Rushing down the Aisle

I was in Perth for work a few years ago and every time I would go down to the hotel restaurant it was the whole “Table for 1” situation. Which is all well and good except for when Kathy the waitress asked me at every meal if it was still just me and I was like YES KATHY, I AM ALONE. ARE YOU PLEASED WITH YOURSELF?

It reminded me that I was 32 and single at the time and I enjoyed it just as much then as I do now, albeit 2 years later. Not that I want to be this way forever but I believe that one day I’ll get married and have kids and I’ll miss being able to take a dump without a small human standing at the door watching me or being able to have a shower for longer than 5 seconds or being able to have a peaceful meal by myself without having to share with anyone. So even though everyone on Instagram (and everyone everywhere else) seems to be in a rush, I’m pretty cool with it being just me.

It’s funny because my Mum used to be the ‘no boyfriends until you’re 25’ and ‘no children until you’re married’ type. Now she’s telling me I can’t be a spinster for the rest of my life and that if I end up getting pregnant to Billy Bob from the local disco she’d be stoked. Never mind the fact that I think I’d have to fly to America to find Billy Bob and the last time I went to a disco it was the blue light at our local RSL in 1999. It seems the desperation for more grandchildren outweighs the moral compass she threatened me with as a 15-year-old – my Mum has adopted the ‘by any means’ approach. Unfortunately for her, that’s not really my style.

I’m now at a point in my life where a lot of my friends are settling down and having kids. They’ve got mortgages and wine storage and car seats in the back and renovation plans on their desktops next to photos of their babies. I can’t exactly relate and I try not to let that keep me up at night. However, when you get to 30 and have no marriage prospects within a 50-mile radius of anywhere, people start to ask some exploratory questions. Over time you start to feel those questions turn into assumptions about why you may never take a trip down forever lane. Work too much, standards too high, lesbian (lolzzzz), fussy, difficult to please, emotional robot, too busy catching flights and not feelings (partially true).  

What I find funny is that when you tell people you just haven’t met anyone yet, they’re so shocked. As if hundreds of men should be queuing up to court you when in fact men are too busy getting their dicks sucked by someone on Tinder who will happily oblige without the expectation of commitment. This is certainly not an “all men” situation but I don’t think any of us can deny we have generations of people prioritising everything through the lens of pleasure whilst entertaining the idea that the grass is always greener on the other side. Can you blame women for being so uncertain? Where should we put down roots if men won’t plant a single tree? Couple that with the fact that so many of my gay friends tell me straight, married men are happy to be sucked off by them in the toilet of a bar and I’m honestly just scared. Of being cheated on of course but also…like…public humiliation and STI’s and stuff. Imagine everyone knowing your husband gets his dick sucked at the Wickham while you’re at home scooping stray turds out of the bath? Then he expects you to roll over so he can inject his freshly obtained Chlamydia into you? Thanks, but no thanks.

When you’re in your 20’s the love of the season feels like the love of your life and that kind of naivety has you believing that it lasts forever. Which it doesn’t, at least not in the way that you think it does. You’re under the false impression that love alone is enough. That it somehow conquers all. When you eventually become a little jaded by the human experience and are forced to take off your rose-coloured glasses, you realise you had it all wrong. Not because you believed in love in the first place (always believe in love, always), but because you had no idea what it was. You thought love was vows and sweet notes on the fridge and that giddy feeling when a name pops up on your phone and chemistry and physical attraction. It’s not. Does it help? Of course. It’s such a beautiful part of the journey and is what makes the beginning so exciting. But text messages and post it notes won’t make or break you. The easiest part of marriage is walking down the aisle in the most expensive dress you’ll ever wear at the most expensive party you’ll ever throw. The hardest part is basically every single thing that happens after that. The hardest part is real life. And one wrong move could have you in the trenches with someone so committed to misunderstanding you that they dig you further into the ground.

All of that aside, I know there are good men out there, I really do. But what I actually care about is this idea that if women aren’t married with children before they hit their mid-30’s, there must be something wrong. These pitying looks start to follow you around as if life is somehow passing you by and you’re too stupid to know it. No matter how fulfilled you say you are and genuinely appear to be, people assume you go home and cry yourself to sleep at night in a tub of Ben ‘n’ Jerry’s because you feel so alone. But the thing is…you don’t. I know the biological clock is ticking but I also know that if I’d have rushed down the aisle in my 20’s when I very well could have, I’d be writing a completely different story about life as a divorced single mother who chose quickly and chose poorly. Not because my first boyfriend was a poor choice, but because we were ultimately a poor match. And me being able to come to that realisation is the beauty and the benefit of life experience. If you do it right, hindsight can be a valuable place to visit and somewhere you’ll go often. Not because you have any interest in setting up shop there but because if you’re anything like me, you’ve found retrospection in your 30’s to be an unexpected gift. One that you may never have opened if you’d spent the last few years tangled up with someone else.

So that’s why I’m not in a rush. It’s also why the idea that life is passing me by because I’m the doomed unwed just doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve seen what happens on the other side of I Do and I’m grateful to my friends for not holding back the sometimes-harsh reality of forever. I may not know how hard it will be, but I at least know it won’t be easy. Which is far more than I can say for 22-year-old me who was ready to lock it all down because Noah and Ali made it work in the Notebook. My expectations have been well and truly managed since then.

One day, some lucky man will benefit from this time I’ve spent figuring out who I am and what I want and we’ll both be grateful that I didn’t commit to an imaginary deadline perpetuated by societies expectations of women. 34-year-old Jazzy shits on all the previous versions of me and there is simply no white dress and no promise of forever that I would have traded this season of growing for. Especially when part of the season means having copious amounts of cash available to me and spending a heinous amount of it on a trip to Bali with my best friend.

I’m a firm believer that the grass is greener wherever you water it. And right now, my side of the 'lonely fence' is looking pretty fucking good.

With love, always

J