I didn’t notice it happening. One day I had a friend group full of single people and we went to bars on Thursdays and made spontaneous plans and complained about dating apps together. And then, one by one, they coupled off. They moved in together. They got engaged. They had children. And I stayed exactly where I was.
I want to be clear: I am not sad about this. Or I am sometimes sad about it, in the particular 2am way that doesn’t really count, that dissolves by morning. But mostly I am curious about it. How did I become the last single person? Was it choices I made? Luck (or its absence)? The fact that I am, by several accounts, not easy to live with?
« Being alone and being lonely are completely different experiences. The conflation of the two is the single biggest lie contemporary culture tells about singleness. »
What Changes When You’re the Last One
The social architecture shifts. You go from being one of many to being « the single one » — a designation that carries, depending on the friend group, varying degrees of pity, envy, or theoretical admiration. The dinner party seating arrangements become a puzzle. The couple friends worry, sometimes vocally, that you are not okay. You are okay. You are sometimes better than okay. You are occasionally having the time of your life, alone, on a Tuesday evening, doing exactly what you want, answerable to no one.
This is not a tragedy. This is one version of a life. A valid one. Perhaps, on its best days, a remarkable one.
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