Alone In A Crowd

One of my favorite things about singleness is being available to people. Not to say I'm fancy-free with no responsibilities (I hate that assumption), but since I'm not focused on one main relationship, I can spend my relational energy pretty freely. I can rearrange my schedule if needed without consulting anyone. It's gratifying when I can drop everything to be there for a friend or family member - or just to hang out in a spontaneous, low-key way when no one is having a crisis. In those moments, I'm so thankful for my independence.

But freedom has a dark side. Those spontaneous moments are much rarer than sitcoms and movies would have you believe. I find I need a huge stable of casual local friends to increase my odds of finding one person to see a movie with, and that's a double-edged sword too. It means I have to spread myself thin, when I'd rather invest more fully in fewer, richer relationships. Meanwhile, it's becoming the norm to go weeks or even months at a time without seeing some of my closest friends. Not because they don't like me anymore, but because we're all too busy, and their significant others and/or children rightfully have first dibs on their relational time. Coupled people undeniably need friends and community, but in a less immediate way than singles do. Especially singles who live alone, with no built-in (human) companion, no go-to person. I remind myself constantly that this is the natural order of things. It's normal for dating or married people not to prioritize face time with friends. It's normal for mothers to be consumed with their kids and socialize primarily with other moms. It's practically the foundation of our society. But meanwhile, how do I remain positive with the message, You are the odd one, you are outside the natural order, so your needs don't matter ringing in my ears?

Even when I can find people to hang out with, I feel like most of my relationships are on an Eight or Higher policy. I can't regularly go to anyone with my twos and threes without fear of annoying or alienating them - I mean, who wants to be That Friend whose name on the phone display induces sighing? - and they don't need me for theirs. Am I supposed to give up on my long-term friendships and find new friends who are in the exact same phase of life... then rinse and repeat once they start families of their own and move on? I don't believe in that. But what am I supposed to do with my relational needs? How can I believe that singleness is an equally valid state of being if we're just out of luck in this important area? It's so tempting to shut my heart down and become an island. To say, Whatever, I don't need anyone. 

I know I'm not the only one who struggles with this, and I know it's not necessarily a singles-only problem. I hear similar stories from long-distance friends, many of whom are married. Making and maintaining real friendships as an adult is often just plain hard.

Men, Women, Friendships

Thanks for the quality feedback on my last post! It's prompted some good discussion privately with friends too. If you didn't get a chance to chime in, it's not too late! As a follow-up, I decided to share a little more plainly about where I'm currently coming from on these issues. Because I bring my baggage to the discussion, and so do you.

Before I got married at 25 years old, I had equal numbers of male and female friends (and actually spent more time overall with the guys). Real friends with whom I could hang out or talk about problems. I was part of a large, easygoing, mixed-gender social group. Over time, we all got married, moved away, drifted apart… the typical college-friends story. When I crash-landed back into single life at the age of 30, I felt like I'd been dropped onto a different planet, and the natives were not friendly. The entire social landscape was different. Gone were the happily mixed groups. It was like a junior-high dance, with each gender sticking to its side of the gym. Most of the single men I met pretty much acted like I had cooties, and I noticed – to my simultaneous relief and frustration – that they treated most of the other single women the same way.

Already traumatized and insecure about men after my divorce, I had no idea how to bridge these gaps. I longed for some nice men in my life who weren't related to me, some healthful relationships to help me heal and re-learn how to interact. But the single guys I met clearly weren't even interested in being friends, at least beyond an extremely surface level. For the most part, this has remained my reality for the past three-plus years. While a few men have shown some interest in me, most were sudden, guns-blazing events that stopped cold as soon as I indicated that I wasn't romantically interested (couldn't be, under such conditions). In other words, I wasn't really worth knowing as a person, just as a "potential." I have not experienced a man wanting to know me just for me, with no demands. They either ignore (or tolerate) me, or hunt me down like a cruise missile. These experiences have piled damage on top of damage. I know I'm responsible for my own attitudes and growth, but it's hard to unlearn bad lessons when they keep getting reinforced.

I have always believed that the most solid and fulfilling romances, and marriages, are between people who were friends first – who already have a common history. I briefly lived that dream with my ex-husband. (We were close friends for three years before we even dated.) But he thoroughly smashed it before he left, citing our friendship as the main reason there was no "spark" for him in our marriage. That left me feeling like a fool for believing that such a thing is realistic or even possible. I'd definitely prefer to get to know a man as a person before adding the pressure of a Relationship, but maybe they don't operate that way.

