It’s a funny pattern single people get into. We go to clubs, bars, games, and concerts to connect with people like us. We try to meet someone we’re interested in. But often these interactions are so superficial and empty that it doesn’t fulfill the intended purpose.
In fact, mix the disappointment with a little rejection and awkwardness and sometimes it can be a heady cocktail of pain.
Not all singles are looking for connections, or hook ups, or anything in fact. Some of us are just content to enjoy our lives, without the expectation that we should be meeting someone special. I must admit, however, I know very few people with this outlook.
My 29th birthday celebration was a blast. My friends generously bought me drinks and took me home later. We danced and laughed and took photos and enjoyed ourselves. But oddly enough almost all of the men that interacted with my friends and I were married or in serious relationships. One man flirted with my friend for two hours, only to tell her later he was engaged.
I’m not saying people in bars that aren’t single shouldn’t talk and flirt and dance and have a good time. But, I do find it increasingly interesting how many unavailable men are drawn to me.
It’s becoming a running joke in my circle. Someone is coming onto me, he’s probably married. Does being unavailable allow you a freedom from vulnerability that us single people don’t have? If you have someone waiting for you at home, does it give you more confidence to be social since you know nothing will come of it?
As I nursed my hangover of death, I realized two things. One: I like my brain cells and I would like to keep more of them. Two: I think there is a physical connection between binge drinking and loneliness.
Many, many mornings whether I have went home with someone or not, I wake up after an evening of hardcore partying and feel that ache, that emptiness. I can be perfectly content the day before and several hours later in the day. But the morning after is a hard one for me.
Weeks go by and the pattern resumes. Restlessness creeps in, and I seem to forget, until the next morning.
Maybe there’s a new and improved pattern I can adopt. Perhaps there is an unexplored world between single and coupled–which might allow me to enjoy the morning after.
365 Days of Freedom 