This weekend I got to hang out with so many great couples in varying states of commitment -- some married, some engaged, some living together -- and it made me pine a little, which is not something I usually do. I'm very productive when I'm single, and I love being productive. I rarely feel lonely. But occasionally I see beautiful couples and I envy the fact that when they get tired, they'll slip away, two by two, close the door behind them and slide into bed together, recapping the day to each other until they fall asleep.
Even as a teenager, I felt like being in a relationship was never going to be my natural state. I've never been good at compromise -- I either want to give it all away or have it all. I can honestly say I've never seen myself as a bride. I love the idea of romance, but I don't think it will happen for someone as aggressively independent and good at being alone as I am.
So if relationships, children, and all the trappings of family life will never materialize for me, I'd like to realize my single woman's dream. I want to be the kooky New York aunt with a million good stories. If my nest will always be empty, then I want to fill my life with gorgeous noise and grand music. Sometimes I dream of being an independently wealthy domesticate, throwing dinner parties for -- what did the Sunday Styles call it? -- the cultural aristocracy; playing hostess to the literati; being the literati.
I was so happy to be sitting at this picnic table with my friends, folding dumplings for the next day's lunch. I can't even tell you how happy it made me, how in the moment I am in this picture. My latest dream is to land some sort of moderate book deal, buy a big house in the country outside New York and stay there to write all summer long. My friends could visit in a steady stream every weekend, provided they come bearing groceries, Pimm's, and prosecco. I'd have an herb garden, alpine strawberries, radishes and lettuces for salads. Then I'd winter somewhere warm, maybe in Thailand or Brazil, eating tropical fruit for breakfast every day. I'd write all week long, on a laptop, laying out on an adirondack chair.
Am I so bourgie or what? Is my earnestness giving you hives? Mock me if you must. We all need something to live for.