On a more positive note, I have a growing appreciation for the married men I know, my friends' husbands. Until recently, I couldn't see past myself enough to realize that while those friendships are different by necessity, they're still valid. I can't interact or be as close with married guys the same way I could with single ones, but they're still my friends and I know we have each other's back. I have to stop saying I have no male friends. I've done these good men a disservice and I'm trying to do better.

The responses the other day encouraged me (and, I'm sure, other women interested in the outcome). It's reassuring to know that not all single men interpret friendliness as romantic interest that they have to nip in the bud – and that some would be okay if it was! I highly doubt that I, personally, will ever ask a man out due to my history, but I'm glad that some aren't opposed to the idea. I feel more empowered now to talk to men without worrying about how it'll be perceived. So thank you.

I could talk about these sorts of topics all day, so if there's interest, maybe I'll make it a more officially regular thing.

He's Not That Into You (Or Is He?)

I'm beginning to question some of my long-held assumptions about dating. My programming about dating has been equally informed by conservative Christian active man/passive woman expectations, secular "He's Just Not That Into You" philosophy, and my relationship with my ex, who was a complete stranger to self-doubt. I've been taught, explicitly and implicitly, that men act on their romantic interests clearly and swiftly. They either go in with guns blazing or do nothing at all. If they're interested in someone, they go after her and declare their interest immediately. Therefore, if nothing's happening, that means they don't want anything to happen. The end. (Ironically, the guns-blazing approach makes me, and many of my friends, uncomfortable – I even consider it a red flag. Most modern women don't enjoy feeling like a prey animal.)

My constant refrain when discussing men vs. women, single vs. married, kids vs. no kids is, "Can't we all just be people?" (Seriously, that could be the subtitle of this blog.) Through that lens, the Tarzan programming looks kind of sexist… toward men. By ascribing one set of aggressive behaviors to all men, we dismiss their individuality and deny them the healthy option to be vulnerable. I don't like this, and I hereby confess my role in promoting it and my desire to do better. But to get there, I'm going to need more evidence. So, with trepidation, I'm requesting input from some actual men. Preferably Christian men over college age who are single, but others' thoughts are welcome too, on some or all of the following:


- Does lack of intense pursuit always equal lack of interest?

- Select all that apply: If a woman asked you out, would you
   a) feel flattered?
   b) feel horrified?
   c) think less of her for doing so?

- If a single woman is friendly toward you (e.g. initiates conversation), do you automatically assume she's romantically interested in you?

- Are you interested in having female friends regardless of whether those friendships lead to more?


That's all I have at the moment. Discuss, and please be kind.

About Fixups

Everybody wants to make a sandwich with the last two pieces of bread. - Cathy Guisewite 

Sometimes I worry that I've gotten a bad reputation about dating. After all, I'm pretty passionate about my right to say no to a guy. But I'd really love to say yes to someone! Recently an online friend wondered "aloud" whether it was a good idea to set up two of her single friends who don't know each other. Replying to her helped me clarify some things.

I'm not against fixups. What bothers me is the following extremely common attitude:
 
"You're single and alive! He's single and alive! YOU'RE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER!!!"

Careless matchmaking reduces single people to paper dolls, notable only for their mutual singleness. Thoughtful matchmaking considers singles as complex, unique individuals with histories and personalities. I'm not saying to verify 95% compatibility before setting up two of your friends, but some real commonality or passion should be obvious. You should at least have an inkling of how they might fit together. In that case, even if it doesn't work out, your friends will still sense your care and appreciation of them as people.

On the other hand, setting someone up with a guy who's obviously all wrong for her can make her feel devalued and misunderstood. As if she'll be more acceptable with a man, ANY man, than on her own - and she should prefer it that way too. That hurts coming from anyone, but especially from a friend.

The other fixup scenario that irks me is when the family of a totally passive single man desperately casts about for any woman who will have him. You know what I'm talking about. I've watched it happen many times, and if it ever happened to me, I'd want to run away screaming. I'm not interested in being with someone who didn't care enough to pursue me himself, or in becoming his boss or mommy. To be fair, some women's families are overinvolved in their love lives too, but a lot of men are looking for a passive wife who can be easily managed. (Ugh.)

Anyway, fixups can be great if done considerately. So I'm very open to that consideration, but not to becoming PB&J with the other heel of the loaf, solely because we were both in the bread drawer.

A Treatise on Saying No

I'm privy to a lot of (unsolicited) dating advice. Not usually directed right at me, just articles and blog posts I come across. Some of the advice has been worth pondering. Some has been smug, insensitive and/or just plain bad. News flash: Single people are not all exactly the same. We have different needs and desires, different histories, different phases of life. It's pretty absurd to counsel, say, a fresh-faced college student and a middle-aged divorced woman exactly the same way. But it happens all the time. People love to tell singles how they ought to feel and behave about relationships, and that if they're failing to get dates, it's because they aren't following certain steps.

