“You’ll be alone forever.”
I received that declaration in an email yesterday. My first reaction: And I’m better off alone, by myself. A fortress of solitude, in the ice, forever. A lone, lonely, loner.
After I considered the source of the statement– a thrice married, unscrupulous philanderer, my second reaction was to shrug my shoulders. Whatever you say, sporto.
And then I went on about my day. Completed Medicare Meaningful Use Attestations for the clinic. Finished monthly reports. Went jogging with Maya. Compared hotel room rates for my brother’s upcoming wedding in Vegas.
Wedding. Marriage. Sacrosanct shackling.
Would I be alone forever? Maybe, but it’s unlikely. Common sense tells me no.
Let’s play around with some numbers (take it easy, mathletes- this is for fun). Statistically speaking*, there are over 152 million men just in the United States alone. Now, we know that neither a toddler nor a geriatric Alzheimer’s patient would make a suitable partner, so let’s break the numbers down by appropriate age groups:
- Age 35 – 40: 10 million
- Age 40 – 44: 10 million
I’ve been told many times that I look at least 10 years younger (by normal people, not just the men who were trying to sleep with me), so let’s pretend for a moment that I can indeed attract a younger man. We’ll also include those fine, older men in the mix.
- Age 30 – 34: 10 million
- Age 45 – 49: 11 million
41 million age-appropriate men in the United States. Now, let’s eliminate a whopping 99% of those men to account for the married, gay, incarcerated, downright freaky, etc. This leaves 410,000 eligible men, just in the United States alone. Should I include the rest of the world (I’m game), that number would easily quadruple.
410,000+ men. Granted, only a small percentage of those men will declare me their “type” and vice-versa. Even so, the odds of me being alone forever are slim.
“You’ll be alone forever.”
What if, despite the statistical evidence that supports the contrary, I do end up alone forever, a lone, lonely, loner?
Here’s what I think the sender believes: Alone equals loneliness. I don’t agree. I felt more lonely while in the company of an emotionally absent man than while flying solo. I am comfortable and at home in my own skin, so being by myself is no big deal. I don’t depend upon another person to make me happy; I am happy right now.
I won’t deny that I have fleeting moments or an occasional night of loneliness when I become restless and crave a warm body next to mine. I think that’s only natural. It’s the exception rather than the rule, though. Yes, I would like to share inside jokes with someone. I would like to make my coconut curry chicken or boeuf bourguignon and kick back a bottle of wine with a man who makes me laugh. I would love to get naked on a daily basis. (I’m in my prime, you see. Is daily unrealistic? How about a few times a week?)
I would like a partner, but my happiness is not dependent upon his existence in my life. I’m not in any hurry. I would like to share my life, but if it so happens that I am alone forever, so be it. I have friends. I have crazy nights. I have travel and numerous hobbies. I have quiet times and meditation. I have wine. I’ll survive.
Meanwhile, even though I haven’t yet indulged, should I really want a *night out*, Vegas is right here, baby.
(Not my thing, but I laughed.)
*google statistics via the census bureau July 2010