“Among the “must haves,” women want respect and men want someone in whom to trust and confide; both rate a sense of humor as key qualities for a partner. When judging a potential date, both men and women rate teeth at the top, followed by grammar. The online survey of 5,481 individuals was conducted by MarketTools Inc. for the Dallas-based dating website Match.com.” – USAToday covers a survey looking at what singles want. (Check out the infographics…funny women win!)
Dating in your thirties is just like The Hunger Games, Amirite?!
“It’s not like I don’t ever date. But as you get older, there are longer spells in between dates. My perception—and that of my many thirtysomething, unattached girlfriends—is there’s a run on single men our age.” — from an essay in TimeOut Chicago. May the odds be ever in your favor, honey.
Bella DePaulo, Queen of Singles, called my book, “A story of single life you haven’t heard before.” And Ezra, one of my most thoughtful commenters, posted a review on Goodreads saying that my stories of single life were “a better, maturer different.” I hope that you’ll get a copy for half off between now and Valentine’s Day. You can buy the book here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/270861 and to get $2.50 off, use the coupon code GM36A.
Did I mention there’s a party? There’s a Singles Party to celebrate the publication of the book. Feb. 14th. You can pay what you like at the door, but if you can pay in advance on Eventbrite: I’ll send you a copy of the book: http://singlespartyaustin2013.eventbrite.com/
So, now that I’ve said that, I’ve noticed as Bella DePaulo has noted (can you tell I’m a fan?) there’s been more positive coverage of singles in recent years. “Increasingly,” she wrote in a Psychology Today post, “Singles are getting some love and some respect!” It’s true. It also means I can’t always keep up with all the love singles get in individual posts. But I love digests, so I thought I’d start one.
OK, this isn’t exactly a love note to singles, but: “A gay president in a committed relationship will still be more comfortable for many people than someone who stays single.” That was the kicker quote in a story at The Root about bachelors (Cory Booker, haaay!) who might be running for president in 2016.
From the “Amen, sister” files: “If you are a single woman writer, you live a unique, complicated reality. You may desire companionship, but you also desire to write. These are sometimes conflicting needs.” – Deonna Kelli on the challenges of being a single woman writer at Love InshAllah.
I go back and forth on whether or not we should write what we know. I know secondhand some of the challenges related to being a single parent, because I was raised by one. But I wrote about the All My Babies’ Mamas drama for the Maynard Institute for Journalism Education. Basically: Most media we see portrays black mothers as single stereotypical ones, even when they’re not. Which is just weird. It was a joy to talk to other smart black women for the piece, including one of my favorites, Stacia L. Brown at Beyond Baby Mamas.
In my solitude, I wonder about the reasons I am alone. Am I too fat? Too boring? Too weak? Maybe they think I’m too—what? The worst thing about a blank slate is everything we write onto it. We carry our best selves into public and our worst selves into solitude.
My friend Erin sent me the link to this Dream Girl essay and so much of it resonated I thought you would enjoy that I wanted to blog about it.
Forbes writes about how we present different versions of ourselves online – the selves we really want to be. She also writes about how that complicates dating, because we choose who we want people to become more often than we choose them for who they really are.
That’s all really good stuff, even if it’s hard to admit and hard to read. The part about sleeping on the couch not because she’s lazy but because it feels less lonely than her big bed got me all choked up, and I actually do fall asleep on the couch out of pure exhaustion 80 percent of the time.
It’s worth repeating – since I’ll be sending you the link for the book tomorrow (!!) – that I’m not against online dating. I just don’t think it works for everyone. In fact, I meet at least two or three people every week who say they found online dating to be tragically horrific (or some version of that). I realize it’s not as sexy to say, “Hey, that might be an expensive and quick-like fix for being shy, but it may not be what you need.” I think the legal disclaimers/waivers that you sign say as much. But the truth is usually not as sexy as what we’d rather believe.
All that to say: I appreciated Kristen’s authenticity here. I experience some of the neuroses associated with solitude sometimes, too. This stuck out most to me, though, I think because it gets at the heart of what we yearn for when we long for companionship and intimacy:
This is the most me I’ll ever be, and it’s the me I work carefully at concealing.
