This day, the 15th, is one of my least favourite days of the year for private reasons. I fucking hate it. So, I got to thinking last night as I smoked a joint and continued to write, and this is the rambling ode I had about being single on Valentine’s day, and I dedicate it to all those who rolled out of bed alone today and didn’t feel badly about it.
Iām at home on Valentineās night. Thereās a Dr. Phil show on, about how to ālove smart.ā Itās a primetime special. Ever noticed how the matchmaker sites go onto full boil around this time of year? Notice the fix-up services advertising more these days? Itās like the world conspires to tell you youāre a loser if a) youāre single or b) your lover doesnāt spend enough on you or c) your lover doesnāt put out.
Iām reveling in my singleness this evening. I made garlic bread. With extra garlic. And spaghetti with meat sauce, something the wise would never eat in front of a date. Iām wearing my cut-off shorts and a fleecy sweater. Iām having an awesome night of relaxing, writing, cooking, watching a little telly, and reading. And deep down inside thereās this niggling of āBut they think you need a boyfriend. Do ya, honey?ā
I know I had a moment of weakness last week, thatās what I do know. I seized a moment with someone and let things go further than they should have, but for that night, regardless of what the future did or didnāt hold, companionship sounded like a good idea. There are people you know you can trust, even if you canāt imagine really being with them for the long haul. And there are weak moments.
Ultimately, though, I do love being single. I admit, I am alone. Iām not lonely, though. Not usually. (Weakness, it happens.) And I resent Valentineās Day (and the media and society) for seeming to think my lack of desire for a real, true relationship is anything less than healthy. I want a relationship, but I want the right relationship. Anything less than simpatico is just not worth my time, grief, or efforts. The right man, he gets it all. Iāll drop anything for the right guy, you know. Iām just a diehard romantic. But I scrutinize with the best of them, and I just want the right combination.
Otherwise, Iāll keep my Sundays for reading the paper in my boxers and a t-shirt. Iāll get up when I want, sleep where I want, eat what I want, and do what I want. I wonāt have to check to see if āour scheduleā is clear, I wonāt have to worry about any of that. Like I say, when itās right, itās worth it, but when itās not absolutely right, itās infringing on my space.
That makes me very male in some ways, I think. Iām not sure why more men feel that way than women, but perhaps it comes down to how comfortable they are alone. Itās interesting, Iāve seen an increase in the media, people bringing up something Iāve long believed: One of the worst things you can say to a lover is what they said in Jerry Maguire, āYou complete me.ā
If you cannot be complete on your own, you are not a whole person. If you do not have a sense of self, you have nothing. If you cannot love yourself, who else can? These are clichĆ©s, and for good reason. Theyāre as true as they can be.
If you donāt know yourself when you fall in love with someone, youāre going to have the very, very rude experience of cluing the fuck in to who you are somewhere down the line, and that person youāve committed yourself to is going to find out that they no longer fit the bill. Who you love must complement who you are, not complete it. Weāre foolish when it comes to love, we put the cart before the horse.
I long ago discovered that my āfuctedness,ā as one pal would say, needed solitude. Every time I got into a relationship, I lost more and more of who I was. I became this person who needed to have that approval from āthemā in order to have that sense of self. Now, I couldnāt care less. I know that the right people, the ones I want around me, they dig me. The ones who donāt dig me, donāt get me, and wonāt have me, and thatās just fine. Donāt fight it, man. Go with the flow.
But when you really learn to dig yourself, you donāt need anyone anymore. You see people for what they are: Icing on a fuckinā fab cake, baby.
See, the difference between those of us who enjoy being single and those who do not is pretty simple. Those of us who enjoy it, weāre optimistic about love. We figure, hey, if the timeās ever right, if the cosmos ever aligns, then maybe weāll come out of that with something/one we just canāt get enough of. Until then, weāre alone, and weāre going to enjoy it, ācos when that love comes, aloneness goes. And itās more than aloneness. Itās solitude, quietude. There are some things you will never, ever experience if you donāt command your time alone. Some of the most profound experiences of my life have come to me in moments spent completely isolated from the world.
