My first few years in LA were tough. Being single allowed me to endure those challenging times and get to where I am today.
I have time to do lots of fitness-y things. Being single has given me the time and resources to stay in relatively good shape and pursue fitness goals, whether that’s running marathons or racing triathlons. With no one waiting for me at home, I can take the extra time to hit the gym, take that yoga class, or go for a run.
I get 8 hours of sleep every night. That’s right; I get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep almost every night. It’s how I’ve kept my youthful glow :) If I don’t get a full night of sleep, it’s by choice and usually because I’m doing something awesome.
But here is the essential truth of my singleness “situation”: my life has no lack of love. Nothing is missing in my life, and there is no one out there who will “complete” me. Sorry Jerry McGuire, but that is a bunch of hogwash. I have felt the abundance of love in my life from family and friends, enough to last me lifetimes. I do not suffer from a lack of anything.
I think love can be illustrated with simple math equations:
1 + 1 = 2 In this equation, two singles partner together, through mutual respect and selflessness, to make a something greater. Two is better than one.
1 – 1 = 0 In this equation, two singles take from one another. When this happens, both are left empty in the end.
In the equation of love, I’d rather be a 1 than a 0.
A WRITER KEEPING THE FAITH IN LOS ANGELES