Early morning television viewing can stimulate a mind. Today, while preparing breakfast, I was watching the CBS Sunday Morning Show. They announced this is National USA Singles’ Week. On the screen statistics were flowing.
* Ninety-six [96] million Americans are single.
* Fifty-four [54] percent of singles are women.
* Sixty-three [63] percent of singles have never been married.
* Fourteen [14] percent of singles are widowed.
* Twelve and two-tenths [12.2] percent are single parents.
[Ten [10] million women, two and two-tenths [2.2] percent men]
* In New York State alone, fifty [50] percent of the population is single!
* One third of all births in 2002 were born to single mothers.
I thought; how fascinating, so many singles celebrating their marital status; yet, from my observations many are actively searching for a spouse, a soul mate, a sense of security, a sex partner, or something else.
I wonder how many of these people have any idea what they are seeking; do they understand what they might find. It seems for some marriage is the mission. For others, staying single is their intent. Though in either case, there is often an unspoken reluctance, an apprehension, or merely an overwhelming state of confusion.
Social scientists stress human beings are gregarious in nature. They crave a meaningful connection. I observe they do and they do not. Often they unknowingly create chaos, controversy, conflict, and counter all that they value. “Til death do we part” often becomes divorce or worse living in a relationship that is dead or destructive. Still, individuals hunt for bonds; they gather a throng of relationships. People want to unearth that profound liaison.
Many are looking for the love of their life, or at least a quality companion, a supportive soul who would be special friend, an intimate. We all want a shoulder to cry on or so “they” say. Perchance, a person to share our space would be nice. We want so much or so little. Some are certain of their needs and they say so openly. They ask and they receive.
The day before, while listening to Cable News Network, a reporter introduced a news story. With whimsy in her voice, this journalist avowed, “Every young person dreams of the day.” In a fanciful tone, she went on to explain, “Even in our youth we look forward to such an auspicious occasion.” The Make-A-Wish Foundation was granting a young girl, Nicole Hastings, her dying wish.
Hastings, a cancer victim, wanted to “wed” her beau. In a union ceremony, the two were joined. As I listened, I found the overture more dramatic than the tale. I thought and said aloud, a wedding is not the fantasy of every youth; “It was never mine.”
That thought coupled with the two narratives caused me to ponder further. My assessment became personal. I am intentionally among the millions of singles. As I observe the raw statistics and contrast these with the notion of every child’s dream, I wonder. Are the raw emotions that led me to my choices similar to those others experience?
Days earlier, before reviewing the aforementioned anecdotes, I was discussing my own familiarity with marriage. The topic arose because I had expressed my disdain for the “three try rule.” Apparently, for some, when people disagree, neither “should” try to “sway” the other more than three times. For me, this notion is silly.
I do not consider a sincere sharing an attempt to convince another that they are in error. To illustrate my belief in consistent, caring, and calm dialogues I shared a personal story with an acquaintance. I recounted the tale of my former mate and I.
Considering the divorce rate, the longevity of relationships, the frequent disputes among couples, and the fact that Eric is my former, one might think this will be a tale of woe. My words will be expressions of wrath, rage, and fury. We all know there nothing comparable to a woman’s scorn. That said; let the saga begin.
Eric and I knew each other for about a year before we spoke of “moving in together.” There was no hesitation on my part or on his. During the twelve months of our acquaintance, we spent most every waking hour together. When we purchased books, we would buy two of the same and then read and discuss them together. We could and did talk for hours. Friends commented, “If you saw one of us, it was likely the other was nearby.” We were best friends.
Our courtship was not formal. We never actually “dated.” At home, in restaurants, on street corners, and in moving vehicles Eric and I chatted endlessly. We were together in public places and in private sanctuaries. We sat, or walked together for hours; we talked the entire time. Religion, philosophy, psychology, and politics were our favorite subjects. We spoke of the personal, professional, and the profound. No topic was taboo for us. Yes, physical intimacy was part of our repertoire. Eric and I exchanged passionately and with pleasure.
Eventually, we decided to share a home. There too, we worked well together. We never had a dispute about the toothpaste. We each squeeze the tube from the bottom. Eric and I are each extremely tidy. We love to decorate; aesthetics is important to each of us. I love to cook; he loves to eat. Shopping is our shared entertainment. Gardening warms our hearts. Most of all, we like each other’s company. Disagreements were few and far between.
