Recently I was sitting across from a friend at lunch when she asked me if I was dating anyone. When I said no, her face contorted into a shape I had never seen, as if I had just told her I decided to grow a second head as a fashion statement. It was a mix of pity and awkwardness, sadness and horror. I, on the other hand, looked blankly back at her while stuffing another bite of my salad into my mouth. I had just returned from a few glorious weeks vacationing in Europe, work was going great and my friends and family were all doing well. By all accounts, there was no reason to feel sorry for me. My dining companion seemed to disagree.
Truth be told, I am used to these types of reactions when people find out I’m in my upper 30s and single. I understand that a good portion of the population think this is both a cause for concern and sadness. I just don’t feel that way. My mother would tell you I have never, not once, mentioned a long, white dress in my life. As a child, she dressed me as a bride for several years in a row for Halloween probably as both a subconscious wish and, to be honest, because she wasn’t one of those moms who was good with costumes. Regardless, even though I’m a child of two very happy, 49-years-married parents, a wedding never felt like a goal for me. If it happened, cool. If it didn’t, still cool. But as I’ve grown older it’s become readily apparent that the rest of the world doesn’t believe you when you tell them that.
What struck me at that recent lunch with my friend was this: No one ever asks me about how my career is going (great, thanks for asking). Or how my savings is accumulating (just fine, thank you). They don’t ask about my latest win at work or if I’ve achieved any personal or professional goals recently. Nope, what people ask me about is if or who I’m dating as if that is the only thing that matters, the only thing that could possibly lead to “real” happiness.
The Zoe Report.
Full story at Yahoo News.
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