The Art of Being Completely Independent

The woman who measured my temperature is younger than I am. Her skin is flawless and glowing, unlike mine, which is dry and dull. I am only now noticing that her face is nearly smiling, as her eyes are almost full of smiles. She wears a crisp, white shirt over a teal cardigan. Her accents in the gold necklace are also teal. I stare down at the back of my hand and notice a coffee stain on my sweatshirt's arm.

As she examines me, I explain that it was just a cold and that I was going to be away for 2 months. Sweetly curious, and excited for me as a stranger, she asks me where I'm heading. I tell her it's a small Vermont community. I respond that I am not working from home, but I simply want to go on a trip. She wants to know if she knows anyone up there and if I'm visiting friends or family. I answer no again. Now my voice is shaky. I can see the confusion on her face. Alone? She asks. I smile. She smiles.

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It's not the most bizarre thing in this world to give up my New York apartment and subway traumas and move to a farmhouse with mountain views for less rent. People find it strange that a single 36-year-old woman can leave New York to live alone for six months. People are not comfortable with me being alone at a time when most people expect that I will be settling down. They expect me as a woman to tell them that I don’t want to have children or believe in marriage. This will give them permission to stop worrying about me. Even though I wish I was one of these women who could display her disinterest in these normal paths, I'm not. I'd love to find love. I always thought I would have kids. It's not happening. But, what I am realizing is that it isn't a question of whether or not these things are for me. Yes, sounds great. I'm more interested in the question: at what cost?

Women's late thirties may be the end of their fertility. But they also appear to signal the start of a higher level of self-discovery. Many of us, including my friend and childless woman friends, are starting to take a closer look at our lives as we enter the pressure cooker. When life seems to be going in a certain direction -- like the ending of most movies, books, and stories for women -- then it doesn’t, you must ask yourself where you are headed. Forcing myself into this was a hard but necessary step. It's also the best thing that has ever happened to me. This was how I began to accept writing seriously, after so many years spent trying unsuccessfully, but with great ambition, to have it all. While on many fronts, I find myself diverging from the path that I always imagined, I did discover love.

It becomes complicated when you realize that you are responsible for creating and caring about a new person, when it may be the last chance you have to achieve what everyone else is aspiring to. I enjoy sitting alone in my apartment. This is something that I've accepted recently as my absolute favorite thing to be doing. But, I worry about my future self and the vengeance I will feel for not dating earlier. My inner child is constantly haunted by the parental chorus saying there is no greater power than having children. Even though I've spent decades chasing love, I don't feel more complete and fulfilled than I do right now, in my own company.

I get a lot of laughs when people tell me that I love being alone. I would love to be with someone who loves and cares about me. If I decide to interrupt my writing with a Tinder dating date because I must meet my love of mine tomorrow, then I don't have to make the decision whether to go out and have children. I weigh whether interrupting what I'm doing is the best option.

Even now I have too many options for how I want to spend my free time. The question of whether I want children is still an enigma. These days, I question if it is true that I desire children as often or as frequently as I contemplate another snack. My deepest conviction is that I don’t desire children. My suspicion is that any desire is only a superficial concern about how far I'll be without them. In the same way, I feel at home without a partner. Emotionally, I feel out of place when my hair's natural, wild, and exactly how I want it. Emotionally, the same goes for me when I don’t want to venture outside when it’s sunny. Because the only ground I want is the ugly territory of my mind. And I’d rather be able to do that from the safety of my own couch.

To my friends and relatives, I claim that I'm moving to Vermont to start writing. A self-made "writers' retreat" I created. Being completely alone for two weeks is another matter. I want not to feel bad doing the things that feel right to me. I want to exist in an environment where there is no partnership so I can be who I am for myself and not think about how I should be for another person. I want the freedom to just be me, without having to think about what I should do. I want it to feel good to look at myself in the mirror. I don't need to pretend I did anything or spend money to try to emulate someone else. I want the uninterrupted joy that comes from being alone to be able to trust it later when many people tell me it's not enough. I want the ability to discover what it is I really want even when no one is available to explain.

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