If the car needed repair, this was distressing. Dollars were tight. During summer, our incomes were reduced. At the beginning of this season, there was a period of adjustment. In those early days of summer, there was usually one disagreement. Again, financial pressure was the catalyst for our quarrel.
If Eric loaned our one and only vehicle to his badly crippled Dad, I was not happy and said so. Mr. Smyth had rheumatoid arthritis; he could barely maneuver his feet or let alone hold a steering wheel. This worried me. I felt if his Dad needed transportation, one of us could drive him. I usually did. That was fine with me, for I enjoyed the father of my beau.
Over the years it was evident, Eric and I had few struggles and much joy. While we did not have problems between us, being human, there was a need to grow, individually and together.
I always thought Eric knew me better than I understood myself. However, that did not negate the fact that his opinion of what might be best for me, was not always identical to my own. When he would voice his viewpoints, particularly if it differed from mine or caused me to question my lack of ego strength, I would, initially become defensive. That reactive stance did not stop me from reflecting upon what he said, for I knew he truly had my best interests at heart. His expressions were consistently delivered with love.
In the moments, days, weeks, months, and even years later I was thankful that we always shared openly and that he told me of his truth. I needed to hear these views so that they were in my mind, available when I was ready. There was so much I wanted to learn; there still is. I felt a need to be in better balance, to blend more pleasurably with the world around me. I loved my life; however, then and now, I feel there is always a need to grow.
Eric also wanted to evolve; mostly he wanted our relationship to go forward. He wanted to marry me. I was not ready for marriage. Eric genuinely wanted us to be legally committed. I know to my core that Eric would not have changed my mind or me after three futile attempts to influence my way of thinking. An enduring and meaningful transformation would not occur if the dialogue ended permanently at that point.
If Eric had worked to persuade me on only three occasions I would have never learned, let alone truly heard to the wisdom he shared. I believe it highly unlikely someone will change after another states an opinion three times. The chances are less likely if the exchanges are volatile. I think change is a process; it evolves, as do we all. Saying that and contrasting it with my thoughts on marriage, I question. Did I develop as much as I thought I had?
Please allow me to continue the pondering. Perhaps you will join me. Are you reflecting on your own relationships as a married person or a single?
Eric words were consistently kind, calm, caring, and loving. He was not critical of me; nor did he condemn my choices or me. He came to me with love and though he left our abode, or I did, it was not because we no longer cared. I feared marriage!
Patient as he was for oh so many years, he tired of waiting for me to change my mind. He felt he could not go on as we had. He wanted us to marry. I was certain I could not.
Eric and I parted ways physically, though not fully. We never parted emotionally. To this day, decades later we are still deeply connected. I marvel at this. Intellectually I know much; I have grown infinitely, even my emotional realities evolved far beyond where they were. However, as I evaluate my essence, I wonder how much of the past still permeates the present. It seems, when I am placed in a position to truly do as I had not done with Eric, I freak.
I recall reading a study long ago reporting that children of divorce, long into adulthood, struggle with the prospect of marriage. Many wed; however, even the elderly that were once children of divorced parents show evidence of scarring. The wound formed in youth does not truly disappear. It may be modified, still it lingers.
After parents drop the bomb of divorce on their kids, and many believe the impact is immediate and brutal, but gradually fades over time.
That is not at all the case, contends clinical psychologist and divorce expert Judith S. Wallerstein. In her new book, “The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce,” she writes that the effects of divorce on children are less like a bomb than a time bomb, carrying lasting ramifications well into adulthood.
When I was young, eight years old, ten days after my natural parents twentieth wedding anniversary, my Mom walked out. This shocked me. My family seemed so stable!
Though my Mom re-married, as did my birth father, and all was perhaps more wonderful than it was before, I grew skeptical. The scar swelled up in me. It was invisible; yet, imposing.
I had serious relationships; I chose well. However, when I feel or felt as though the other person was getting too close, or at times, even before this realization, I would subtlety sabotage the relationship. The departure was never bitter, for I never chose an explosive man. Nevertheless, these break-ups were painful.
I would always conclude of the men in my life, excluding Eric, “They never really knew me.” Then I would realize, “Of course they did not; I never allowed such an intimate connection.” Sex was always good; however, an individual can sustain a separated self even when co-mingling.
