And Then There Was One

I'm the lone single woman on this blog, and that likely won't change any time soon. As the lone single (single lone?), it's hard for me to come up with things to write about that don't sound like complaining or that don't dismiss the struggles of the new parent and new wife on here. However, I've recently figured out that, if I think about it, there are a lot of topics within the overall subject of singleness. I just have to, you know, think about it.

Since there are heavy topics and light topics, and since I'm tired and worried about other things right now, I'll start with a lightish topic: isolation.

Really, isolation could go either way, and can be very heavy, but this recent experience with it is more of a "well, that's how it is" moment than a "oh, I can't do this anymore" moment, if that makes sense. I'm currently serving in the Primary presidency of my ward--we are in charge of the Sunday activities of the children from 18 months to 12 years old, and we also concern ourselves (in a limited way) with their home lives. I am the oldest in this presidency and the only single, childless member. The women with whom I serve have all dealt with weird pregnancy issues--one lost multiples because of a uterine anomaly, one has health issues that prevent her from having anything other than C-section births--and they talk about them. That's fine. I think it's good to talk about these things so others know they're not alone and are prepared for the strange things that can happen. I don't really mind hearing about all the blood tests and appointments that come along with high-risk pregnancies (after all, I'm automatically high-risk just because of age) and I don't mind hearing about all the strange and wonderful things that go along with being a parent.

I just feel out of place when the topic moves that direction. I don't have anything but second-hand experience to contribute, and sometimes I get the feeling that my friends feel a little awkward discussing things to which I can't personally relate. I joke that I pay attention and take notes so I can be a better mom someday, but lately there's the mental undercurrent that I may never get to be a mom and the joke is losing its ability to make me feel better about my situation. One night after a meeting, the three of them started talking about hospitals and obstetricians and I had nothing to contribute to the conversation, so I politely excused myself and left.

Like I said, these moments don't make me despair (most of the time...), but they're still a little new and raw. For years I reasoned that I could deal with them because someday I'd be a mother, but now the impending loss of fertility and introduction of menopause are staring me in the face. Not that I'm going to really hit menopause until I'm in my 50s, but I'm almost 40 and my chances of having a child on my own are very, very slim, even with modern medical technology. No one in my family that I know of has had a child past 35. I don't know what to expect, but I do know the odds are stacked firmly against me and I just have to deal with that like I deal with wrinkles and cellulite. Wrinkles and cellulite are just part of life, and there's not much I can do about them, so I try not to get hung up on them. It's the same thing with being single and almost 40; it's literally a shrug of the shoulders and an "oh, well!" because there's not much I can do about it on my own.

It is what it is, and while it feels odd to be isolated in this way, it's not really disturbing or distressing. Most people don't understand, and that's ok. It's not their fault. This is just how life happens, and you either freak out about it and waste a lot of energy, or recognize that it's out of your hands (for the most part) and shrug and move on.

What's interesting, though, is that I almost feel like isolation bubble is protecting me--it's not unfriendly or threatening or sad, it's just different. And if I can't contribute to a conversation, it's ok to excuse myself and be alone in my bubble for a while.

Sideways

I've discovered, in my old age, that there is nothing that can adequately prepare you for being single in your late 30s.  Sure, I know people who went through this and are single in their 60s or 70s, and I'm sure nothing has prepared them for that.  This whole thing is really hard some days.  I got through my 20s single, and maybe I just stopped thinking about how hard it was, how weird it is to hear someone talking about their neice or friend who "got married later, you know, at 26".  Just TRY not to smile a little when you hear that and you're well past 26!  It's not as though you wake up every day and say to yourself, "man, it's going to be hard out there today because I'm single and almost 40!"  You just kind of live your life, and in the course of living your life, you don't really think about how hard it is being single until something blindsides you.

 

For instance, I have friends from high school who are preparing their sons for missions earlier than they thought because of the recent age change that was announced.  These women are my age, and their sons are going to be on missions in a year.  Less than a year, some of them.  I'm old enough to be helping a son prepare, but I don't have a son.  Here's another one:  some of these friends may have grandchildren the same age as my children, if I'm lucky enough to have kids in this life.  Try imagining that when you are 15 years old and thinking about what your future will be like!  One more:  One of my friends was talking about how hard it was to send her youngest child to kindergarten.  I said, "Oh, I might be peri-menopausal when I send my oldest to kindergarten--think about dealing with those hormones!"  We got a good laugh out of that, but it's a definite probability.

 

The other day at the hardware store, I saw a man I was good friends with in high school and during my first stint in college.  I didn't say hello because it completely unnerved me to see him with two small boys.  I knew he was married and was pretty sure he had kids, but seeing him interact with those adorable boys was gut-wrenching for some reason, so I pretty much ran away, unable to talk to him.  It unnerved me so much that I had to pray about WHY I was reacting so vehemently, and then I spent a couple of hours Facebook-stalking him and his wife to find out what their family life was like.  I found out how many kids they have, that she's had some major health problems recently, and that, judging from their family pictures, he loves her more than anything.  I'm sure that next time I see him, I will be able to greet him happily, get to know his kids' names, and tell his wife how much his friendship meant to me when I was younger.