I’d like to meet someone who likes beer and coffee and rain and camping and brunch and smiling, but more than that, I want to know someone. I want someone to know me. I want someone to peel off my persona, see the madness behind my silliness, and like me anyway—not just in spite of my truth, but because of it.
But it’s also true that single life as we see it on television today—a parade of different love interests and dates and hook-ups—was simply not an acceptable premise for broadcast television comedy in the mid-Sixties, regardless whether the star was a man or woman. In life, single men might have had a greater margin of freedom and respectability than single women, but their presumed pastimes could not be dramatized for the family audience at home. Since then, single life has, paradoxically, been domesticated…
It does seem that single life has been domesticated not just in sitcom form, but also via Reality TV. Or have they stopped producing those god awful shows like Flavor of Love where everyone gathers in a big mansion and fights for the affections of (gasp) Flavor Flav? I found the idea that we view the life of singles as domesticated now, even in our fantasy lives, interesting. But I guess sitcoms aren’t even really our fantasies as much as they are extensions of our family ideals, or families we’d like to be a part of — or families we think we know. This was also interesting:
The idea of being not-alone even when your relationships and dates end in shambles—this would become not only the overriding issue of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, but of pretty much every subsequent sitcom about single characters. Three decades later, it’s easy to rattle off a list: Cheers, Golden Girls, Living Single, Seinfeld, Friends, Frasier, Will & Grace, 30 Rock, The Office—plus cable sitcoms like Sex and the City, Girls, and Louie. One interesting effect of the genre is that, over time, it has taught us to prefer romantic deferral to fulfillment—at least within sitcoms themselves.
I think this is true now even for movies, but I could be wrong about that. I’m so glad that they included Living Single in this list so that I didn’t have troll them. They could have mentioned Girlfriends, but, I know, a girl can only ask for so much.
There is nothing like standing in the middle of a crowd and feeling utterly alone.
The loneliest I have ever felt has been standing in a room full of dressed up people, my mind somewhere else entirely, my heart aching for something, though I couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be.
A year ago, against the backdrop of other life changes, I started Single & Happy. It was initially called Single, Happy & Free for like, two weeks, but that seemed to be rubbing it in. And the tag line for months was about statistics be damned, because I was really angry about all of the stories in our culture that shame black women in particular for being successful, having standards and yet, somehow still being unfit for companionship.
I didn’t really want to write a book about it. I said I did, but I prayed for different guidance. A lot of people like the idea of mavericks, of people who say the thing that folks think but won’t write or talk about in public, but being one, going against the popular culture stream is something I didn’t think was in the cards for me.
Meanwhile, I had tried all of the online dating sites with the exception of a few, but what I learned after spending money I didn’t have to waste was that while there are all kinds of people who can find companionship that way, it wasn’t for me. I was also angry that no matter where I went — from my therapist’s couch to meetings with supervisors to happy hours and picnics – the world reflected back to me what I believed about myself: I was not enough. I needed to get a partner. Sure, happiness and solitude – yeah, whatever! But you are a shell of a woman without a romantic relationship.
It turned out that Harriet Tubman was married a few times. How come I had only ever seen her pictured alone?
I learned that there is more than one way to find love, to be happy and fall in love with oneself while also reframing the discussion about what it means to be single.
For years, I had heard that single black women, and later, their white, breadwinning counterparts, were all these things: emasculating, overbearing, too fat, too dark, too much of everything. Those degrees would not keep us warm at night. That weave looked nice on a video hoe, but a man can’t run his fingers through that. Go natural if you want, but for some men, that makes you look too mannish. Too strong.
Too everything.
The message: These black women don’t know how to treat a man. “You don’t know how to let a man be a man.” Maybe you won at life by surviving all the things black women have to. But you have failed at matters of the heart. You have failed at the ultimate prize of womanhood: to be chosen. To be accepted, for life, in marriage.
And this: By succeeding, moving forward, we are making the brothers look bad.