Then, I had a liaison where the other did as I had always done. He pushed away any closeness, I thought that I had evaluated anew. I truly believed that I had worked through my anxieties. I surmised that this situation helped me to see myself as I really was. In being with the man that rejected familiarity, friendship, and a deeper intimacy; I saw myself through him, my mirror reflection. I essentially established the fallacies of my fears; yet, now I wonder. I am uncertain.
As I watched the statistics roll by, as I assess my current circumstances, I am thinking; I may not have evolved as I thought I had.
Granted, for years the divorce of my natural parents impacted my decisions. Their deep division influenced me infinitely. They had been together for twenty-plus years, then poof!
My Mom remarried and chose a man I love. However, after twelve years, this nuptial also died. There was reason to think it might. After a two-year courtship, the two married. My Mom attested to the notion, `once the vows were taken, everything changed.’ Her new husband was not the man she thought she knew.
I later learned, my Mom felt that she entered her first two marriages for the arrangement seemed convenient. True love had not been her motivation. Knowing this, when involving herself again, she consciously chose to look for a deeper, more meaningful, love. She married an amazing man. The two intertwined as one. Their union was glorious to observe. Being part of it was even better.
Having experienced the delightful thirty-plus year legal joining of my Mom and my newer father, I realized that what happened to my natural parents marriage need not be life, that of others or my own. Not every one feels a need to separate or divorce.
Still, I now acknowledge that I struggle with the idea of cohabitating. It is a fine construct and wonderful for others. However, when I consider the possibility, I still say “No.” I am not alone or lonely. I may be single, but not sullen. I experience no sorrow. In truth, I love my life. Still, I muse; do I truly wish to be without a significant other?
My Grandfather always wisely claimed, “No one does anything that they really do not want to do.” I flash back on Eric. I acknowledge, at times our fears stop us from recognizing what would bring us greater pleasure. I have often mused of the Rolling Stones song, “You can’t always get what you want; we get what you need;” What we need is more than we ever allow ourselves to knowingly want!
I am so very confused. I feel that I cannot talk to others of this for I experience that we all justify our emotions. I feel lost. Single and sensationally happy, or married in wedded bliss. What is real and what is fantasy, or is the more accurate term self-fabrication.
Thus, I ask myself, is it habit and the pleasure of my own company that keeps me from joining with another? Are my earlier experiences still within me and looming large?
I can still belt out a Carly Simon favorite, “That is the way I always heard it should be.” The line, “Soon you will cage me on your shelf; I need to be me first by myself” resonates for me now, as strongly as it did in my youth.
As I listen to all the discussion of weddings, marriages, and single-dom, I cannot help consider, what is true for all of these people. Do humans desire a connection, thus wed? Do marriages meet expectations, good, and the converse? What of being single? How many truly enjoy the prospect, as I definitely do; and do they also feel great anxiety at the thought of genuinely being alone in the world?
Oh dear reader, I invite you to share your story, to probe your mind and your heart. Whether you are married, single, or strolling the streets with another, though there are no legal documents to bind you, what do you think of commitment and closeness? Are you as I, do you acknowledge that one does not necessarily lead to another. There is no direct correlation.
For me, the question is, what feeds our souls? What do we need, want, crave, and create? Sigh, I have no answers, only curiosity. I do not celebrate my singleness; nor do I embrace marriage. I only feel great confusion and ask for your sharing. What have you discovered, discerned, and what deliberations were most helpful to you?
I invite you to open your heart, your mind, and to join with me in seeking a truer understanding of coupling.
What Do You Want, Need, Deeply Desire? Perchance it is here . . .
- CBS Sunday Morning. CBS News Broadcasting. Sunday, September 17, 2006
- Celebrate National Singles Week, By Buck Wolf. ABC News.
- National Unmarried and Single Americans Week. Sponsored By Unmarried America.
- The State of Unmarried America, By Women’s Voices. Women Vote. February 2006
- How many singles seek to adopt? Adoption Media.
- National Singles Week Celebration. Tribe Networks
- Dating Statistics. Search Your Love.