 

After lots of thinking, I've decided the reason I was so freaked out at seeing him is that, at 17, I set him up as the ideal man.  When he got back from his mission and we were in college choir together, he was even more the ideal--kind, generous, smart, talented, grounded, respectful, spiritual, and someone who loved and respected women.  When I think of all the men I've known, only two come to mind as men who truly love and completely respect women.  Aaron is one of them.  After 20 years, he is still an ideal.  Seeing him interact so gently with his boys, and seeing, in pictures, what a fun dad he is and the incredible love he has for his wife, I can't help being happy that they found each other and have such a lovely family.  More than ever, I want to marry someone like him.  I think that's what blindsided me so hard that day; I know what I want, but finding him is getting harder.



Choosing to marry as an introvert

Once upon a time, both Roxie and I shared our thoughts about relationships and introversion. My thoughts are here, Roxie's are here.

Before I met Roscoe, I was worried about how I would make the transition from interminably single to married. Since I am older and more set in my ways than your average Mormon child bride, I was worried about that too. Roscoe and I remember talking at the beginning of our relationship about how I might want to go off and do my own thing and get space once in a while. I had hope that I would be able to let someone into my life, especially permanently, without having a "people hangover", but I didn't know how that was going to happen.

Well, as Roxie has been telling for a while now, when there is love and choice in the matter, it's a lot easier than you think! Roscoe and I see each other EVERY day. I can't remember the last time I didn't see him at some point during our day.

And I can't get enough of him.

It helps a LOT that he is an introvert as well, has similar social behavior to my own when we're out at church or with friends and is perfectly content doing his own thing when we're just us and one of us has something we need to accomplish, though we spend our mutual leisure time doing the same activity.

Right now, we're in our huge apartment together, with triple the square footage of the apartment we spent the majority of our courtship in, and there might be an inch between us on the couch. He's doing his project for the evening and I'm doing mine. We lightly touch the other (he just rubbed the back of his hand on my leg) or request a kiss or talk as we are so moved to, but, if anything, we're feeding off each other's presence without draining the other's energy.

It might be different when we're seeing each other in the mornings too, but on the occasions where we are practically together from waking up to going to sleep (mostly Saturdays and Sundays), I still don't get tired of being around him, and I can't say that for the vast majority of people I know. Especially not many days in a row.

We considered it a sign that after 10 days of traveling to meet each other's families and being practically inseparable during that time we didn't want to part ways when our trip was over and go back to our own homes, even though we knew we'd see each other the next evening. We never fought once during that trip and didn't need to take "space".

It's awesome and certainly better than I might have hoped!

Older Than You Think I Am

I live with my parents.  I have for a while, for good reasons I won't get into again in this post.  In the ward directory, I am listed separately from them with my own phone number.  People new to the ward might look at the directory and see two parents and two daughters in the same house and, without knowing the situation or meeting us, assume we're in our late teens or early twenties.  It's a fair mistake.  After all, when my siblings and I had moved out or were going to singles wards, a new couple in my parents' ward thought they were childless because they never saw them with children at church!  We all got a kick out of that one.  Again, a fair mistake.

I had an odd moment a couple of months ago:  a new family in our ward called me while I was at work.  I didn't answer because I didn't recognize the number, but I checked my voicemail as I was leaving the building.  It was the father in this new little family, asking me to babysit their two children so he and his wife could attend ward temple night.  He said that some of the young women weren't available and hoped I would be.  I was taken aback.  It's been several years since someone besides family has asked me to watch their kids.  I think the last time I did any babysitting was when I was 19 or 20 and doing overnights so the parents could go on vacation.  It was such an odd question that I didn't even know what to say when I called him back.  I joked with my parents that he couldn't afford my hourly rate, but I really didn't want to embarrass him because I understood that he'd never met me and had no idea how old I was.

When I called him back, I got his voicemail and just said that I hadn't planned on attending ward temple night and that I didn't get home from work until after 5, but that I would be happy to watch his kids if they couldn't find someone else.  I didn't say anything about money because I wouldn't have wanted them to pay me--it would be a service on my part if they wanted me.

I never heard back, and it's never come up in subsequent interactions with them.  I think they figured out that I was a little bit older and it might be weird to ask me to watch their kids.  They're a great couple and their kids are adorable; I'm perfectly willing should they need me.  I don't think they will.

As many experiences like this as I've had, I really shouldn't be disconcerted that people assume I have a lot of free time and don't have a "real" job just because I'm single and live at home...and yet I am always a little taken aback at the assumptions.  I've learned to chuckle at it, help where I can, and be as kind as possible.  It wouldn't be fair of me to assume they know my life.

