I’m single, and not looking to change that. Why should I?

I’m single, and not looking to change that. Why should I?

By Rachel Jansen

I can always sense the question coming. It’s preceded(priˈsēd) by a look of curiosity(ˌkyo͝orēˈäsitē), a thoughtful tilt(tilt) of the head: “How is it you’re single?”

The question used to make my body warm with flattery(ˈflatərē); it implied(imˈplīd) I was interesting enough, or conventionally(kənˈvenCHənl) attractive(əˈtraktiv) enough, or both, to deserve(dəˈzərv) a romantic partner. It implied that I didn’t belong to that category(ˈkatəˌgôrē): to the perpetually(pərˈpeCHo͞oəl) single, the lacking. The question meant I was an outlier(ˈoutˌlīər) in an equation(əˈkwāZHən) the asker thought they’d understood, and I was grateful to be considered anomalous(əˈnämələs). But not so long ago, the question started to make me uneasy, even a little irritated(ˈiriˌtātid). You tell me, I’d reply, and turn to another friend.

I’m 26 and have been single now for five years. And while I’ve had romantic interests during that time, a few electric(əˈlektrik) beginnings, all eventually(əˈven(t)SH(o͞o)əlē) petered(ˈpētər) out for the standard reasons: differing values, long distances, an imbalance(imˈbaləns) of interest. Of course I mourned(môrn) those almost-relationships but, once I moved on, I wasn’t particularly(pə(r)ˈtikyələrlē) bothered; I was completing my master’s degree and had enough friends that if I said “yes” to every invitation(ˌinviˈtāSHən) I would have been busy nearly every night of the week. Nights in were accompanied(əˈkəmp(ə)nē) by cinnamon(ˈsinəmən) tea and trashy(ˈtraSHē) reality TV. I wasn’t exactly what you’d refer to as lacking. Except, as society(səˈsīətē) would point out through the mouths of my well-intentioned friends, I didn’t have a partner.

The longer I stayed single, the more frequent the question (“How is it you’re still single?”) became, and the more hounding(hound) the asker. They were confused. They wanted to know why it hadn’t worked out for me yet. “Was I trying to find someone?” they’d ask. “Sometimes,” I’d reply, shrugging(SHrəg). Their pained(pānd) looks at my indifference made me wonder whether I should pity(ˈpitē) myself, too.

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