On Singleness, Part Two

In September, I’m writing about singleness. You can read Part One here. The whole anonymity thing makes me bold and outgoing. Yay!

 

Maybe because I have the opportunity to know firsthand the way how easy it can be to feel helpless regarding meeting somebody, I tend to do my part whenever I can introducing friends. It seems like the thing to do. Even when I don’t understand somebody, and especially when I think that they are weird and unlovable, I try to think of anyone I know who would understand that person, and make introductions when I can. And maybe in some ways I am attentive and zealous because I am somewhat resentful against the Church for not doing the same for me. I never realized this about myself until recently, when some woman ran into me at the grocery store and, when recounting it to my mother later, I said, “She kept going on about me being, you know, sweet and lovely and that I was going to make somebody soooo lucky someday. People always use that line on me! Why doesn’t anyone ever consider that I don’t want to be placated with platitudes about my eligibility for marriage? They’re lying! If they really believed that I was a good candidate for marriage, they’d follow it up with, ‘And I have this really spectacular nephew that I think you should meet.’”

 

It was an uncharacteristic outburst for me, and my mom immediately asked, “Are you saying that the church has failed you? Have I failed you as a mother?” She immediately suspected that I was accusing her, which is exactly why I cannot really discuss these things with her: my mother is one of the most incredible women I know. She is the perfect mother, a lovely lady, the finest and most supportive and ultimately generous human beings that I have ever known.

While I am usually very content with my singleness and life (this blog post has been a long time in development and may be among the first of its kind in twenty five years…..even if it sounds fairly well-rehearsed here), my parents tend to feel like they have so much desire to allow the the luxury of a boyfriend (and husband) whom I love, and so little opportunity to do anything about getting me one. This is one thing that they can’t fix for me. They always imagined that their daughter, if raised properly, could afford to be choosy and could take her pick of interested men. My dad says that it literally never crossed his mind that I might have no one to choose from, let alone be single beyond the time when I chose to be. I try to make it easier by making sure that I am consistently optimistic and content in my comments, looks, and hopes, but they cannot help being anxious for me, and feeling that in some way they could provide for me the happiness they see me watch as my friends meet people and marry themselves off. I know their prayers for me, and their openness to consider any possibilities, and there are no two people in the world who have failed me less. As such, I have been under the impression that the church is maybe guilty only of false flattery and not irresponsibility. I think, I guess I am the problem, despite what people say in grocery stores. I know for a fact that I am not in the top 1% physically. I’m pretty: I have a smile I love, and I’m tall, and I take good care of myself, but I am not cheerleader-stunning or super-hot-secretary-sexy, and that is the simplest thing to suspect: “I’m sweet, but I am just not pretty enough to command the kind of attention I would need to get a decent boyfriend.” I have a lot of gorgeous friends who turn heads when they walk by, and as I watch them I think that it would be so much easier if I had a group of friends whose looks were average. I am not any of the stereotypical things, either short, cute and curvy; or tall and malnourished; or blonde-and-blue-eyed; or brunette-and-rosy-cheeked; or any of the other categories that people fit into when they immediately get noticed on Amtraks and in Super Targets. Every boy who has ever liked me has said that I am pretty, and I know that I am, but it’s just that…I am not airbrushed; I have pores; I have hair that can’t decide if it is brown or blonde; and I have to hit the gym for an hour after work (and eat 80% vegetables as a matter of course) to make sure that I stay thin. I have often tried to understand what God thinks about beauty and the jury is still out on that, but in the meantime I have tried to do whatever I can to work the best with what I have. I smile, dress nicely, walk as gracefully as I can, and make the rest up by being as attentive and joyful as I can to make up the difference. I cannot help thinking, though (as anybody would if they had as much time to consider these things as I do) if I simply do not belong in any category, which leads me to second-guess my own attractiveness: “Maybe if I were ten pounds skinnier people would notice me.” “Maybe people find my personality too calm—maybe I should be mean and witchy, and maybe I’d at least be noticed by people who would like a challenge.” Or, “Maybe I am too cold; maybe I should be more vulnerable.” And endlessly on, until I come up with hundreds or thousands of combinations of factors that would explain why people say nice things without producing a single spectacular nephew for my review. It is easy to feel as though I have nothing to be confident over, because if I was really the pretty, talented, refreshingly pleasant person that my Facebook comments, my friends, my parents, and especially  my church family says, there would be some evidence of it, right?