It Is What It Is

It's been a rough couple of months in my little world.  There have been two funerals in four weeks in my ward--funerals for people I admire and care deeply for, and it's been very difficult.  There have been financial crises and car problems and surprise weight gain and illness.  I've been slightly depressed for weeks, I don't know how I fit into my new job, and I don't wear my favorite clothes there because they could be considered too embellished or decorative for what I'm doing now.  I need to dust my house, I need to clean off my desk, I need to get my car inspected before I get pulled over for having an expired registration.  I need to put my summer clothes away and get out my winter clothes, but that is hard to do when it is 75 degrees on Halloween and I feel uncomfortable wearing my colorful tights to work.

I'm emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted right now.  I don't feel like myself and I can't figure out if it's my new job or something else that is eating at me.  I enjoy the work, but I don't LOVE it, and sometimes I feel guilty because of that.  But, really, should I be wearing myself out trying to LOVE my job, or should I instead be focused on doing my job well and being reliable?  My boss wants me to LOVE my job, and I don't know how to break it to him that that is probably never going to happen.  Work is something I do to pay the bills.  If I enjoy it (or don't resent it) most of the time, that's great, but I can think of only one job that I'll actually LOVE:  being a wife and mom.  Unfortunately, I don't see myself getting that job any time soon, so I have to keep deflecting my boss's questions about how much I LOVE my job.  I suppose I'll eventually have to have that conversation with him, and he'll tell me that maybe I should be looking for something else to do, and then I'll go home and cry because the things I really want to do aren't exactly easy to get.

That seems like the cycle of my 30s:  make big plans, realize that big plans cost money, remember that I got a non-technical degree, look at grad schools, apply for grad schools, get rejected from grad schools, find a job I don't resent on a daily basis, wonder why I'm slightly depressed, make big plans...

Fortunately, in the midst of all of that, I have a pretty great family and some really great friends.  I even occasionally get to flirt with handsome men and wear my pretty things, so it could be worse.  Like it'll be if I hit my 40s still single and being paid less than I'm worth...

The Giggler

I was at a gathering a few weeks ago with some old and new friends. While it was really fun (and the food was really good), there was one thing that bothered me: The Giggler. Sounds like a Batman villain, doesn't she? Quite honestly, I would have been relieved if the Caped Crusader had flown in through a window, snatched her up, and run away with her again. Ugh. It was that bad.

Now, I know that people have a good time and laugh about silly things. I've been one of those people. But I think I have matured to a point where I can notice when what I'm doing is getting out of hand, tell myself to knock it off, and maybe excuse myself from the festivities for a few minutes to get a grip. This woman did not. Something set her off (possibly the potential beau sitting next to her, possibly something one of us said, possibly the sugar in the soda) and she just giggled and giggled and giggled. Loudly. Turning red. Uncontrollably. That kind of thing is not attractive in a super-cute 20-year-old, and this woman was over 40 and giggling so much she couldn't breathe. I was embarrassed for her.

Don't get me wrong--laughter is awesome, and can be an effective flirting tool, but not when you have lost control and end up looking like a fool in front of everyone. I think that if I catch myself acting like a 16-year-old surrounded by cute boys, it's time to reevalute the situation and determine if my actions are making me look stupid. If they are, it's time to stop. It's a matter of personal dignity. To me, seeing that (and its effect on the man sitting next to her) is just as bad as watching an attractive man clumsily try to hard to impress me. It decreases his attractiveness just as surely as finding out he's committed fraud or has left the church. I'd much rather be with someone who is confident, smart, gracious, and who knows when to stop what he's doing because it's immature and annoying. I'd much rather be with someone who is comfortable in his own skin.

I try to be that person, too, and I think it makes me more attractive than dissolving into uncontrollable giggles for 20 minutes, although I could be wrong...

I Have Found My Limit

The other day, as I was shopping for jeans (an impossible task), I got a call from an older friend of mine. She had approached me weeks ago about the possibility of being set up by her and I had said that I was open to it. Mostly. When most people offer to set me up, they don't realize exactly how old I am; I have caught several off-guard when I say with forthrightness that I am almost 36 because I am invariably mistaken for being much younger. Many people are thinking of their sons or nephews or friends who are in their mid-twenties when they offer to set me up. It's kind of funny and a little endearing that they think I'm still 25. In any case, this sweet friend called and told me about an unattached man in her ward who has three boys. As she was telling me about him, I thought, "Ok, this could work, I've been out with guys with young kids before, no big deal." She kept talking, though, and I could feel my willingness just shut down completely when she said, "He's 49 and his oldest son is 17 and lives with his ex-wife."

Turns out I have really found my official age and situation limit. 49 is just too old for me right now, and a 17-year-old son is too much. Give me five years, though, and it might all be fine, but not now. Not at all. I have to break it to her gently and kindly and gratefully, and I always hate doing that because I DO feel bad.