I must make a confession. I am a lazy lover. I find myself at a juncture in life where I’m uniquely uninterested in asserting any effort towards dating. Worse yet, I have neither remorse nor guilt for this current state of affairs.
There was a time in my life when broken furniture, lamps toppled on the nightstand and a mattress half resting on the floor were considered a normal Tuesday evening. Now, I find myself waning in my attempts to “try” to be interested in romance. Formerly, I had a special penchant for breaking fine Italian crafted dining chairs and ripping window treatments from their fixtures. What happened to the woman, formerly known as me?
Once upon a time I was familiar with unbridled passion. If I loved a man, I worried little about the aftermath of my home furnishings. I was patient when combing the knots out of my hair after two days of bliss. I was content to walk in public wearing the revealing smile of one who’d been supremely satisfied. My unfinished books waited silently upon my desk without guilt, calling for their completion.
Now I prefer the solitude of my own company, politely declining advances from any and all prospective partners that seek to lure me from this private existence. I thrill over the prospect of watching a Netflix movie alone rather than yearn for the taste of a lover’s kiss. The woman who was part wild beast and part observer of this tendency toward loves expression has now become a tame, docile bystander to the world of romantic interludes.
How and why did this radical shift occur? Was it the aftermath of too many tears and too much confusion in the pursuit of love? Was it the meticulous cleaning required of the rooms in ruin after a night’s pleasure? Was it the eventual realization that I am at heart a serial monogamist and another bus (and another man) is always on the schedule of a known arrival?
I silently delight in the days and months I’ve spent enjoying the solitude of my own company. I luxuriate in the immense joy I’ve experienced in this phase of my life; the inner reward of creative work accomplished, clarity of thought, and time that is my own.
I’m certain this current attitude is a passing, yet necessary phase. Perhaps it’s the realization that partnership is not the only means by which to experience love. To love oneself without the need of another to ignite that flame, is to own a love that is eternal.