I moved to the Yukon for one year when I was 21, and it was a profound experience all the way around. Before then, I was a popular gal and always had plans, always was out. I moved there and discovered the true art of being alone and loving it, and it changed my life. I remember a night right around summer solstice. It was daylight then from three in the morning until two in the morning, just an hour of dusk in betweenā¦ fucking sublime. Sigh. You could sit and watch the sunset followed by the sunrise in the time it took to slowly nurse a single beer. I was having one of these profound days ā a day in between nights at the bar, preceding a long weekend away, where we’d be camping at the foot of Mount McKinley and Mount Logan, the continentās highest peaks. I remember thinking, āIāve got it pretty fucking good. This will be one of the best times in my life, and I will never, ever forget these experiences. But tonight I got to slow it down and keep it all to me.ā
I packed up a few thingsā¦ a joint, a couple of beers, some Robert Service poetry, and a sweater. I drove the car out of the city (of 15,000) into the nearby country, Milesā Canyon, the Yukonās mini version of the Grand, through which the Yukon river carved a wide and tumultuous path. I did a hike out to the edge of the canyon and found an isolated spot above the river where I sat leaning against an alpine fir and facing northward, where I could see the sun dead ahead, just slightly left of the magnetic north. It was midnight and the sunset wasnāt far off. The mountains lay before me to the north (and to the south and east and west) and the land was all reds and browns and greens and yellows with this beautiful deep blue sky. The light, as that incredible northern light is, was absolutely preternatural. Thereās something angelic and sweet about the late eveningg summerās light up there that bathes the world in buttery goodness. I did what I often do, I just sat there and watched how the light changed and shadows shifted on the landscape. Thereās something profound about sitting there literally watching time pass by.
So all I did was sit there, consider my life, my place, the potential in my future, who I was and who I would become. To this day, that moment stands in my top twenty, if not my top ten, in my life experiences ā and still, stacked up against international trips, true rites of passage, it holds its own, my friends. I was with no one. Nothing really happened. It was quietude in its finest. Not a human voice. Not a plane. Not a vehicle. Nothing electronic. No wires. Nothing. Just me, the gods, and the earth. And it was fucking incredible.
And when youāre afraid of aloneness, you miss out on moments like that. Moments when you sit around and connect with nature on your own time. A guy once said to me, Cities are built for distraction. Meaning, theyāre there to help us forget all the things we wish for, that weāll never have. So too are the wrong relationships, Valentineās day be damned.
When you spend more time alone, when you get really honest with yourself about what you ought to be valuing, you gain this inner contentment about what it is youāve got, and you often develop clarity about what it is you need, and how to attain it. These are things, qualities, that many of my fellow (wo)men need to find.
I wouldnāt say that being single leaves me in a state of nirvana, but Iām in a place that I really dig, and itās because Iāve come to feel that Iād rather be alone than in a relationship where Iām not fullyā¦ I donāt know, what, plugged in? Iām charged, heās charged, itās all good? I mean, Iām damned good company, most times, so Iād really have to value a guy to keep him around, is what Iām saying. Lifeās just too fucking short.
So, yeah, Valentineās day. I digressed a lot there. Loveās hard enough without cheapening it with commercialism. If you want romance, celebrate it always. If you want love, keep it year round, not because a calendar tells you itās that time again. And love aināt about what you can buy, people. These expensive giftsā¦ really. When did generosity become about the almighty dollar? When did it stop being a thing of spirit, of gesture? I just honestly find that buying into this Valentineās day bullshit really helps to make people forget what relationships ought to be about. The little things: The qualities shared, the words said, the actions done. Not the things bought. Not the fancy places we go.
But the very best thing about being a content, whole person in the search of love, is that when you find someone who really does deserve a shot at fitting that bill, itās so incredibly rewarding to just drink them in. Theyāre not fulfilling you, theyāre just nurturing all that is good about you. Then, it feels like a gift, like something you should cherish. Something you want to cherish. Not a job, not an obligation. And isnāt that how things ought to be?