Eish … so l turned 39 this year. Whoohoooo!! Nine whole months away from the big four-0. I have to admit, never in my wildest of dreams did I ever imagine I would still be a Singleton this late in the

game. (Subconsciously I had a plan, of course – don’t we all?)
Although I always knew marriage would be on the cards for me (someday in the far, far-off, distant future), I was never someone who wanted to get married young. I had a whole world to explore – experiencing life, being independent, travelling (finding myself?), these were all top priorities on my list.

My plan looked something like this: A good age to meet someone would be about thirty. Marriage at … um thirty-four. And then, maybe, at thirty-five I would (hopefully) be grown up enough to consider having children. (Great plan, I thought.) All of a sudden I found myself age 35, single for almost 5 years (5 freak’n years!), and relocating back to South Africa. Mmm … yes, those great life plans. So, it hasn’t happened for me (yet). At times it truly sux. Of course, I’m not supposed to admit that – “noooo, life is easy” …“one must not complain.” Something about life/lemons and green grass on the other side of rivers?  So true, so true.  “Bla bla bla!!!” 
Sometimes it just plain sux.  I am deeply ashamed to admit I have spent many an hour over the last 5 years playing the “Why” game with God? The inner dialogue has gone something like this:

“Really God … why me? What did I do wrong? Do you even realise how long I have been single now?  Is this being semi-permanently single malarkey some kind of karmic payback or divine retribution for all the men I have hurt or rejected in the past?  I honestly didn’t mean to hurt anyone, you know … my intentions were always good.  I know I have been a bit of a train wreck at times … but I am only human. Deep down I’m a pretty good person … i think? Um, no, scratch that…. I definitely am a GOOD PERSON. Yes, I am. And yet, still you punish me? Why? Argh, this is so, so bloody unfair. I have been so patient for so long now.  You do realise God that I’m almost 40? Did you hear me?? Foooorty. You were meant to send him at 30 … that was the plan!! This really isn’t funny anymore. Twenty-plus years and I’ll almost be ready for retirement. OMG, RETIREMENT! I can’t be thinking about retirement yet! Look what you are doing to me … you are making me old before my time! Okay, I think I’m done now … but for the record – I am really not that happy with you right now. I’m just saying.” (Please note the melodramatic-ness  of a self-confessed recovering drama-queen!)

So, yes, I have had quite a few of my very own ‘Bridgett-Jones-inspired pity parties for one’ these last couple of years. (Thankfully they no longer involve alcohol, cigarettes or anything else potentially perilous to my health.) Deep gratitude for calm, rational Gayle who does always step in, at some point or another. She is usually able to see the bigger picture. 

Watching some of my friends struggling to balance work, kids and married life is at times exhausting. The only thing I have to look after is me and my African Violet (that my lovely mother gave me). Poor plant has had a rough ride of it … but I am pleased to report that it is still alive. On occasion my Mum lovingly gives me plant food, while enquiring how plant is doing? Panic! (Oh sh*t when last did I do that watering thing?) I have recently designated watering duties to my beautiful flatmate, Natanja (she is so good with plants) … I’m going to make a truly great mother one day! Sorry, I’m digressing a bit…

So, yes, ‘Married Life’. I truly don’t know how some of my married friends do all that balancing … children, husbands, careers AND looking after yourself? They have my deepest respect … it is exhausting work! And that’s about all I can comment on that topic. As far as married life and my ‘experience’ goes, it’s a big fat 0. Now, being SINGLE is another subject completely. I have years and years of experience of being an on/off singleton … and bucket-loads of opinions to go with it. In fact, I have so much to say that I don’t know where to start … okay, that’s a lie … I do … I do!

Babies. Of course the most obvious and biggest stress about being a single woman at this age is that big, looming, ticking clock,  which can at times be very irritating, to say the least. I mean it is most definitely not of ‘Ally McBeal’ dancing baby proportions and it doesn’t keep me up at night … but it’s there. The alarm usually goes off when confronted with those oh-so-cute toddler creatures (of the non-screaming, non-tantrum variety). And seeing as I am a teacher … that would be almost every day when I walk past the nursery and see them in all their absolute cuteness.  I absolutely adore children and, at this moment, my world literally revolves around them. Just not my own.

