I am 35. I am single. And I f*cking love it.
There I said it.
Let me explain. Recently I was welcomed into a new friendship group. These women are awesome. Smart, funny, intelligent, feisty and opinionated. I love them. But over cupcakes, talk eventually turned to pity talk and how hard it would be to be single and older than 30.
I sat quietly, hoping no one would notice that I was the only one in that very predicament. I was frozen. How could I tell these wonderful women that what they were being fed was utter crap and that I was actually remarkably happy.
Don’t be scared. This post, isn’t what you think.
It’s not a laundry list of why men are shit. I really love men. Or an homage to all the things you do, in that secret single time you have at home. It’s a guide to understanding that some of us are happy with our love life, just the way it is. So before you start to conjure those stereotypical images of women, daring enough to utter such a phrase. Let me tell you a little about myself.
I have a small, tight knit family. I have a Masters degree. I am one of the lucky few who can say, “I have done the very things I dreamed of doing when I was young”.
I have loads of friends. My parents are totally fine with my life choices – which is code for, I don’t have parents that are breathing down my neck to marry Mr Right. A rare luxury, I know.
When I was a teenager, I told everyone I knew, I loved being single. In response. I got those knowing looks “You’re young, that will change.” Part of me believed them.
In my twenties, I dated. There was love, there was heartbreak and there was lots of drama, but nothing seemed like forever. I was utterly content in a relationship and I was happy on my own.
And now I’m in my thirties, I am in a world of weddings. I noticed that when my relationship status was discussed, unless I had a frown on my face, and pretended to be sad about the lack of a plus one, the bride would shift nervously in my gaze, visibly questioning the choice she had just made in front of 100 plus people.