And we are not alone. This year, I took note of the increasing rhetoric of the End of Men debate. What is a man without full ownership of patriarchy, when women are allegedly snatching up all the jobs and the money (spoiler alert: we are not). Why can’t white women, too, have it all – the partnership, the great job, the freedom and the money? Well, white follows black. So, welcome, sisters, to the reality of life as a black woman.
You can have most of “it,” whatever “it” is. But you will get called out for being something other than a woman. Insecure, mean-spirited, disenfranchised, coddled boys will find ways to remind you that you are only worthy when a man puts a ring on it. Which, as we know from the many stories of relationship mayhem, divorce and tragedy that circulate through our headlines, is just not true.
But I created Single & Happy thinking that I would keep it private until I could figure out what I was really trying to say, while I worked on a little book that I thought might actually be of service to some other folks. It turned out that I was right, that I had friends around the world who agreed with me, and when they didn’t, had reasonable arguments to the contrary.
I’m more Eeyore than Pooh or Piglet on any given day, so the Single & Happy title could often be read as a misnomer. But because of y’all, it is almost always true. Thanks for reading and for visiting. Looking forward to another year of sharing and commenting and dancing a little to old songs from the 90s with y’all.
No one asked me during Thanksgiving why I am still single. Hallelujah.
That leaves the other question. Not, “Do you have children?” but, “What do you mean you don’t have kids?”
Christmas is really the most special for children and the rest of us kind of do it wrong. So maybe that’s why it comes up every now and then. In my twenties, I used to hear variations on the question of whether I would bear a child more often. I wrote a little about that for Bitch Magazine this summer, including the estimated figure that it costs over $200,000 to raise a child.
Many women have been raised with the message that we should want to have children. But (to state the obvious) women differ from one another. To assume that women should all be mothers is like assuming that all men should be accountants if they have the brain for math. And child-free is a better term than childless when a woman makes a choice to not reproduce. (Now that I think of it, let’s delete the word “childless” from our vocabularies. Like “spinster” and “old maid,” the word carries too much negative power to define who we are. Certain words need to go by the wayside).
I had a couple of experiences recently that were all very different and I’m not sure I’ve changed my mind about having any of my own. And no one has ever called me childless, though I agree that it should probably be retired from our general lexicon.
On Thanksgiving, I was surrounded by three sweet little girls, including one who, at 2 years old, sounded like a little Lena Horne. They were brilliant, spunky and adorable. About a week before that, I was out with friends and a mother of three warned me not to have any if I was ambivalent. She leaned in and whispered, “And I certainly don’t like other people’s children.” It’s nice to know that there can be such a range of experiences without anyone having to feel bad about their choices to have or not have kids.
I think that people who try to make women feel bad for expressing what may be true and authentic for them when they say they don’t want to be mothers are narrow-minded cowards. So I agree with Lerner: don’t try to convince your critics that you’re still normal even if you don’t want kids. In fact, send them this perfect blog: An open letter to all parents from a non-parent (which my friends have confirmed is really what parenthood is like).
She refers to being childless, too, but you know what she really means.
There was something really satisfying about it, I think, because I was used to abuse. I had no idea what to do with my feelings when I wasn’t working. My work addiction provided immediate gratification so that I was always accessible to anyone – student, editor, supervisor or reader.
As Gloria Anzaldúa wrote in another context, “no vale la pena…it is not worth the grief.” Like my peers in academia who are full professors, I know what it means to be fully committed to the world in which we find ourselves. When I started teaching, I had the same porous boundaries with my students. I was answering emails and phone calls at all hours, regardless of what the syllabus said. For my 60+ hours per week, I was essentially paid the wage of an intern with no benefits, which is why it was useful to continue working at the paper.
My life was my work. Work was my life. I was always exhausted. I thought this was what it took to live the American dream, but I was not really living.
I hope you enjoy it. Ironically, I still work all the time. It feels different (and more anxiety-producing at times) because I’m working for myself now, but I know it will resonate with some of you.
