Last night, Pieces and I, and some of her friends went to this place called Squeeze to listen to DJs Nikhil and Pearl. We arrived shortly after Nikhil's set, and Pearl had taken over, and was wearing those big earphones and churning out the music and smiling at the crowd. I'm not really into house, which is what was being played, but something about the energy of the evening, the pulsating beats and the waving arms of the crowd--mainly young boys, not older than 20 I should think, which meant no (legal) eye candy--sort of made me do a little back and forth sway thing, that I do when I'm not dancing. Women DJs are so, so sexy, I think, something about conquering what essentially looks like a male domain, they look so feisty and ubercool and such an epitome of female independence. And then DJ Nikhil, her husband came up from behind her and put his arm around her waist. And that last epitome of Single Womanhood? Vanished.
A couple of months ago, a good friend of mine hesistantly told me she was in love. Well, not in love love, but she liked the dude a hell of a lot and well, they were going to take each day as it came and so on. I was happy for her, sure, but in all this, somewhere at the back of my brain, little voices started screaming, rock opera style:
You're going to wind up alone!
No, no no, how can this be, I sang back
Because you are now and have always been freeeeee-eeeeeeee.
Leela gets hitched this October. Dates have been set, outfits bought and I am somewhere in the glorious state of denial. I love her, sure, and I'm immensely happy for her and that everything's working out great, but oh dear, what's gonna become of meeeeee?
(Caveat: I do enjoy being single, this is not a post whining about lack of love etc. It's actually supposed to be a post dissecting relationships in your twenties. Right. Now that I've put you, and myself, back on track, moving on.)
Twenty, these days, appears to be the new thirty. The world is being run by twenty somethings, oh I'm not talking like CEO or editor type jobs, but those are what we're being groomed for eventually. We're being fed royal jelly and don't we know it. As a result, most twenty somethings are a) jaded; b) incredibly stressed out; c) usually burnt out with all the high living and d) unbearably smug.
Therefore, with this being older than we actually are, if you take each year of twenty as the equivalent thirty something age, you have about how old we feel. At 25, now, being single, is like being single at 35, especially when all around you, your peers are hooking up like there's no tomorrow. The free-for-all sex, which you thought you had INVENTED at 20 or 21, is now giving way to "something serious" which is what everyone--men included--seem to want.
Being committed at twenty something is almost like being married. Most people, thanks to the large number of us who move away from families and home towns, have their own houses. I know at least two couples who live together, in perfect domestic harmony. What's gone wrong? Where are our independent free lives? I think the problem is multitasking. We can do it all, and then some. Therefore, your average twentysomething can juggle a career, living alone and a relationship all with considerably panache. You have the same originally thirtysomething relationship problems--commitmentphobia, settling down, making a call between an awesome career shift or saving your relationship, long distance, blah blah blah. When did relationships become such hard work?
I, on the other hand, am contemplating getting a cat. And trying not to be worried by articles such as this one. Babies, peh, I have feline company. Oh, and five years.