30, Unmarried

No matter the age, people will always be pelted with "What's Next?" questions. As a species, we're obsessed with the future more than the present. People seem especially concerned when it comes to females pushing 30.

Maybe it's some archaic worry about women being the "weaker sex" and not being able to make it on their own. Or it's a genuine concern about needing breeders to carry on the genetic code. Or people just get nervous about independent women in general. Whatever it is, at around age 18 the questions begin... "When are you going to find a nice man and settle down?"*
(Disclaimer: I realize that men also get pestered. But it's usually much later, and without an air of concern. Unmarried men are just "bachelors" and it usually has more of a playboy connotation, instead of a reference to cat hoarding problem.)

Going through the twenties, these questions get more persistent. More urgent. As if the longer one goes without a spouse and/or baby, the more dangerous they are; like an unmarried woman is a ticking time bomb (IT'S PROBABLY YOUR BIOLOGICAL CLOCK - don't get me started). Eventually, your either single or paired up but unmarried. You get bucketed into the "spinster" category (because one is destined to be alone forever if they've not found the "right one" by age 30??) or get pegged as "being afraid of commitment" or "unable to lock it down." And that's when my soapbox gets pulled out.

Happily, almost four years ago now, I snagged a beau. Due to the longevity of our relationship and our general happiness, I've spent the last four years being plopped into the second aforementioned bucket. The concern over my blingless finger and empty womb from all manner of friend, family, and stranger, is alarming at best. The questions have increased exponentially over the years, to the point where I'm being asked almost daily about my marital status (or lack thereof).

Please, tell me more about your opinions on my love life.

So, since the questions are so frequent, I figured it was overdue to lay out some answers to that number one question I get asked: Why aren't you married yet?
(Disclaimer: approaching this as a heterosexual cis female, but that's not to say the lovely lesbian ladies and my trans sisters don't get the same type of shitty comments! Cheers, gals, we're all in this annoying boat together! In fact, y'all probably have it worse because you also have to elaborate on your identity as well. Double the fun.)

1. Did I miss a memo? Is there some sort of time limit I wasn't aware of? What is this, The Lobster? The "yet" always seems to indicate that I've somehow missed the boat off of bachelorette island. Or that I've done something wrong in not following a specific schedule. Eff that noise. As a couple, we're a "we," not a "you," and we'll make our own damn timeline, thankyaverymuch.
2. Because marriage isn't just a box to check. I'm not going to just get married because of some old-fashioned notion of success. Five years ago, I proudly vehement that marriage just wasn't in the cards. Now, sure, it's on the radar, but sorry, it's still not on my 'bucket list.' Marriage isn't required for happiness, in my book.
3. I hadn't found a man worth marrying. No offense to some of the nicer fellas I dated over the years. You were all lovely for various reasons, but we weren't right for each other. Among the nice guys and straight up dudders, I hadn't found one who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Because I intend to live to a ripe old age, and most of you I'd have torn apart eventually, or you'd have driven me crazy. 
4. Forever is a long fucking time. Yeah, wedlock has always kind of terrified me. You're making a "lifelong commitment" to another human. A human of your choosing, too, so if you end up miserable it's kind of your own fault. That's a lot of pressure. Why would anyone want to rush that kind of decision? (Not to mention that planning a wedding in itself is an emotional and financial stressor.)
5. It wasn't a priority. Education, adventure, career, social life: those topped my priority list over the past decade. I was more focused on those than on getting my M-R-S. If Mr. Right showed up in the process of all that, it was an added bonus, but I wasn't out searching for him. Not all women are on some holy grail quest for marriage and babies (noble, as it is).
6. Get your shit together. I'm a big proponent of "love yourself or else how can you love someone else." And to be honest, I had quite a few bumpy years of anxiety and self-esteem issues that needed to be worked through before I could go open-armed to the world of men and say "Come at me, boys!" in any serious context. That also meant getting a grip on being an adult. If you don't act like a grown-ass-woman, how are you supposed to nail down a grown-ass-man? That meant tackling my debt, being self-sufficient, and making sure I could support myself overall before inviting in someone else. (Also, I couldn't even keep a plant alive, so how did that bode well for motherhood??)
7. It takes time. As a skittish, fiercely independent lady, I need to poke holes and figure out flaws. If I find red flags, I'm calling it. Life is short and I'm not going to waste effort dinking around. Finding a man, exposing his faults / deal-breakers, rejecting said man, and starting the cycle all over again - it just takes time.** 
8. Divorce sucks. I'm not about to jump into a commitment that isn't "easy" to get out of (see "skittish, fiercely independent" reference above). Divorce is messy and miserable and expensive. As a child of divorce, who has also witnessed several friends already go through the process, that's not really a path I feel like going down... ever. So again, not rushing down the aisle without putting in a lot of thought first. I'm all about building a good base (for drinking, relations, etc.).
9. Definition and gender role overload. Can't a gal just define herself for a bit? Does she have to be defined by her relationship to a man? Whoever I marry, they'll be the kind of man who accepts that I won't be defined only as "wife" or "mother." I can't be reduced to one or two elements. My twenties were all about establishing my actual identity, so it doesn't immediately get overwritten by a new title. That's how women lose themselves and wake up 18 years later, with a kid starting college, suddenly not knowing who they are as a person. And that is scary as hell. 