I totally stressed myself out looking at photos of Hurricane/cyclone Sandy flooding, and got so exhausted that I went to bed at…it’s a time I’m not proud of. But my little psychological and emotional reaction pales in comparison to the discomfort of those who are directly in the path, without power or comfort. This too shall pass. Like everyone else who lives in another part of the world that is not the mid-Atlantic or the Caribbean (God, please, give Haiti a break), I’ve been meditating and praying for everyone who has been affected and the families of those who lost their lives. Before I went to bed last night, I was thinking of how long it’s been since I lived in New York – over a decade now. But once you call a place home, that place & the people in it are always connected to you, no matter where you physically plant yourself. All the people I know are conquerors, so I have faith that they will prevail, even if things look bleak and scary at the moment.
Just had to put that out there.
Now, for the monthly roundup. Fun Fun Fun Fest is coming to Austin. I won’t be there because I made other plans (which include more camping!) But it does mean that Ryan Gosling might still be in town. I was running the other day and thinking, “What would I even do if I saw him in person? Say, ‘Hi, I blog a lot about you’? Like a stalker?” Better to admire him from afar, methinks. What the Notebook & Ryan Gosling Taught Me About Love.
So after I wrote this post, I had some very mature, healthy, reconciling closure with one of the misleading parties mentioned herein. Dare I Say it? I may be an actual grown up. Healing feels good. Me & Mr. Jones, or When The Marrieds Are Unfaithful.
Facebook is doing this weird thing where they want people and pages to sponsor their posts so they can make some money. As a business owner, I understand it, but it means that only a small percentage of people who fan the Single & Happy page will see my posts because I’m not paying Facebook to promote posts. But you can still come hang out with me here on the blog & on Tumblr & on Twitter. Six Things I Love About Facebook, The Single Lady Edition. Oh, and the essay I wrote about never showed up on that site, as far as I know. But it will be published somewhere even better. I’ll keep y’all posted.
Speaking of that: In book news, the cover is being designed as I type this. I’m wrapping up a few other projects and will be back to blogging more regularly shortly. Thanks for your patience. I’m also putting together a monthly writing newsletter. I haven’t started it yet, but if you want to sign up here, please do.
Not long ago, I thought the love of my life had returned to me.
We met when I lived in another city, when I was in my twenties. He’d had a whole marriage between when I last spoke to him years ago and our reunion. However, he was not technically single: the divorce would be final soon.
Cue the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack. Mute the quiet admonishment of my married and soon to be married friends. Picture me trying to roll with it.
Because he was handsome. He had a good job. He didn’t have any kids. He said he loved God. He was a black man without a record.
I know you feel me.
The rigamarole that followed included a lot of texting and allowing him stalk me on Facebook. It took me weeks to realize that I had let myself become a side chick. I had done a couple of things that I promised never to do – settle for less than I deserve and get involved with a married man.
Symptoms of side chick status include the following:
I knew nothing specific about his intentions or his feelings for me.
I had a feeling that he was not being clear on purpose.
He never answered his phone when I called.
But I like affection and attention. I believe we refer to these things as human desires. I had been single for SO LONG.
So, I did whatever it’s called when you disentangle yourself from someone you’re not in a relationship with. He claims I dumped him.
I felt freeee! Because in the space between everything he didn’t say or tell me about his life, I was doing what writers do: I was telling myself a story about us that was probably not even true. And that’s never healthy.
Also: He was still married. I want a love of my own, not half of someone else’s. But when you make a proclamation like that, sometimes God will test you to make sure you really mean it.
A month passed and I met a friend of a friend who was in town visiting for about a week. I drove him and his friends around for a couple of days because of the strength of our mutual connection. Three days and a lot of game later, when I start thinking about how sweet and gentlemanly he is and how much I like getting to know him and how nice it is to be flirting with another educated black man, I find out that he is married. With kids. Plural.
(Good looking out, Google.)
No, he didn’t mention it – you know, the way people will drop “we” in every single sentence when they’re married or coupled. No, he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He said it was because the marriage is complicated. They’re together for the sake of the kids. It’s a rather unhappy marriage.