I'm sure all singles have our own personal advice peeves. But the one that gets under my skin the most, by far, is this popular gem for women:

"You won't find a man unless you say yes to everyone who asks you out."

For women of a certain age or temperament, this could be good advice. But for me? NO. How do I loathe this statement? Let me count the ways.


1.   As Christian women, we're not supposed to "pursue" men we're interested in. (In some denominations, even friendly behavior toward a man can be viewed as pursuit and result in a panic moonwalk, but don't even get me started on that.) All we can do is wait to be noticed. Our only power at the start lies in our yes or no. Personally, I'm not about to hand over my only free agency.  


2.   The most common argument for this policy: it's sooo scary and difficult for men to ask women out, and they'll be more likely to do so if they know they won't be refused. How exciting and adventurous! If I were a man, I'd feel insulted. Listen, men, I acknowledge your guts. I know it's not easy to put yourself on the line. But if a mature woman feels the need to turn you down, she will do so as kindly as she can. If she's mean about it, you didn't need to be with her anyway. I truly hate to hurt anyone's feelings, but if I already know I'm not interested in a guy, it seems more considerate not to waste his time (more on this below). Also, I'd rather be asked out because a man genuinely likes me, not because I'm the only woman he knows who won't say no. It's meaningful to know that a man sees you and is willing to risk something for you.


3.   Second support point: if you look beyond "surface" attributes that would normally make you say no, you might find that the man is actually perfect for you. This is a valid point if all you care about is physical appearance, but I hope most of us have moved beyond that. Like most people, I have a general idea of the qualities I want in a mate. I'm also aware that the right guy for me might be different from what I imagined, and I'm open to that. But I'm also pretty intuitive. My intuition isn't infallible, but it's correct most of the time, even when I had no initial solid proof or backup for those feelings. I'm slowly learning to stop doubting my gut. I get a sense of people pretty quickly. Sometimes I even feel like my heart chooses people to love (all kinds of love) before my head has caught up. Therefore, I know the right sort of man when I meet him, even if he doesn't match up with my ideal wish list. If my initial negative impression of someone is really wrong, I trust God to make that clear to me over time.

More importantly, I'm a grownup, and I know myself and what I want and need. It's sad that knowing what you want in a relationship is frowned upon and seen as narrow-minded or even as a sin. Especially if you're a woman.


4.   I want to feel at least mostly excited about getting to know someone. There has to be some spark of interest that's not totally smothered by red flags. Anxiety, dread, and a sense of duty should not be anyone's primary dating emotions. Further, you're not doing anyone a favor by being with them begrudgingly or out of peer pressure. I speak from painful experience. If you know right away that you're not feeling it, leave the person free to find someone who's genuinely happy to be with them. Or to be alone, which is still better than being with someone who doesn't love you. Life is too short.


5.   At what point have you sufficiently given someone a chance? If you go on one date and really aren't into it, well, that was only one date. He could have had an off night. Better go out again to be sure. Still feel blah? Oh, he's a nice Christian guy, you're just making shallow judgments. Give him another chance. Before you know it, you're giving him a chance at the altar with no clue how you got there. I know that's hyperbole, but between my people-pleasing nature that I battle constantly and the intense persistence of some single men, it's a personal phobia. At my age and in my culture, even casual dating isn't 100% casual. If I lived in a less conservative part of the country, or ran in different circles, I think I'd be more relaxed about all this. But I don't want anyone mentally marrying me off to some guy whom I'm not even sure I like that way.


6.   In no other type of relationship are we so encouraged to throw our feelings or misgivings out the window. I don't see articles instructing us to be close, intimate friends with anyone who speaks to us. But when it comes to the most important relationship of your life, just give in to the first person who asks? It makes no sense.


Bottom line, I think we should all be allowed to have preferences and boundaries in dating, just like we do in everything else. Am I alone in my principles?

Seeing, Knowing, Loving

Last week, while sitting in church, I had one of those realizations of an obvious truth that I hadn't found an internal framework for. I've been thinking more than usual about relationships and community, and this is what dawned on me:

People want to be…

seen for who they are

known for who they are

and loved for, and sometimes despite, who they are.

I believe that this is an organic process, and each step is important.

When someone sees you, they perceive something about your real self. It's an acknowledgement of a talent or trait you have, or your personality, or the way you express yourself. In my experience, what is seen is often something you weren't fully aware of yourself. Whether it's in passing or over a period of time, communicated to you or not, the seeing person recognizes your unique awesomeness.