- Marital Satisfaction and Change: Research Findings, Contributed by Paula R. VanBoxel, Recent Research on Adult Development. Hope College. October 5, 2001
- Dying teen to have the wedding of her dreams. Associated Press. MSNBC News. September 15, 2006
- The Effects Of Parental Divorce On Adult Children’s Romantic Relationships, Contributed by Noelle Wood. Hope College. December 2, 1997
- Divorce Lingers On By Michelle Quinn. San Jose Mercury News. Wednesday, November 10, 2004
- Effects of divorce last well into adulthood, expert says, Joe Eskenazi. San Francisco Jewish Community Publications Incorporated. Friday December 22, 2000
- The Effects of Divorce on Children, By Mary W. Temke. University of New Hampshire. Cooperative Extension. May 2006
- “You can’t always get what you want; we get what you need!” By Rolling Stones
- “That is the way I always heard it should be.” By Carly Simon and Jacob Brackman.
Betsy L. Angert Be-Think
When I was 10 my mother nearly died from what was at the time considered terminal cancer. Two years later my father died of stomach cancer, leaving my mother, fearful and still somewhat ill, with four small children to raise alone. Fortunately my mother regained her health and there was enough life insurance to see us into adulthood. But I’m still seeing now how that experience scarred me. I was bullied into shyness by classmates and had two terrible love relationships (one marriage) at a young age and that didn’t help much either.
I’ve had countless hours of therapy and did nearly 15 years of intensive (and intense) Zen meditation and I’ve come to a place of clarity and resolution about most things in my life. I’m no longer shy and I find no interest anymore in being by myself.
I have often found myself becoming infatuated with men who don’t really have my best interests at heart or are just being kind, not interested in a relationship. I know now that this has been showing me the intimacy I long for and I have been denying that I want it, have always wanted it. I’ve covered up my needs with activity or overeating or a hundred other things and I’m determined not to do that any longer.
There are still some social skills I need to learn and I’m doing that but it’s a very difficult process. I have had horrible insomnia since I began the process this spring, often feeling despondent. Yes I have a therapist, friends to talk to and there are some definite possibilities on the horizon. But it’s not happening easily or rapidly.
I was only 11 when I lost my dad…so I can sort of relate.
When I finally got out of the Purgatory known as high school (it was hell except for the Alternative School program I was in that I loved), it seems that most of my deepest relationships were with guys quite a bit older than me — somehow they could see through the walls I’d built around myself. One shattered my walls and left the rubble (long story there), but after I rebuilt the walls thicker and stronger than ever, the next guy came along and removed them brick by brick, leaving a gate of love and hope for others after him to take advantage of. (Geez, there’s a poem in there somewhere…)
It’s not easy to find the right relationship — it’s been said that love is like a bed of roses, but you’ve got to watch out for the pricks. 😉 Hang in there, kid… 🙂
Dear Cali Scribe . . .
this is poetry!!! wow !!!! what a story. how beautiful.
I thank you for sharing this.
Dear ‘soup . . .
I am curious, is the desire for true intimacy what you have denied or hidden from yourself, or is it something else?
I find the idea fascinating.
I do acknowledge as I wrote of the Rolling Stones song, often we do not allow us to want what we cannot imagine. However, I never fully considered this possibility in this frame.
You are stimulating my mind and that, I think is the best. I thank you for sharing.
Yes it is that desire and now I don’t understand why it was so hard to admit, probably because I considered it a weakness because of being preyed upon, and unattainable because I never had it for long. Also some envy of those who appeared to have attained it, even briefly.
Menopause has been a blessing because my unbridled and confusing sexual desire has been somewhat damped, enough to keep my head a bit clearer about what it is that I really do want.
I think the infatuation with charismatic but ultimately unavailable men has come about because with these individuals there’s always been some hint of what that intimacy could be contained within our relationship. Unfortunately that glimpse and their unavailability usually plunges me into a particularly painful despondency-I am afflicted with it right now in part because I wrote about it here and caused a flare-up. But it all seems to be part of this process I’m engaged in.
was left single at the age of 42, when my father died of a heart attack. She never married again — when one of us kids asked her about it later in life, her answer was, “At first it was because I couldn’t find anyone to measure up to your father…then later it was because I enjoyed my freedom so much I couldn’t see sharing it with some old man who was falling apart.” It seems that widows tend to be left out of many of these studies…and not all widows are of the blue-hair over 65 crowd, especially these days.