Yeah, I told him. I figured that part out.
But why did he think that by being kind and joyously single that I was actually putting in an application for side chick status?
“I don’t get a lot of opportunities, so I figured I’d take the opportunity.”
Oh. Well.
Next.
The moral of these stories is that our culture’s obsession with marriage and black women’s failure to join the cult of true womanhood by getting ourselves married does not factor in the unhappily marrieds. It is more culturally and socially problematic, to say nothing of ethically and spiritually corrosive, to support the silence around unhappily married dudes and women who are on the prowl, on the down low or just overt and regularly on some Me & Mr/Mrs. Jones stuff.
These shenanigans persist because people who don’t really want to get married but ended up bowing to societal pressure to do so end up acting out their real heart’s desires eventually, no matter what the consequences, and no matter who it hurts. Sometimes, they will attempt to use trickery to get what they want.
This is a problem. It’s a quality of life issue. I call it that because I believe most of the animosity in our culture leveled at unmarried people has to do with the presumption that we are sexually immoral, unethical and down for whatever.
So, if that’s you, then OK. It’s not my place to judge people who don’t believe in Jesus or karma. But please don’t believe that me saying that I’m content with this season in my life during which I don’t have a partner is code for saying, “I’m available for shenanigans.”
Not the case, homie.
Also: you’re unhappy in your marriage? Get a divorce! If you’re not really all the way divorced yet, let folks know before they roll up thinking you’re available. Married, single or semi-partnered: Tell people where you stand. Don’t let Facebook tell you that “It’s complicated” is a satisfactory answer. It’s not.
What’s your stand on being a mistress or the person on the side? Do you get hit on by married men or women? Do you think it happens more to singles than those in relationships?
I just wanted to mention that posting will be a little lighter than usual as I finish editing the book, which I plan to publish before February 2013. This is my first book, so I’ve been losing sleep over it, but I do hope it will be worth the wait.
From the book:
My mom, like the women I grew up around, knew Jesus and loved God. For God-fearing Christians, marriage has been deemed a badge of honor for centuries.
But she wasn’t actively avoiding marriage. She had tried. It just didn’t work for her.
While she never seemed interested in trying again, she was far from bitter. She continued to date more actively than even I was comfortable with into her late 60s.
Part of why she was able to be single and happy had to do with the cultural sentiment around us, which was You don’t need a piece of paper to certify your love. This is how people of color and women who are not interested in the politics of respectability (or assimilating as much as possible to mainstream culture) find space for their own models of self-worth and self-love: by appropriating for themselves what they need to feel affirmed, often outside of the gaze and judgment of popular culture.
This cultural self-approval was popular during slavery by necessity even though some of the bravest women who are depicted and often written about as single or singular black women – Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth, for example – were married. In Tubman’s case, she married a few times, including one marriage that her biographer Catherine Clinton notes in Harriet Tubman: The Road to Freedom happened when she was likely well over 50 years old. Back then, marriages between free blacks and slaves were considered informal arrangements, not legally or biblically binding enough to trump the commerce of slavery. Clinton wrote:
“Free blacks were faced with the prospect of choosing liberty in exile or a return to enslavement by remaining with their families…A slave’s master could choose to honor or ignore the couple’s commitment, rendering such unions inherently unstable. The sale of the slave spouse might throw the entire relationship into limbo. Thus, slaves who chose a life partner, whether a free black or another slave, constantly confronted fears not only that their marriage might be shattered through salve, but that they might lose contact with their children as well.”
Any book that purports to be geared toward black unmarried women and/or instruct them on getting a mate that doesn’t acknowledge this historical context is irresponsible. That history, along with reports like Daniel Patrick Moynihan’s 1965 report on the black family (known best as The Moynihan Report) offers a more detailed explanation of black women’s perceived powerlessness in matters of intimacy and love in the United States. While it is easier to just point to statistics and talk in witty sound bites, the truth is that black unmarried women have always been required to do much more than their white counterparts in every sphere of life.
Matters of the heart, then as now, are apparently no different.
