A conversation with a stranger helped me see that many of my best experiences happened while solo.
The Wall Street Journal
By Nicola Slawson
Dec. 14, 2024 | 604 words | ★★★☆☆
“I’m going to be single for the rest of my life,” I wailed at my coupled up and happily married friends on a rare weekend we had all managed to get together. I was in my mid-30s and hadn’t been in a relationship for nearly five years.
One of these friends was about to move in with her boyfriend, which prompted an hour-long discussion about the pros and cons of living with a man. I had no experience to share, no insight to add, so I kept quiet. I felt like a child, a grown-up child, surrounded by proper adults. I felt so far behind them all.
When I first got out from a relationship, it was a conscious choice. I’d just been through back-to-back heartbreaks, which left me craving the time and space to heal and work out why I kept choosing the wrong guy.
But somewhere along the way my temporary break from dating became more permanent. The years rolled on, along with the milestones my friends kept hitting: moving in, getting engaged, buying a dog, trading vows, welcoming kids. I had this nagging feeling that I was still waiting for my life to start. I felt like a failure.
In search of peace and a solo trip, as my friends all had travel plans with their partners, I went on a yoga retreat. In a conversation with an older woman there, I found myself sharing that I’d been single for years—something I rarely admitted to anyone at the time. This woman wanted to know if I had any advice for her daughter, who was in her 20s and struggling with being single. I faltered at first. At nearly 35, I felt I couldn’t be more single if I tried. What could anyone want to learn from me?
But as I began to talk, I realized that some of the best times in my life had happened while I was single. I’d changed careers, moved countries, won scholarships, earned a master’s degree, traveled widely and had a lot of fun.
As I rattled off my experiences, I knew I would never choose to take these years away. I also knew that though I sometimes moaned about being single, I wasn’t constantly scrolling through dating apps to try to change things. If I really didn’t want to be single, wouldn’t I be making every effort to do something about it?
This conversation shifted something inside me. Instead of feeling down about being single, I felt sad about the social and cultural messages I’d received that had made me feel like something was wrong with me for not being in a relationship. I had a good life, and I’d experienced so much joy. So why did I feel ashamed about having done it all on my own?
I began to embrace my single life, which actually made me feel less alone. I made more single friends and found that I was hardly unique in feeling exhausted by dating and ambivalent about finding someone. I spoke more openly about what felt hard, about feeling left behind by my coupled friends. I got braver in my choices, with less concern about whether they made me seem more or less likable to men. I took myself out to bars and restaurants on my own. I found I liked it.
This doesn’t mean I don’t want to share a romantic life with someone. I do. But this desire feels less desperate, more mindful. Perhaps I’ll meet a man who feels worth the compromises of companionship. I hope so. In the meantime, my days feel pretty full. ■
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