On Spinsterhood - and Embracing the "Stigma"

Oh, boy. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/36007620/ns/health-behavior/

I'm turning 40 in 14 months. While it may seem far away, 14 months really isn't a long time. Fourteen months ago I was preparing to start the last semester of my undergrad at Buff State, and getting ready for my senior thesis exhibition. Fourteen months prior to that I was meeting Henry Rollins and saying goodbye to my dog. Fourteen months before that, I was enjoying my first summer vacation after starting back to school. And 14 months before that, I was gearing up to quit my job to go back to school. It flies by, people. And considering it was 10 years ago that I was flipping out a little about turning 30...yeah. Here I am.

When I was in my 20's I thought I had plenty of time to figure things out. I remember being worried when my long-term relationship ended at 25 that I would end up a "spinster." But my attempts at dating right after that were not really successful. I needed more time. It took close to a year and a half before I even gave it any kind of real effort, and I suddenly discovered what a fucking production it was. Dating, for those of you who might not know or remember, is a hassle of insane proportions. Everyone kept saying, "you have to get through a couple of bad apples before you find the good one" or some such ridiculous cliche. So date a few bad ones I did, and in between I would swear off men for a while, get my act back together, and then put myself out there again.

So, I remember thinking that turning 30 and not being married was a small issue, but not the end of the world, since I hadn't really ever planned on having kids before my 30's anyhow. Then it started occurring to me that maybe I didn't really want kids anyway. I wasn't adamantly "anti-kid," I was really just kind of on the fence about it. I figured if I met someone with whom I'd like to raise a family, then I'd give it a try, but it's not like my biological clock was ticking. It was more an "if it's meant to happen, it'll happen" kind of thing. I liked the romantic aspect of creating a new life with someone you love, but I wasn't all that sure I'd be a good parent (considering my role models and genetics, I had every right to be concerned). Not to mention the idea of childbirth made me a little squeamish.

I never imagined, however, that I'd be still single at 40. Child-free, sure. I'd sort of figured on that. But still single? Could it be I'm destined for...spinsterhood?

It's not the same as my other single friends who are single because they've gotten divorced (or in one tragic case, widowed). My divorced friends can't get it, no matter how much they might try and relate. My coupled friends can't understand, no matter how much they might relate their lack of a ring to my lack of a partner. It's really not the same.

Am I complaining? Maybe, a little. There are some days that I would like to have at a steady partner. There are times I think about taking a trip and wishing I could have a ready-made travel companion. There are some times that I look at my married friends and envy some of what they have.

But then I realize that I've been single for, well, 40 years. I've not been in a committed relationship for over five years. Eight, if you don't count James. And I'm quite set in my ways. I like things a certain way, I cherish my freedom, and I covet my privacy. I rather enjoy being able to do what I want, when I want to do it, and with whomever I choose to do it. And maybe, just maybe, I'm meant to be one of those women who really is meant to just go it alone.

It doesn't bother me, other than...well, stuff like the really morbid conversation with my mother about how I've been shopping for a mausoleum niche for my ashes. See, when I die, there's no one to take care of business. No husband, no kids, no next of kin other than my mother and my sister. If they're no longer around, then it falls on my nieces. And it's not exactly the kind of thing you can say to your friends, "Hey...who wants to be in charge of my dead body when I croak?" Not that I'm anticipating dying any time soon, but you never know. This is the kind of stuff I think about when I "worry" about being a spinster. Not that I'll never know the joy of putting on a fluffy white gown and walking down an aisle, not that I'll never know the bliss of birthing and raising a child, but that I might end up an Eleanor Rigby, or one of those unfortunate crazy old ladies who dies in her sleep and is found after the neighbors complain of the smell.

Okay, okay. I'll stop. My point is that I'm going to embrace Spinsterhood and enjoy it for all its wonderful properties - the freedom, the independence, the drama-free living, the privacy, the bathroom that's open whenever I need it, and all that room in my queen-sized bed. I can eat dinner at 11:00 at night and I can eat ice cream for breakfast. I can stay out until 3:00 a.m. and sleep until noon. I answer to no one, and do my own thing. My life is all mine, and it's all fabulous. And it'd take one hell of a really special dude to get me to give it all up.