Quote of the Week: Feeling Sorry for Someone?

HT to my mother, who was eavesdropping on the bus:

“Here you are with three kids, while I’m scrounging around for  dates.”

Personally, I don’t see the connection. You can have three kids and still be scrounging around for dates (via divorce) or have no kids and not be dating (married, childless), or various other imaginative combinations. Moreover, while children are loads of fun, they’re also a massive pain, so while they’re something I would love to have, I’m not kvetching about not having them yet. And scrounging for dates? Well, when I remember how miserable I feel after a string of bad dates, I think I’d rather have none than lousy ones.

My verdict: this woman needs to get over herself.

Friday Repost: Insensitive Sensitivity

Don’t you hate it when people are sensitive to you? It reminds me of the time in 9th grade when the teacher was always going on about how friendless we all feel in a new school and we should all do a “neck exercise” to turn and look for someone else who needs our friendship.

Well, after that little speech, I viewed any overtures of friendship with suspicion. Why was Ms. Popular suddenly dropping by my desk to say hello? Did she think I had no friends? What a snub!

Sensitivity is like that. People are trying to be nice to you, and all it does is highlight that they perceive an inadequacy in your life. I read a complaint about the “Happy Holidays” greeting. “We all know that it just means ‘Merry Christmas to all of you poor losers who don’t celebrate Christmas’,” the blogger whinged. In other words, once again, sensitivity is taken the wrong way.

Let’s face it: sensitivity is insensitive! Especially when done sensitively. It suggests that you simply aren’t equipped to handle one aspect of your life, and everyone else is required to tiptoe around you to prevent a meltdown.

I believe that the best solution to this is that everyone just stop being sensitive. Usually the other person won’t notice, because they’re not sensitive on the same items as you think they are. And if they are? They’ll just deal with it the way they deal with all the things you’re not sensitive about (like not being sensitive) – by growing a thicker skin.

All these musings, of course, wer inspired by a post inspired by someone being sensitive about my being single. And back then I was only 21.

 

Me Party: Anthem for the Single

“…Haven’t you heard?

One is the new two!”

Thanks Relarela for this video. This song is bound to become a hit among the lacking-a-significant-other crowd. Crank up the music and let’s have a Me Party! (Warning: both women and pigs singing.)

…There are times when I wish I was with you

There are days when all this girl can see is a world that’s made for two

At times like this I feel all alone and feel like nobody cares

But I only have to call my name – and darling I’ll be there!

Really, it’s about time the furry puppet crowd advanced beyond this rather plaintive song about being alone.

Still Single? At Least You Have Facebook

HT to Relarela for this one.

Studies show that heavy Facebook use gives you about half the support you’d get from being married. That was stated to prove how supportive FB can be.

“Facebook users get more overall social support, and in particular they report more emotional support and companionship than other people,” wrote Hampton in a blog post. “And, it is not a trivial amount of support. Compared to other things that matter for support — like being married or living with a partner — it really matters. Frequent Facebook use is equivalent to about half the boost in support you get from being married.”

To me it’s rather ominous. I don’t use Facebook. Does that make me the 21st-century equivalent of the hermit monk in the woods?

Then again, perhaps it’s news of hope. Just think: the modern single can hack their way to happiness with a few simple steps. Get a dog for oxytocin, Facebook for support, plus a few trusted friends just in case. Bingo! You’re operating at over 85% the emotional support of marriage with none of the stress. Sounds great, right?

Right.

No, really.

I’m a Real Person!

“Hi, this is Avital. As you know, Brocha and Chaim had a baby (Dovid) two weeks ago. I’m organizing meals for them for the month. Can you do next Monday?”

I stared at the phone, affronted. I mean, I was just some random single girl who’d moved in a few months ago. Why was she calling me?

Then I shook my perspective and waited for it to resettle. I was an independent woman with an income who could cook and was a friend of the family. Why shouldn’t she call me?

“Sure, no problem. I’d love to! Put me down.”

I hung up grinning. I (not my mother) was going to be making dinner for a pair of new parents. How cool is that? I’m a real person!

Know Thyself

I was thinking about hormones after reading a rather depressed sounding post on another blog. The author seemed to think that she was feeling down because she was single. Personally, I never believe that. If I’m suddenly feeling sad it can’t be because I’m single. How could it be? I’m single on a regular basis. In fact – not to brag – but I am almost always single! Yet I don’t feel depressed about it nearly as often. So it’s got to be something else.

Well, I’ve decided that it must be hormones.