In a few short months, I'll officially have the ominous status of "30, Unmarried" - and I won't feel even the slightest bit bad about it. I'm entirely happy with the decisions I've made (good and bad) about my relationships with others and with myself. It hasn't always been rosy, there have been a few really low lows, but it always buoys back up again.

Maybe you're at the point like me, where marriage finally doesn't seem too horrifying, because you've got someone swell by your side. Or maybe you're reading the list above while sitting pants-less in your apartment, drinking a glass of wine, and thinking, "Preach, sister!" and a wedding just isn't on your to-do list. Or maybe you're somewhere else entirely. No matter what your relationship status, just remember that you get to define who you are, not someone else. So, kudos to all the happily married and engaged couples out there. Shout out to the singletons who are crushin' it at life just the same. And to those unmarried lovebirds, like me, you keep fucking chirping. Tweet tweet, mother fuckers. We're going to make it after all.

Can you?

* There are obviously several things wrong with this question. A) Nice man? Let's not discard the ladies as an option. B) Who says that just because one couples up, one has to settle down? C) WTFuck does settle down even mean? And why does one need a mate to do so? D) When I'm good and ready? Never? Are those optional answers? ... I have several questions about this question. 
** For those wondering about the beau... I've spent four years grilling this poor man, and trying to figure out what will drive him away, but here he is. Solid as a rock. I was happy to take the time to figure out what is or isn't right about us, together. Better to expose any deal-breakers now rather than later. That's why we also wanted to live together for awhile, to see that we were on the same page about running a household, finances, etc. And if we could like, not kill each other in the process. 

What's in a weekend?

Hello, friends. It's been awhile. With several dozen half finished posts lurking in the depths of the interwebs, and a lack of inspiration to wrap that shit up, I figured I'd just pop up a little highlight reel of this past weekend for ya. (I know, it feels like a cheat to me too, but I just miss y'all, and don't want you to think I've died somewhere.)

Mercifully, the winter months are fairly unscheduled and not crazy packed. This is my hibernation period to prep for my psychotic social butterflying of the warm months. So, what does a lazy winter weekend look like? 

Friday

Another day of crushing it in the office. And by crushing it, I mean, I hadn't gone grocery shopping in a week (we're trying to eat down our freezer) and refused to let myself go out for lunch (#walrus) so ended up eating the handful of Cocoa Puffs I found in my drawer, and almost an entire bag of jelly beans. Beyond food choices, it was end of quarter prep and frantic Friday scurrying to hit month end budgets. You know, the exciting life of a digital product manager. 

Post work, dashed home and tried on approximately thirty outfits while the beau gave helpful feedback like "You look pretty" and "Your butt looks nice." And off we went to his mom's boyfriend's retirement party. Luckily, at his mom's retirement shindig, I'd insisted on making friends with all the fabulous female lawyers, so while the beau was getting showed off by his ma, I had some boss ladies to wine and dine with. 

