Ellington

The incessant tick-tock of the biological clock has been the cause of anxiety for women who haven't yet had children but want them, and those who are still waiting for "the one." I've never bought into the internal clock phenomenon much. Until I had a birthday recently, that is.

I'm not so worried about having a baby. I don't see myself pushing a baby carriage, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crust cut off for lunch, or getting all giddy about the prom. I didn't even get that excited about my own prom. And while my grandmother and mother tell me I'll change my mind when I meet the right man, I don't see it happening. Right now, not only do I not see a baby in my future, I'm not seeing the "right man" coming along, either.

I've been doing some thinking for the past couple of weeks about the men I've found myself connected to over the years. I've met some true wackos. Now, I excuse some of my choices. In hindsight, I had daddy issues, like lots of people do who come from single-parent households, and the issues manifested themselves particularly in the men I chose.

Men were like cigarettes for me. When I was stressed, I reached for one, without thinking. When I was down, right after I opened a pint of Ben & Jerry's Pistachio Pistachio, I reached for one, without thinking. I wasn't truly addicted to these "cigarettes," though. As a matter of fact, I could go days without them. But there were certain days and situations where nothing soothed me like my "nicotine."

After I recognized this romantically cancerous behavior, I set out to stop it. Cold turkey. My success was mediocre. There were terribly stressful days that I found myself scrolling through my contact list to see who I could call when my day was done. But I didn't actually call. Most of the time.

I realized that while it's sometimes inconvenient not to have a companion, it's much better not having to explain myself to someone who will never get me. I don't have to justify my use of "big words" in casual conversation or second guess myself when accused of having too much mouth. I found myself writing more, taking more baths, reading books I've always meant to read, deepening my relationships with those who are important to me and enjoying it.

Just like an ex-smoker, after I let the stress-induced phone calls go, I breathed easier. I enjoyed being single and chuckled under my breath at the women I met who were in relationships that were no good for them because they had to have a man, whether they would admit it out loud or not. Not long after, more men than usual began to approach me—including ones buried in the don't-fool-with-him-again graveyard. They were all sorts of men: toothless ones, ones who had more gold in their mouths than there's gold in my jewelry box, men who let their subjects and verbs have all-out brawls in sentences, or who never relaxed enough to let "ain't" or "y'all" slip out every now and then. There were men who used Jesus as an excuse for everything they didn't want to do, and men with fewer morals than the dying cactus by my kitchen window. When I say all sorts of men, I mean it.

Then, my 27th birthday hit me. I'm a pretty well-balanced girl who's still single, so when I hear people say things like "real love comes when you least expect it" or "there's someone out there for everybody," my stomach heaves. Those stupid little love clichés are so annoying. Despite the fact that I'd love to be in a solid, healthy relationship, I never expect to find one. Why? Because I'm a cynic. Logically, according to that first rule of love, I should be one of the first people to find real love, because I'm never expecting it. The little girl in me wants to believe one day her prince will come, but the adult in me whispers, "Honey, Prince Charming is overrated, and we don't even have a monarchy in this country."

As far as someone being out there for everyone, it's simply not true. It's not even statistically possible unless you believe in polygamy, and I don't. I just learned how to loan accessories without hesitation; I couldn't possibly share a significant other/partner.

With each new man I meet, I become more convinced that if I want one who isn't a regressive, as I've come to affectionately come to refer to the ones who need a factory recall, I'll have to—

Well, see, that's the problem. I don't know what I'm supposed to do besides be frustrated when I think about it. And I don't want to sound like an angry black woman, because I'm not. I'm not bitter—my past hurts don't make my decisions for me, and I don't think all men are dogs. I'm not the girl who whispers "I wouldn't trust him" to her sisterfriends about their dating partner du jour. As a matter of fact, the men my friends date like me. They like me. They really like me.

The guys who are interested in me, though, seem to think it's OK not to do what they promise. They think I require too much when I say going to a movie is not a grown-up date because it doesn't require interaction. They dismiss me as argumentative when they state their opinion, and I don't agree.

My clock is indeed ticking, but I hope I don't get too caught up in society's "things a woman must do before she turns 40" hype. My mom has told me ever since I was a little girl, "It's better to have nobody than just anybody."

I trust I'll never forget that. In the meantime, I'll ... 1. Resist the urge for cigarettes that still comes from time to time. 2. Take the batteries out of my biological clock so it doesn't rush me into another ugly relationship. 3. Keep being the cynical romantic I've become. The one who will recognize the je ne sais quois in that special man who'll cross my path ... probably when I'm least expecting it.

Previous Comments

ID

74476

Comment

I loved this Natalie. I like it that you didn't discriminate against the gold-tooth or silver-grilled brothers. In about 20 more years my 6 year old granddaughter will finally start to dating and I want to make sure I make a good impression on her dates and future husband. Consequently, Im buying me a grill too for those special occasions. I can hear the fellows saying "Grandpa is a pimp."

Author

Ray Carter

Date

2007-02-07T17:00:18-06:00

ID

74477

Comment

Watch yourself, though, Ray. You know they say it's hard out there for a pimp!

Author

nacollier

Date

2007-02-08T14:39:56-06:00

ID

74478

Comment

Love this article, Natalie! I've been meditating for some reason about biological clocks. I don't really have one, but I look at women my age and I do the math and I think "Well, Tom, you planning on staying single for another 10 years? If so, and if you still want to, you know, spawn, how deep are you going to reach when you rob the cradle? You wanna be the 50-year-old guy with the 24-year-old pregnant fiancé? If not, better hurry up, you lazy--" And the only thing I can think about is that there are 80,000 kids going into the foster care system without parents every year because if this weird, insatiable urge to BREED. I love kids. Maybe one day I'll produce some with my genes. Maybe one day I'll adopt some. Maybe one day I'll just be a good mentor to kids who don't have good role models. I don't know. And, increasingly, I don't care--because I'm comfortable with all of those options. I've gone through 28.5 years of life without what most people would call a "serious relationship." I don't sexualize women. There are women I adore, but I don't sexualize them. I don't date, exactly. I get to know people. One day I'll probably settle down with one of those people. I was homeschooled. I did my degrees by distance learning. This is the first time in my life, since I was 12, where most of my friends are anywhere close to my age--on average my friends during the interim were 10 or 20 years older. I spent time mainly with twentysomethings when I was in my teens, fortysomethings when I was in my twenties. None of this is conducive to "serious relationships." Most "serious relationships"--except for the one or two special ones that a person might have in a lifetime--seem to be pure endorphins, tab A, slot B, verbal and emotional and all too often physical abuse, an unhappy breakup, and then you're supposed to just load up the next one and keep going until you get lucky in more than the usual way. Some people don't understand that. I get letters from well-meaning friends who tell me all about the "ladder theory" and how I have to completely change the way I relate with women or I'll die a virgin. What they can't seem to get their heads around is that I'd much rather die a virgin than completely change the way I relate with women. So in a word: Kudos. Cheers, TH

Author

Tom Head

Date

2007-02-09T06:54:05-06:00