People warned me about being newly single at thirty.
They were kind, decent people who believed their singularity was a disease and marriage the only cure. I believe it isn’t so much like leprosy as much as it’s like wearing an Armani suit to a NASCAR race.
Suddenly you stand out in the crowd.
And it isn’t just the discovery that you actually own those Enya records everyone thought belonged to your ex-wife. When I walk into a bar I feel like I’m wearing a bag over my head and a leisure suit. The only women breaking up their odd stares with interested smiles are wearing cowboy boots with spiked heels and took the time to tease their bangs a few inches higher for a night out. Sometimes their foundation melts a little from perspiration brought on by thrusting their hips around the dance floor a little too much. I only notice because they have an “I-wanna-grab-your-butt” expression on their face and are drenched in discount store perfume.
The few women who are single and in their mid-to-late twenties who can handle a conversation and aren’t desperate must migrate to warmer climates or western European countries because I can’t find them. Why can’t they migrate to bars, bookstores and Home Depots? Then I might have a chance to find them.
Unfortunately—I mean fortunately—there comes a point in every man’s life when he stops acting like a hormonal teenager (I’m being very optimistic here) and develops standards and expectations, however minimal. While this is a sign of maturity, I’ve come to realize that if one institutes standards early on in their dating life, by the time one reaches their mid-twenties, only about 1% of the female population meets these criteria. After subtracting the number of that population whom are already either married or in a long-term relationship, there is approximately ¾ of a woman left that meets the criteria available. That’s how single I am. I’ve mathematically determined the likelihood of meeting a woman with whom I’m compatible.
Men lie about their zeal of the single life. Well, most men. Make that some men. Okay, a few men. A couple? Anyway, they say they like the freedom to gawk at other women without the buzz-killing hand of guilt tapping their shoulder or a disapproving scowl from their significant other. That’s generally bull flop. Men hate spending their nights alone every bit as much as women. By the time men and women reach their mid-twenties, they generally know how it feels to finish work knowing they will soon embrace someone that is genuinely happy to see them.
Not that I believe in dumping on men, but they’re terrible communicators. Ask them a question about how they feel some time. They silently squirm like a nightcrawler dangling on a fishhook. Then ask them about sports or swimsuit models. Suddenly they have a full color Powerpoint presentation complete with graphics and sound effects. This phenomenon doesn’t just affect women, but also affects other single men. Let me explain. When a male tries to discuss the frustration and isolation they experience in being newly single, generally the other man pretends to break out in hives or fakes a temporary blackout just to avoid the conversation.
So, if you’re at all expressive as a male and you want to talk to someone, you either need a female friend or sensitive male friend. When conversations with female friends actually have substance, women either realize they have feelings for you, are afraid you have feelings for them or assume you’re a homosexual. And, of course, if they assume you’re a homosexual, they will never set you up with one of their attractive friends.
Fathers aren’t much help either. Some might wonder why you don’t just become a sex hound like other single men or marry someone who’s “good enough”. Otherwise they tell you, “Oh, you’ll find someone. We should grill steaks. I gotta couple of T-bones in the freezer…” Then they hand you a beer as if to celebrate having successfully avoided the subject.
Still not convinced men are paranoid of their emotions, my hopeful female audience? Try this. Walk into a room filled with men watching football and tell them you’re about to cry. Watch their reactions. The obnoxious behavior in some escalates to flatulence and PMS jokes to mask their fear of discussing “feelings”. Others suddenly have to use the bathroom or fall asleep and still another says something cliché like, “That’s okay, let it out.” It’s always obvious this guy is lying as he sweats like criminal under the light in a police interrogation room. Besides, everyone knows he’s faking sensitivity just to score points with you.
Mothers either want to know too much about your personal life or don’t want to know anything at all. I think most knowingly lie to themselves about their sons’ personal lives. I call it the “Asexual Oedipus Assumption” phenomenon. If they learn even a few minute, semi-sordid details of their son’s personal life, it ruins the lie. Men know better than to ruin the lie because once it’s ruined, a flood of uncomfortable questions about your “life” follow.
Males never ask other men how they’re handling their breakup. There’s a very good reason for this. Men don’t want to know. They also don’t want their recently single friends to bring up the issue in conversation or to answer any questions regarding the issue. I once told a friend that re-entering the single life after years in a committed relationship was a tough transition. His response? “You wanna get nachos? I haven’t had nachos in months.”
At the end of the day, though, every newly single man in his mid-twenties walks into his empty apartment, sits down on his couch and confronts himself. In some ways it’s liberating. He is no longer defined by who he’s with or how the person he’s with defines him. Instead, he learns to define himself. He seeks out reliable friends. He spends more time at work, and he takes time to pursue his interests. Even friends often neglected during the course of a relationship regain their deserved significance.
Instead of waiting for the next girl to come along as he may have in his younger days, he picks up the guitar he never learned to play or opens the book he never had time to read and starts living his life again.
And maybe, just maybe when someone he trusts asks him how he’s doing, he manages to tell them, “I’m struggling a little bit, but I’ll be okay.” For the newly single man, that’s saying a lot.