I’ve never really lived alone — I went from my mom’s home to an assortment of roommates, then back to my mom’s home when I ran into financial straits, then got married several years later. I’ve enjoyed my occasional times of aloneness (I’ve done some traveling on my own, and sometimes I book a room in a local suites motel if I have to do some intensive writing work), and at times I really covet Superman’s Fortress of Solitude (especially in the past several months as my spouse has been around pretty much 24/7). But I don’t know if I could make a habit of being alone; I’m the type that does need interaction with others, else I go slightly bonkers…
I’m fortunate to be in a marriage where I am allowed to be who I am — the spouse doesn’t expect me to be the perfect Suzy Homemaker, and I don’t expect him to be the Knight In Shining Armor. Our marriage is not exactly traditional (we knew we were definitely not parental material, for one thing), but it works for us…
Dear Cali Scribe . . .
excellent sharing!!
I love interaction and crave time with me. That is in large part what scares me!!! I love my own solitary company.
As for the matron’s, my father and I were just musing of this today. A friend of his, younger than I, thinks herself old. She believes she must dress in a particular manner.
My Mom and I always wondered why women do this. Neither of us ever changed our unique style as we aged. Why would we? We are the same childlike [curious, caring, sensitive, aware, loving of life] individuals [never childish] at any age.
Your writing is about a journey, a path, the happiness and the suffering is all part of it…the suffering could be decreased if the expectations didn’t exist..or perhaps I should say if on some level you weren’t responding to the pressures society places on us to marry and bear children.
I’m married for 40 years. Raised 3 daughters, two married one hasn’t. It’s worked not because there is anything special about me or my spouse. Luck is a big part of it. My friends, for whom it hasn’t worked are terrific. Those I know who flaunt their happiness and sentimentalize their long term marriages are usually bullshitters and a turn off to me.
Romantic love eludes me..I was lucky enough to have many experiences, before I married and a good shrink to help overcome an abusive, nightmare childhood.
Romantic moments are lovely, but hardly permanent, and no foundation for anything. When anyone says sex is always good I know that there is some level of delusion there. Sex like all human experiences is hardly ever the same twice. Good and bad sex is part of being alive….what a pity to just experience only one piece of the puzzle.
I too abhor weddings and neither mine, nor my daughters were the high point of anything.
However, there is one moment that stands out. I was 7 months pregnant with our first child, on the way to see my shrink, crossing the street I tripped and fell. I stumbled into his office bruised and bleeding and worried about the effect of the fall on the baby…I was hardly enthusiastic about being a mother and worried right up until her birth that I might not like her or the experience of “motherhood.”
The shrink looked at me and said “how does it feel to care more another than yourself.”
I’m not talking about the “self sacrifice” women tend to get caught up in, nor am I talking about ego.
What did come across to me was a kind of amazing strength and freedom that comes from putting self involvment aside for a moment and turning to something larger. In that moment it was a child.
But it can be anything. My oldest daughter, unmarried, is a professor, successful, charismatic and totally focused when she talks about her subject or her students.
I guess I responded because the women writing here are probably amazing women who may or may not marry, may or may not bear children, but once you all get to that point of enlarging the self and really leaving the silly pressures to be something you are not behind, a new source of energy will appear in your lives. Y’all deserve no less than this.
Writing and thinking about the stage of the path you are on is a beginning and good thing. Who knows where it will lead.
JD
Dear Amazing Grace . . .
In truth, I loathe romance and romantic notions. I always have. I have never trusted those that engage in what for me is foolishness.
Everyone that knows me will tell you, I am extremely sentimental. However, I do not have a romantic bone or impulse within me. I am likely not appreciative of such gesture for they can make me nervous.
I am extremely reality based. My Mom never read fairy tales to me. I read my first at twenty-one. Three stories, and I was nauseous. That is not my world, never was!
I do not believe in luck; I trust in Karma, strength, and wisdom.
Though my childhood was calm in comparison to most, through comments with those on other sites I realized that for me, my fear is what I have always avoided. Chaos, Drama, and trauma are not my preference.
My own history had little of this in comparison to that of others, though I like even less.
This Amazing Grace is powerful!!
I thank you very much.
Poem LXII from A Shropshire Lad, by English poet A.E. Housman (1896).
`TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, ’tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.’
Why, if ’tis dancing you would be,
There’s brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:
The mischief is that ’twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half-way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure,
I’d face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
‘Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul’s stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.
There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
–I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.