Still Single
At least once a year I check the same status box I’ve been checking my entire life: single. I check it every time tax season comes around, every time I apply for a mortgage or refinancing. Medical records, government ID. There are numerous statements of my marital status, or lack thereof.
In my 20s I never gave this a second thought. Of course I was unmarried. I was just starting out in life. There were so many things I wanted to do before settling down. I had school to finish, an exciting career to launch, places to travel and people to meet.
The nightmare of the “single” box began in my 30s. The early adult milestone list was starting to shrink. Finish school? Check. Go back to school and learn some practical skills? Also check. Launch an exciting career? Check. Meet new people and travel? Check plus, as this is becoming a legitimate lifestyle choice on its own.
I was running out of ways to postpone what I was supposed to want in life. And, as so many people reminded me, I was running out of time to move into the next box: married. I was told I shouldn’t wait to long or I wouldn’t be able to have babies. And the pool of interesting, available men just kept getting shallower with each passing year. Tick tock biological clock bull-shit.
The truth is, I’ve never been interested in marriage and kids. Sure, I played along with schoolgirl fantasies of wedding dresses, bridesmaid gowns and dream locations. But it was never anything I actually wanted to make happen.
Whenever I said out loud that marriage and kids wasn’t a priority, apparently it just invited people to try and “convert” me. They took it as an insult on their life choices and tried to convince me I would change my mind. It was easier to go along with this thought, shrug my shoulders and say “maybe”.
Family functions danced around the “how’s your dating life?” minefield throughout my 30’s. I never had an answer suitable for weddings, baby showers and Christmas dinner. Grandma really doesn’t want to hear about swiping right and one-night stands. And I really don’t want to tell her.
I still remember the one Christmas, an uncle pulled me aside and said, in hushed whispers, “you know, if you’re into women it’s ok, you can tell us.” I replied “I know it’s ok. I’m into men, I’m just not into marriage”. I think he’s still processing.
Over time I somehow trained family and friends to ask “what are you up to?” instead of “dating anyone?” If they asked about my love life, the would get a half-assed “nothing worth reporting”. But if they asked “what are you up to?” a full library of experiences opened up: “I got to meet Diane Keaton”, “I’m training for a marathon”, “I just got back from Morocco and spent a night in the Sahara Desert.” Eventually they learned what I knew all along, that stories of my single life are more interesting than they are tragic.
The miracle happened when I turned 40 and people stopped asking me about marriage and kids. I’m now at an age where fertility is not a guarantee and no one wants to open up an awkward conversation with a childless, middle-aged woman (of course the fertility conversations I was forced into in my 30s were painfully awkward for me, but whose keeping score on this).
Now it’s just understood that despite popular opinion, I did not change my mind about not wanting a family. And the only “person” who cares about my love life right now is the Canada Revenue Agency and my mortgage lender. “Yes I’m still single, no this down payment did not come from a gift or loan from a family member (ie my dad)”.
Every time I check the single box, especially when it relates to finance, I think of the generations of women who didn’t have these opportunities. Of the moments in history when home ownership, even access to credit, was denied to women. Institutions didn’t think women could handle such complicated things as money on their own and needed a male family member to co-sign. This is a reality for many women today.
I wish I lived in a world where women talked as openly about money and investing as they do dieting and dating. We’re getting there, but it’s the same slow learning curve in accepting that a single woman can live happily ever after on her own.
