I haven’t written about singleness in a while. While being single is somewhat of a fundamental distinction, it really isn’t a big part of my life.
Because, really, being single is just the absence of a marriage…kinda a default setting.
There have been points in my life when singleness was a big deal. In my college years and the few years thereafter, especially. Since then, I go through seasons of discontent with my marital status. I’m not in one now though.
In fact, I’m probably the most content with my current situation than I have ever been. I still have my moments of longing, but those often catch me by surprise because they are fairly rare.
I can honestly say that I could see living as a single, content spinster for the rest of my days. The thought doesn’t scare me.
Others, however, don’t seem so content to let me be. I do have some super-supportive family and friends, so I’m definitely not talking about them. But in a few casual conversations, it seems like my marital status seems to have many people tripping over their words. Like they don’t know what they could possibly talk about with an almost-30-year-old single woman.
I promise, it’s really not that much different than talking to another almost-30-year-old woman.
No, I don’t have a husband, but you can still talk about yours. No, I don’t have children of my own, but I enjoy them and don’t feel awkward at all if you talk about yours.
I have a job, interests, and hobbies like most people. Nothing wrong with asking about any of those.
In these casual conversations, it seems like these people desire marriage for me because they see it as my fairy tale ending, as if I’m not quite complete without it. Don’t worry: I’m no longer have any disillusion that marriage is a necessarily happier state than singleness.
And I know that I’m a whole person; I don’t need a man to complete me.
Scratch that. I need Christ to complete me.