I wasn't put on this earth for love

Life is what happens when you're dying to be in a relationship

A decade ago. Kind of crazy I am not married yet.

I watched this stupid interview with this guy where he was talking about dating, and he was like, “I don’t think I was put on this earth for romantic love.” I personally have this same thought all the time, so my initial reaction was like, “Cool, now I don’t need to write that essay.” But then the guy went on to say that he didn’t “really feel or desire romantic love.” Which is not what I meant at all. So today I paid $5 for a vegan tahini cookie in order to sit at a cafe and share my own thoughts on the matter.

I deeply desire love. I’m exceptionally good at falling in love and staying there for longer than is advisable. I also probably desire love more than the average person: every street I walk down, every coffee shop I enter, every airplane I board becomes the stage for some mythical romantic encounter, which of course never occurs. But as much as this sucks in the moment, overall it’s a good thing! The tension—or you might call it a void—produced by my unfulfilled longing is the gravitational center around which all the best parts of my life orbit.

The life I’ve built to combat love’s absence is vastly richer than the life I would’ve built otherwise. I know this from experience: I’ve been in longterm relationships. The satisfaction and occupation they’ve provided has palliative, but not curative, effects. No relationship has ever elevated me as a person or an artist. Mostly, they just felt nice. There’s nothing wrong with feeling nice! In fact, some people might even call it the ultimate aim of life, nobler than “superficial” aims like beauty, wealth, and status. But for me, being in love feels a lot like smoking weed: it’s pleasantly habit-forming; it passes the time, making even mundane activities fun; and it leads to a lot of sitting around at home, snacking and watching movies.

Sure, there are less cannabinoid partners out there, partners who will push you to do more, go out in the world, explore and meet new people and get in shape and finish projects and just generally ascend to a higher plane of personhood. (I would love to meet someone like this.) The average partner, however, is someone to hang out with. Again, nothing wrong with that! But man, you would not believe how much time you gain when you lack a default person to hang out with.

As a single freelancer, I’m practically swimming in free time (sorry I haven’t replied to your email, I’m swamped). I can easily “waste” three hours a day (scrolling twitter, looking for things in my apartment, masturbating) and still have time to earn money, do creative work, hang out with a friend, go for a run, cook nice food, and read a book. When I had a partner, I definitely didn’t do these things every day, because when I had a partner, sitting around felt as meaningful as all those activities combined.

But here’s the thing: it wasn’t! When I look back on my relationships, I see all these “free passes” I gave myself: free passes to not read that book or meet up with that friend or go to that exhibition or call my dad (RIP) or work on my writing because sitting around with my partner was so much fucking easier. Sitting around was so easy, it made everything else feel impossible by comparison. Faced with the choice between venturing into the world and staying home with my partner, I always chose the latter. Not because I’m codependent (I am) but because everything worth doing involves an element of risk, whereas sitting around is reliably nice basically 100% of the time.

Even the healthiest and most inspiring relationship takes up time and, perhaps more importantly, brain space. You’re chatting with your partner every day, thinking tender thoughts in their direction, worrying about their problems, asking how their day was and recounting your own. Hopefully you guys are also fucking. Hopefully your fucking takes at least half an hour.

I’ve never been one for efficiency (I’m the type of person who requires 24 hours of unscheduled time in order to accomplish one hour of work) but being in love is undeniably a drain on resources. When I’m in love, I start pouring my creative energy into elaborate gifts and cards for my lover, which is super sweet (I am world’s best girlfriend, if you don’t factor in the mental health issues) but is also kind of tragic because I could be making stuff for the wider world (or for myself!) rather than trying desperately to please the type of longterm boyfriend who wakes up to a bouquet of roses on his doorstep and doesn’t even say thank you (I’m still bitter).

The LRB capitalizing on my plight!

I’m not going to lie and tell you I’d choose being single over finding the right partner. But I can honestly say that when/if I do get into another relationship, I’ll be nostalgic for this chapter of singlehood—this blessed, celibate chapter of peak creative output, deep and numerous friendships, consistent sleep, zero compromises, and total autonomy.

What I’m saying is I’m doing really well these days. I hope I don’t fuck it all up when I fall in love again.