By my mid-twenties I knew I wanted to be a spinster.
I took a look at the world and saw that having children was absolutely not something I was going to do: the future seems bleak; the economy only works for the wealthy. I might well have what it takes to be a good parent, but working to feed ungrateful kids, trying to give them hope for a future I’m despondent about, instead of just gallivanting and making the most of life, is a miserable trade-off. Besides, I’d rather be there for people who already exist.
I then expanded the same thinking to relationships. As a person who wants to enjoy life by living modestly and spending as much time as I can doing things that I feel have a positive impact for society (as well as travelling, photographing, and writing for myself), I’m not sure I can really afford a wedding, nor married life. Maybe not even a long-term relationship. I value my freedom, and relationships,
even the good ones, are usually a compromise on that.
I like to spend my evenings having a long walk in the rain, throwing darts and reading about psychotherapy, letting my mind dream about a weekend somewhere strange like Preston, to see its wonderfully designed bus station and Deepdale Stadium.
Relationships, particularly serious ones, tend to involve sitting on a sofa watching TV but really talking over it to decide whether or not to send engagement brunch invites on recycled unbleached paper. I don’t care for any of this at all.
Someone could soon come along and change all of this, or fit right in with my admittedly weird ways, of course. But that’s unlikely. The average age of heteronormative men to marry is 34.3 years young.
That’s pretty much exactly five years from now for me. I give the prospect of being married in five years
absolutely no chance (and not just because I don’t want to – who needs a guy that visits bus stations) and so I am destined to become a male spinster.
It’s an exciting prospect. I like my solitude, I like being able to spend my evenings and weekends doing exactly what I want to do. I love living alone. I am a bit of a people pleaser and so it doesn’t tend to be in my nature to put myself first when I am in a relationship – I will reply as soon as possible even if it inconveniences me, I will go out of my way to be there for people and to love them on their terms more than mine.
It can be exhausting. I can even lose a sense of self, and I need time to rebalance from that (friends included). Plus, when I let myself be, I am selfish. Sharing a bed all the time, even when one of you is ill and can’t keep snot off the sheets, dealing with food poisoning (having and feeling bad for it or witnessing that mess) – been there. No thank you.
Loneliness isn’t a worry either. I do have friends – too many – and I have more time to see or speak to these friends when I’m single. I have more time for new hobbies in which I might make even more friends. I don’t have to alternate the year I see my family on Christmas Day; these relationships are less consuming than even the healthiest of romantic relationships, and they matter far more to me, not least because they already exist.
Financially, I’ll admit there’s part of this argument that doesn’t add up. I do loathe paying
only 25 per cent less council tax than a dual-income no-kids household, and two incomes is of course more glamorous than one when it comes to things like mortgages or splitting the bill on a good rug for the lounge, but from experience, lifestyle creep is worse in relationships than it is single.
You will splash out on comforts that aren’t needed. You will fight over whether the heating should be on. And frugality isn’t sexy. A surprise croissant and some flowers that set you back £18 is. But more than money, being single is also about the amount of time I have to myself, and being able to do things whenever I want.
Batch cooking something on a Friday so that I can spend the weekend watching every second of football that’s on across the world. Leaving my pants on the floor because I cannot be arsed to put them in the laundry basket until the morning. I can do these things, and it annoys nobody. There are no micro-tensions that creep into a shouting match in the middle aisle of your local discounted supermarket chain in single life. We all win.
I’m not ruling out having partners at all across the rest of my life. There’s every chance I find someone who is either like-minded and willing to establish a routine and boundaries we can both authentically agree to. But I am actually ambivalent about finding that person. And not in the dejected, grumpy, denial way. I just think on the whole, if you can get used to your own company, life is generally better single.