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fake relationships are actually quite satisfying

I think I want fake relationships.

I mean, I don’t know. But every time I hear about a “real” relationship, teensy little shivers flee up and down my spine. A “real” mom? A “real” parent? A “real” love of my life?

No, thank you. If you need a “real” relationship, I’m likely not for you.

Real relationships are neat and tidy.

I think I rather like “messy relationships.” Real relationships have plenty of rules to make everything perfect. Which I’m not sure is a great plan. Although, for what it’s worth, I manage to have a decent sense of what the future holds. Even without bothering with a lot of rules or labels. Crazy, I know.

Real relationships have super terrifying emotional feelings.

Well, who doesn’t want to be terrified all the time? Sounds great.

Real relationships mean you are never lonely.

Ah, yes, my friends in real relationships with labels and societally approved contracts are never, ever lonely. Slapping a label on the relationship improves any relationship. Actually, that sounds pretty good. Maybe sign me up after all?

Or maybe not.

I don’t need a “real” relationship, because I’ve already got something better.

I value my relationships, regardless of their “validity.” My relationship with my unmarried partner. The children to whom I have no legal ties. The persons in my life that I share no labels with, but I do share my time and emotional burdens (as they share with me). My “just” friends that would do anything for me. But, yes, it’s true I don’t have a “real” relationship by certain standards.

It’s funny, but when I look around at “real” relationships that have imploded and caused insane amounts of heartache and pain, I’m not seeing much of an impulse to go that route. When a stranger, out of the blue, tells me that she’ll never get married again– what, again, is pushing me to take that path?

So, yes, I’m good with fake relationships. Or what many others would call fake relationships.

Because they seem pretty real to me.

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yes, it’s okay to be single

Okay, so I’m not exactly single.  But I do check the “Single” box on my taxes, as it’s accurate to my situation.  I’m not married, nor do I expect that to change anytime soon.  Some will agree that I’m single, as I am unmarried.  That I’m merely playing games until I find something “real.”  That isn’t my concern.

Even if I were entirely on my own and truly ‘single’ what of it?  It’s infuriating that society derides the single life.  Oh, Being Single is fine when you’re young and carefree, and haven’t settled down with the right person.  It’s even given a place of honor within the Love Story. The part where you date and explore.

But eventually being Single is equivocated to being left behind, eaten by wild Alsatians.

Single people can’t truly be happy. How silly for them to pretend to be luxuriating in freedom.  Everyone knows they’re secretly miserable and pining for a baby of their own (which accounts for the gleeful look from the single woman in the animated Storks movie when a random baby got dropped in her arms from the sky.  Dream.  Come. True.).

The condemned Single Person is the unattached, lonely individual that eats individually sized, frozen meals.  Every article on Being Single or Dating in the Modern World reminds you of this. Being single is a fridge filled with beer and dried out leftover pizza.  It’s never getting a bouquet of flowers at work (although my one romantic partner believes flowers represent death, so I’d just as soon not receive them from him).   It’s lying, wide eyed, at night, staring at the ceiling and clutching your Japanese body pillow.

Being Single isn’t a sentence; it’s a state of being– sometimes a choice.

It’s not pitiable to be single.  I miss it.  I miss that I could uproot my life and travel across the world on a dime (literally and figuratively; I was broke, but I still did it).  I can’t do that now– I have to consider my obligations.

Being Single represents freedom.  You can go anywhere you like, without any thought or consideration for anyone but yourself.  And, yes, you may one day be okay with giving up that bit of freedom, but why not enjoy it while it lasts?

I am not unhappy, but I wasn’t unhappy then, either (well, maybe a little, but not because I didn’t have my other half to “complete” me).  I miss that I don’t feel responsible for anyone but me, because it can be hard.  I don’t miss all of it.  I don’t miss waking up alone.  But I do miss some of it.

Don’t feel bad for being single, please.

If someone says they feel bad you spent Valentine’s Day alone, look at them with mild bewilderment, and say, “Oh, okay.”  Then carry on with your life choices.  Like it never occurred to you to feel bad for not having a spouse, anymore than you feel bad for not buying a pet gerbil.  Yeah, the gerbil-less life is pretty tough.

Because you will find someone.  Or you won’t.  Worry about your friends.  Worry about your family.  Worry about those who love you, and whom you love.  Or worry about yourself.  Whichever is best for you.  Because you are worth it.

I like to say I am still Solo, for what it’s worth.  I am my own person; I am Singular; a unique, and self contained person.  And I am happy.