At my gynaecological check-up last year, the look of absolute shock and horror on my gynae’s face, when I ‘foolishly’ made reference to the word ‘baby’ and ‘me’ in the same sentence, was priceless. He, quite frankly, looked appalled. He then proceeded to tell me, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to hurry up as I didn’t have much time left.  (Of course, of course. How silly of me. To think that I have been sitting around wasting all this precious time. Quick! Point me in the direction of the husband shop and I will go buy one immediately.) I pointed out to the sweet doctor (who, in his defence, was just doing his job) that my current boyfriend (now ex) and I had only been together for 3 months and that I didn’t feel the timing was right – just yet –  to ask him for a sperm donation. Doctor didn’t seem to find me very funny … and continued to reprimand that I had already left this way too late and this was something that I needed to start thinking about seriously. Um, okay.  Seriously??  Does he think this is something us 35-something women don’t ‘think seriously’ about? Or, heavens above, something we can easily forget? 

Ah, yes, well-meaning, unsolicited advice … swallowed down with huge buckets of salt and a reasonably good sense of humour. But, okay, so now I am having a rant … my all-time worst cliché – that literally peeves me beyond belief: “Oh, it will happen when you least expect it.”  Yes, I know, I know, it seems harmless enough, often spouted by genuinely well-meaning people who really don’t know what else to say to us so-called late bloomers. And this seems like the best fit. FYI- it is not! It irks the living bejeevers out of me. Allow me to explain. If you are a single, ‘mature’ person, such as myself,  who believes in love and commitment but who still has no life-partner-person in sight, I feel you have two healthy roads of thought to follow (I’m not even going to discuss the unhealthy options here):

Option A: Indeed, you can try not to think about it. You can successfully convince yourself, and others, that your life is full and happy without the love of a significant other.  You can  be fulfilled and live with a peaceful acceptance that your person might or might not show up and, yes, you can be can be happy without them.
(Awesome!)

Option B: You can choose to live in a state of perpetual and blissful hope. Every day is about waking up and tapping into that hope and believing that he/she is literally around the corner.  I am afraid I am a hopeless romantic … Option A isn’t even an option for me. I can’t forget about love any more than I can stop eating. Does that make me desperate? No, what it makes me is a ‘hope junky’.
(Equally awesome!)

These days I am forever throwing myself into romantic situations with the excitement and fervour of a 15-year-old.  I love nothing more than declaring “I have a date!” to whoever ‘may’ (or may not) want to listen. I am a storyteller … I love talking and sharing my life experiences. Of course, the downside of such childlike enthusiasm is that I am sometimes bitterly disappointed  –  or worse, slightly heartbroken –  every time a relationship has crashed and burned. My close friends are witnesses to those tears. (Dealing with rejection = a whole new post.)  I used to berate myself for always being so excitable in those early stages. If only I could learn to curtail the excitement – just shut down that initial surge of hope – then maybe I wouldn’t be so disappointed every time something didn’t work out?  (Dammit, why could I never get that part right?)

So, yes, for me personally, above-mentioned awful cliché hits a nerve. While I most certainly understand that this is not what people intend, “He’ll turn up when you least expect it” feels like a statement loaded with unintentional blame: “It’s your fault you are single because you actively look. If you could just forget about finding love – stop expecting it – then it will turn up.” (Please note how one’s ability to feel blame from other people is directly proportional to how much blame you consciously or unconsciously heap into the universe. Interesting that! )

Truth be told, I have worked very hard these last few years at shifting my ‘wanting’ of a man to an ‘expecting’ of a man. There is an oh-so-subtle difference. The way I see it is like this: Me wanting a man comes from a place of lack. It is, sadly, driven by this belief that I am somehow less-than just because I haven’t found someone to love and understand me … that special someone who would voluntarily choose to spend the rest of their life with me. (OMG, can you imagine!)   It also is fuelled by the erroneous belief that having someone to love me (be it a partner or a child) will somehow ‘complete me’ or make me into the person I want to be, rather than the person that I actually am. (I absolutely blame years and years of chick-flicks for this one! And Westlife, of course.) On the other hand, ‘expecting’ a man comes from a place of abundance and a place of hope. It is driven more from the belief that, quite simply, I am enough. Just as I am. In this very moment. I am not dependent on another person’s love to make my life better, or to give it meaning … because my life, quite frankly, is already pretty darn great and meaningful – just as it is. 