As the evening progressed, I also decided to join up for the March for Our Lives the next day. Upon returning home, I went to the closet with my rally poster tagboard, markers, and stencils. And I sighed a great sigh that protests are so commonplace. And then I got to work.

Retirement celebrations and getting out the soapbox.

Saturday

Since the beau was working, I rose with the sun and went to mall walk with my sister. Yes, we're basically 95 years old, and no, I don't care. After getting in five miles and a shit ton of chitchat, I sped my way back downtown and straight to the march. I intercepted the beau's ma and her friend and we worked our way to the starting point. There, we heard empowered young voices, eloquently demanding change. It was inspiring and terribly sad. I hope that by the time I have children, they won't have to be the protesters of tomorrow. I hope the world will quit sucking by then... I've always been a bit of an optimist.

So, per usual, if there's something to be angry about, and a chance to throw my voice into the hurling masses, count me in. I have opinions and love a peaceful protest. Thus, we marched. And just as we were about to hit the end of the march route, I gave some hugs and made a mad dash back to my car. I was already running late for brunch.

Brunch was a fabulous birthday celebration with some more powerhouse women in my life. Many cocktails, much merriment. Several incidents of flying potatoes and random egg sputtering about. Laughs were had by all. By the time one o'clock rolled around, I had already put on seven miles and my heart had grown three sizes (much like the Grinch, only, like, it had started out pretty full already). 

With a few hours before the beau's return, I quickly finished up rewatching West World. (Since I really don't watch TV unless we're both watching something, and he hates rewatching things, it takes weeks for me to wrap things up, so this had been a month-long undertaking.) When he got home, it was long run day (as he preps for his next half marathon, leading up to the NYC Marathon this fall), so I cleaned, worked out, and cooked up dinner. We watched an episode of The Office while we ate (working our way slowly through the series, which I've never seen) and I retired early to go read my book for book club. (You'll Grow Out of It by Jessi Klein - aka my inner monologue published under someone else's name.) 

Gun control, portion control, all the things. 

Sunday

Since I can't really sleep in anymore (thanks, daily 7am meetings for work), the day started with laundry at dawn. While waiting, I prepped tablescapes for Passover Seder, wrote a few letters, read, and updated our trip itinerary doc. Trip prep has been a big theme lately, even though we're a couple months out. We've got flights, hotels, and rental cars booked. I've got Copenhagen pretty well laid out, and a long list of stops for the Faroe Islands, now we just need to plot the best plan to see everything efficiently. 

After the beau was up and laundry was folded, we walked to a nearby microbrewery and grabbed breakfast burgers. It's member appreciation month for the Film Club we're in, so we snagged a discount, which was nice. Then it was on to grocery shopping, and a venture out to the suburbs for hiking boot shopping (again, trip prep). As the afternoon approached, I settled in for a nap and the beau hit up the streets for another run. 

I awoke sweaty and hangry, a deadly combo. The radiators had been blasting us all day, and with my stomach in revolt, I viciously chomped the heads off of animal crackers for an hour, while watching a documentary about amphetamines and America's ongoing prescription drug problem. (You know, something light.) Then it was back to the to-do list and exercise, while the beau tapped into the latest Jessica Jones. 

Reading by the morning light; burgers for life. 

And here I am, writing up this blog post as the weekend comes to a close. A nice chill weekend, with a fair amount of productivity, and I'm happy as a clam. Usually by this point in the winter, I'm a total mess of anxiety, and am borderline depressed, scratching at the walls to be free and living my best summer-social-life. But, oddly enough, right now, I'm just plain content. A little hanger, and some crankiness from time to time, sure. All in all though, the weather is decent, my taxes are done (with limited struggle), we have a vacation looming, and really, spring is almost sprung. So, cheers to only a few more weeks of chill weekends. Summer scramble, we're fucking coming for ya! *game face, on!*

No, thank you.

