Woooooooords
I was thinking today about what it means to call oneself "single." It's never really made sense to me, yet I watch as my friends do it and sometimes try to apply the label to me as well. Why define yourself by something you presently lack? And even if your goal is whatever type of partnership, why... I don't know, why? I have two associations with the word - the aggressive "gonna have a good time, just watch me na na na" attitude whose primary form of defense against the onslaught of coupled culture seems to be lamenting its various pitfalls, and the "am I going to die alone" self-pity fest. I am sure there are other places in between these two extremes, but I guess I don't tend to see them so much (or maybe I'm not looking?) in people who use the word.
Though I suppose my real beef with it, these (admittedly baggage-filled) associations aside, is that it assumes that coupled-ness is or ought to be my default (or desired) state. I've spent most of my life "single," yet not having ever really thought of myself as that, I think I really need a word to describe how odd the state of being coupled is or would be for me. It's kind of like when people ask me if I am interested or how interested I am in trying to publish things I've written (in whatever form), when not doing so is what feels most natural to me. Yes, there are things to be gained from stepping outside this comfort zone, especially if one recognizes the (often not properly acknowledged, IMHO) process of negotiation and give-and-take (I want to say "power struggle," but that sounds too harsh) - my freedom of movement and autonomy being up for grabs in terms of couplehood (I realize this is an assumption filled with baggage) and, with writing, my unsullied (if often complex and halting) relations with my characters and the glorious release I feel when I don't have to tell anybody what they "mean."
Also, "single" seems to imply a degree of abjectness to which I object. By which I mean, I am presently in a culture in which my opportunities for dating or relationshipping are slim to none; yet this is the result of a very clear bargain I made with myself when I moved here. I am not exactly noncoupled by choice, but neither have I had it entirely imposed on me; rather, it's a result of where I am in my life now and the social forces surrounding me, which exist as a result of decisions I have made as well as circumstances beyond my control. "Single" seems to me to be trying to take one's dating or relationship status by the reins and demand that it move in a certain direction, and then lamenting when the beast insists on meandering - not even charging, as a decent non-married creature ought! - in the opposite direction, or no direction at all.
I realize this is fraught, and I'm using lots of words. I've often thought that maybe I was made to be in a relationship with my words, anyway. But I also know that there are people out there who love me for this - albeit non-romantically - and don't see any reason why I shouldn't be able to find this in a partner as well. Perhaps.
The beast saunters, as it does. Sometimes it helps me carry my baggage, and sometimes it demands I take it out and air it, as I do here. But it never tries to throw me off. And it never demands that I stop thinking about these things, or laying them out in a way that is understandable to me and that makes me able to make good bargains with myself, and keep them too.
And it's not an accident that it's related to my writing, and that I am "publishing" it here. The beast knows that, too. Do I sound fatalistic? Oh well. At least I'm not afraid of dying alone.
Though I suppose my real beef with it, these (admittedly baggage-filled) associations aside, is that it assumes that coupled-ness is or ought to be my default (or desired) state. I've spent most of my life "single," yet not having ever really thought of myself as that, I think I really need a word to describe how odd the state of being coupled is or would be for me. It's kind of like when people ask me if I am interested or how interested I am in trying to publish things I've written (in whatever form), when not doing so is what feels most natural to me. Yes, there are things to be gained from stepping outside this comfort zone, especially if one recognizes the (often not properly acknowledged, IMHO) process of negotiation and give-and-take (I want to say "power struggle," but that sounds too harsh) - my freedom of movement and autonomy being up for grabs in terms of couplehood (I realize this is an assumption filled with baggage) and, with writing, my unsullied (if often complex and halting) relations with my characters and the glorious release I feel when I don't have to tell anybody what they "mean."
Also, "single" seems to imply a degree of abjectness to which I object. By which I mean, I am presently in a culture in which my opportunities for dating or relationshipping are slim to none; yet this is the result of a very clear bargain I made with myself when I moved here. I am not exactly noncoupled by choice, but neither have I had it entirely imposed on me; rather, it's a result of where I am in my life now and the social forces surrounding me, which exist as a result of decisions I have made as well as circumstances beyond my control. "Single" seems to me to be trying to take one's dating or relationship status by the reins and demand that it move in a certain direction, and then lamenting when the beast insists on meandering - not even charging, as a decent non-married creature ought! - in the opposite direction, or no direction at all.
I realize this is fraught, and I'm using lots of words. I've often thought that maybe I was made to be in a relationship with my words, anyway. But I also know that there are people out there who love me for this - albeit non-romantically - and don't see any reason why I shouldn't be able to find this in a partner as well. Perhaps.
The beast saunters, as it does. Sometimes it helps me carry my baggage, and sometimes it demands I take it out and air it, as I do here. But it never tries to throw me off. And it never demands that I stop thinking about these things, or laying them out in a way that is understandable to me and that makes me able to make good bargains with myself, and keep them too.
And it's not an accident that it's related to my writing, and that I am "publishing" it here. The beast knows that, too. Do I sound fatalistic? Oh well. At least I'm not afraid of dying alone.