I kind of feel like I have finally made that shift that soooo many of us older single women are forced (sometimes kicking and screaming) to make. Let’s face it, there is only so much rejection any one person can take in the ‘dating jungle’ before you eventually hit that wall: Enough already! Enough of trying to solve the eternal mystery of why a guy would spend the whole night flirting with you, make the effort to get your number, and then never actually use it. Enough of trying to fathom why someone would happily continue to message you for weeks and weeks but make absolutely no attempt at actually wanting to … um … see you in person? (I thought it was called the ‘dating jungle’…not the ‘texting jungle’?)  Enough of trying to figure out exactly what it was that you could have possibly said or done that made him suddenly fall off the planet without so much as a friendly ‘goodbye’? And, finally, enough of beating yourself up because – whatever the reason – he, quite simply, just doesn’t love you. Enough. Enough. Enough!! I just absolutely, irrefutably refuse to blame myself any more. I have wasted too many years berating and judging myself for all of the above and much more.  It’s not me! It is absolutely, undeniably THEM! They just weren’t right for me. I obviously wasn’t right for them. It really is that simple. Hold on … um … haven’t I read various versions of this rudimental life lesson my entire adult life? Has the universe been waiting patiently for 39 years for me to actually learn this lesson myself?  I think it has. 

So it has been an awe-inspiring year of realizations for me and I do think that I have finally got it.  (Hallelujah, can I have some champagne please?) I have requested this wonderful man (who, no,  is not perfect – just perfectly flawed like the rest of us)  and he has yet to materialise. So be it. Ultimately, life is about timing.  I  haven’t met him yet, not because I am expecting him … simply because our time has not yet come.  There is no blame but, yes, there is a reason. What that reason is … well, that’s anyone’s guess. I, however, will not be wasting anymore of my life pondering what that reason might be. I find that these days I very rarely have the urge to throw that boomerang ‘why me’ question out into the universe. The answer is simply: Why not you? Deal with it!  I am.  I do believe God, the universe and I are now on the same page. I will even go as far as to say that I now have a great appreciation for the extra time I have been allocated to work on myself (And that my poor African Violet has been the only genuine casualty in this journey so far – Sorry, Mum.) 

I am all of a sudden hugely appreciative to have met such wonderful and supportive female friends since moving home. One of my absolute dearest friends is 42 old and yes, still single. She is by far one of the most beautiful (inside and out), kindest, emotionally honest and profoundly loving people I have ever met.  She, like me, is also a perpetual hope junkie whose main focus in life is to be the happiest, most authentic person that she can be. She inspires me every day … clearly feeling hopeful is contagious.  Without a doubt, my life’s ‘plan’ which is so completely off track … is so beautifully right on track. Everything in my life, in this moment, is exactly as it should be. (Please note I still reserve the right to throw Bridgette-Jones-style pity parties every now and then. I am, after all, only human.  I do, however, solemnly swear not to overindulge.) 

So, from an almost 40-year-old singleton, this is my declaration of ‘choice’: I choose to keep my heart open and ready for love, no matter how long it may take. I choose excitement and unwedded bliss at the thought of my person walking through that door at any giving moment. I choose to delight in the ‘looking’ and ‘hoping’ part of love. And, yes, I choose to deal with the disappointment and hurt that may (or may not- aiming for that these days) come hand-in-hand with all this excitement. I choose to believe that my person is literally just around the corner. So, I will keep my eyes open and, yes, I will most definitely keep expecting him …

And, finally, for the sake of all us hopelessly romantic, slightly ‘maturer’ singletons out there, may I propose that that awful, horrible cliché, “It will happen when you least expect it”, be relegated to the trash, where it belongs. And may it be replaced with the blame-free, ever so much warmer (and ultimately more encouraging) comment:

Good plan. Yes? Indeed I think so 😉