Seeing isn't always mutual, but when it is, it naturally leads to knowing. To know someone is to move beyond surface admiration and really become friends. In this phase, you grow in awareness of each other's faults as well as your positive traits. You learn about each other's lives and beliefs and favorite things. You start walking together through life.

Only when you truly know each other can you really love each other. To be loved is to have assurance that you're accepted as your whole, messy self. Real love, in itself, is a commitment. (I'm talking about personal love here, not the general Christlike love that we're supposed to extend to everyone.) Also, as we love people, we gain the eyes to see new things about them, and the cycle starts again.

I think we all need people at each of these levels in our lives. We don't have the capacity to intensely love everyone we know. At the same time, having a lot of shallow relationships can leave us feeling empty and alone. It's totally possible to socialize with a group of people for years and never even connect on a seeing level. I've been dealing with this in my own life. I've felt very alone for a while and couldn't figure out why. I have a lot of friends and acquaintances and lead an active, social life. But in reality, there are very few friends I can call if I'm sad or struggling or generally not okay, and not worry that I'm burdening them or they'll think badly of me (and I'm even hesitant to call those people). My love level is a little sparse. I know many people can relate.

Sometimes you really connect with someone and move quickly through these phases. As an INFJ, I can usually sense right away whether someone is kindredly or not, but I also don't try to be BFF immediately. I think a lot of awkwardness in relationships is due to one or both parties trying to skip one of these natural stages. I also think this pattern applies to ALL types of relationships, but it's especially noticeable in romantic relationships. From what I've observed and experienced, a lot of single people are eager to skip straight from seeing to loving, and it just feels icky and uncomfortable. If you don't know, what are you loving exactly? To whom are you giving yourself? Love based on friendship has always been a big deal to me, and now I can finally articulate why.

I may revisit this concept in the future, because I'm discovering more and more applications for it. Hopefully it helps others understand some things too.


PS: the more I worked on this post, the more I felt like this:

Polite Refusals

I had some major revelations this week when a good friend compared my life to Pride and Prejudice. Before you roll your eyes and tune out, know that I'm not one of those girls. I didn't even read P&P until my best friend gave me a copy for my 25th birthday and made me promise to read it immediately. I enjoy and appreciate it, and its place in culture, but I'm not a purist about it. I even (gasp!) liked the 2005 movie. And now that I've alienated both the swoony Mr. Darcy side and the academic Austenite side of that debate, let's move on.

If there is a Mr. Darcy for me (so to speak; I'm not in love with Darcy himself), he hasn't yet made himself known. But there are more than a few Mr. Collins types out there. For those unfamiliar with the story, Lizzie refuses the proposal of Mr. Collins, who is a reasonably decent person and could provide for her, but is pompous and inherently bleah. They have no spark and nothing in common. Lizzie's mother, convinced that no one else will ask due to their family's poverty, is furious with her. But Lizzie can't allow herself to be tied to a drippy man, even if that decision has consequences for her and her family.

Like Lizzie, I have a major strike against me (being divorced, not a lack of dowry) when it comes to dating and stuff. I've been told repeatedly that I need to adjust my expectations, keep an open mind, be willing to do things differently, etc. etc. Up to this point I've been listening to those messages, and chalking any uneasiness up to my personal damage and general cluelessness about the idea of dating again. But what my friend helped me realize is that I don't have to say yes to Mr. Collins. I don't have to bury all my feelings and intuition in the name of Giving People A Chance or Putting Myself Out There. Yes, my circumstances aren't great, but I'm a valuable daughter of God, and I have the right and the ability to choose someone who makes me feel alive... or at least has the potential to. I'm not obligated to say yes to anyone who asks. It's not selfishness, shallowness, or snobbery. It's not immaturity. It's self-respect. And the same is true for all of you. If anyone, even someone close to you or someone you respect, wants you to take the first Mr. Collins who comes along and thank your lucky stars - shame on them. My choosiness might cause me to miss out on some important things, but at least I'll be able to hold my head high about it, and God will help me to bear it.

I felt so empowered by this idea that I needed to share, because I know someone else needs to hear it. I've also decided to start posting a little more often, and more specifically, about my experiences and thoughts as a divorced Christian person. I've noticed that it's not a very common viewpoint in blogs and on websites. I follow several blogs for Christian singles, but they rarely mention or address people who have been married before (or, for that matter, who are over 25). I guess most ministries assume the worst and want to avoid controversy. I've often wished there was more content out there for me, something to encourage me and make me feel less freakish. So I want to create some. As always, being divorced is only one aspect of my life, but it has deep roots - and I believe it's tied to whatever my life's ministry is supposed to be.