Time to let you in on a little pet peeve: I hate it when people try to change my mind about something. 

Sure, if I'm being unreasonable, or am not understanding the bigger picture, explain away. Tell my why I'm wrong, or making an incomplete decision. Give me a logical explanation and let's move forward. Happy to be enlightened. Wonderful. 

But when it comes to an ordinary decision, with no right or wrong answer, then just calm down and don't make an argument where there doesn't need to be one. More than anything, this bothers me in the service industry. If I'm being indecisive or have questions, then yes, I most definitely want feedback and help decision making. Else, nope. Don't push your agenda on me.

A case study....

Walk into a bar with friends. Everyone is still perusing the beer menu. Bartender asks what we want. Since no one else is ready, I step up and say, completely clear and confident, "Brand old fashioned, sweet. Thanks." 

Bartender smiles, "Did you want just a regular one or our version?"

I repeat, "Regular. Just a regular brandy old fashioned, sweet. Thanks."

She continues, "Oh well have you ever had ours before? It's really good."

Strained smile, "I'm sure it is. But no thanks. Just a regular one."

Undeterred, "Trust me on this, it's great though...."

Knowing that it's her job to upsell, and that "their version" is probably ten bucks instead of six, I politely say, "Okay, what's in your version that makes it special? Explain it. Sell it to me." This is something I often say to people who are too pushy with their wares: sell it to me. If you're a great salesperson, and your pitch is solid, I'll often buy it just out of respect for the trade. I know that being salesy in a genuine way is tough. I let them do their best. 

My offer in this case though was disingenuous. I knew what I wanted and I didn't care what she had to say, I just was looking for something to punch a hole in. She jumped on it and started explaining. Some local brandy, something fancy about the bitters, and (since their specialty is beer) a raspberry beer of some sort. I cut her off, "Oh yeah, yep, I'm sure people love that. I don't drink beer though, so... That's right out. Just a regular brandy old fashioned, please. Sweet." And I turn to see if the beau had selected his beer. 

Brandy. Sweet. Not asking for your first born.

Bartender laughs, "Well I mean, you won't hardly know it's a beer. It's more like a splash of raspberry liquor in it kind of." My eyebrows disappeared up into my hairline (Elrond style), and my clearly inauthentic smile was plastered on. She continued, "Listen, I'll make it for you, and if you don't like it, I'll make you a different one."

At this point, the friends have selected their beers, and are waiting to order, and I'm so internally pissed about being forced into this decision that all I say is, "Fine." Then, to be polite, I excused myself to the restroom while the others ordered, so I wouldn't literally bore a hole through her head with my rage eyes. In the bathroom, I quietly bitched to my friend. It sounded so irrational that I was mad about something so silly, so I just got over it and we went to go sit.

She brings the drink to our table and says, "Let me know what you think." 

Forcing my smile once more, I say, "I'm sure it's lovely. Thanks." And she proceeds to stand there. Waiting for me to drink it. I stared into the glass, thinking maybe I should just like, spaz out and spill it everywhere/drop it. I looked at the hazy ripple of raspberry beer, discoloring my desired drink, tainting it. I chanted a little mantra of "not my drink" in my mind, and took a sip. "That's fine, thanks." 

Bartender proceeds to tell my friends that they'll have to tell her later what I really think. Ha, ha ha. All the chuckles. 

Hours later, one of my friends says, "So, did you like that drink?" 

My internal response: "I fucking hated it."

My actual response, something like: "It wasn't what I wanted." 

It's a little sad, that for some things my breaking point is so far past the line it should be. I can have infinite patience and never snap. Then, for something little like this, I get all bothered. Really, this was probably just a manifestation of my own worries. Feeling like I don't have control and am not certain how to get what I want out of life. Sometimes, you tell life what you want, and it comes back and says, "Why not this instead?" And you look at what it's offering and it's not your pick. You have to decide if you just accept it, or stand up for yourself. You don't have to be rude. But maybe a firm "no, thank you" will suffice...

Yes. Thank you. I'll have what I ordered.
I am a woman of my own mind, thankyaverymuch.