Hormones are a funny thing. On the one hand, it’s disquieting to think that so much of what appears to be our personality could be regulated by chemicals floating through our bodies. On the other hand, they’re a convenient scapegoat for when those very same personalities take a dive south. This is not avoiding responsibility. To the contrary. I think of it as the first step of one of those 12-step programs. Only by acknowledging one’s grumpiness as an external factor can you begin to act on it. For ee-jee:

Bad: “I’m sad because I’m single.”

This is a bad attitude, because what you’re saying is that as long as you’re single you’re going to be sad. It also doesn’t explain why you aren’t terminally depressed all the time.

Good: “I’m sad because my seretonin levels are low, due to elevated prolactin or reduced estrogen coupled with rising progesterone.”

This is a good attitude because it explains why  you feel depressed this week in particular, and relates it to a temporary situation which can probably be fixed.

Because hormones can be fixed. Feeling flush with sad hormones now? Drag yourself out jogging to get the endorphins flowing. Call a friend and get some oxytocin pumping.  Eat sweet potatoes or chocolate or lentils or other hormone-regulating foods. Or just curl up in bed and say “this too shall pass.” Because it will. It’s just hormones, not your single status.

Although you can hope that that too will pass… But it will probably take a little longer.

Part 1: Know Thy Spouse

Link: All the Single Ladies – My Thoughts

Part 1 of Link: All the Single Ladies

 

The Atlantic article: All the Single Ladies

Here’s my favorite line from the article. Analyzing, as she is, the major changes occurring to the American family and modern marriage, Bolick points out why this is such an issue right here and now:

“But real change can seldom take hold when economic forces remain static. The extraordinary economic flux we’re in is what makes this current moment so distinctive.”

That’s it, folks. We’re in one of Those Times. You know those great crises of change in history, like the Industrial Revolution, the French Revolution, the colonization of America, the rise of Christianity, the rise of Islam, the unification of Italy, the birth of modern economics (eg: The Great Depression)?

All of these moments are romanticized in our minds and our public libraries, but truth be stated: they were miserable periods for most of the people involved.

This is our fate–this is the revolutionary moment in history that we’ve drawn. So, some aspects of our life may seem miserable. But just think of our future! When this revolution is completed and the New American Household is established, we will be romanticized in novels, documented in history books, expounded upon in college courses.

We’ll be famous!

Who knows? Maybe they’ll even read BadforShidduchim as a primary source documentation from this period. If you want to be quoted in history, comment below!

The Bachelor’s Soliloquey

I am a big fan of Hamlet’s soliloquy. When you think about it, life hardly ever averages out on the euphoric side. I don’t think human programming permits it to. So why do we bother going through with it? In his soliloquy, Hamlet does an excellent job hashing out our reluctance to kick the bucket (although I think he leaves out two biggies: inertia and curiosity).

But I’m not taking this into the realm of literary criticism or existentialism. What I meant to say is that the soliloquy is eloquent and thorough, and rarely done justice in a parody. But the one below manages. It’s even easy to elocute with proper inflection.  If I knew who it belonged to, I’d cadge the rights for the Shidduch Musical. Thanks to Relarela for sending it.

O wed, or not to wed;–that is the question:

Whether ’tis nobler in a man to suffer

The slings and sorrows of that blind young archer;

Or fly to arms against a host of troubles,

And at the altar end them. To woo–to wed–

No more; and by this step to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand hopes and fears

The single suffer–’tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To woo–to wed;–

To wed–perchance repent!–ay, there’s the rub;

For in that wedded state, what woes may come

When we have launched upon that untried sea

Must give us pause. There’s the respect

That makes celibacy of so long life;

For who would bear the quips and jeers of friends,

The husband’s pity, and the coquette’s scorn,

The vacant hearth, the solitary cell,

The unshared sorrow, and the void within,

When he himself might his redemption gain

With a fair damsel. Who would beauty shun

To toil and plod over a barren heath;

But that the dread of something yet beyond–

The undiscovered country, from whose bourne

No bachelor returns–puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of!

Thus forethought does make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And numberless flirtations, long pursued,

With this regard, their currents turn awry

And lose the name of marriage.

Travel the World, Meet New People, and…

Some are born shadchanim. Some achieve shadchanus. And some have shadchanus thrust upon them.

There are people who set up other people for a living. It is well known that they spend all their waking moments picking pink slips out of a pillbox hat and matching them to blue slips from a black Borsalino. There are also people who make a point of matching up singles. They meet singles and then meet other singles, and try to pair the two up. They create “shidduch circles” where they swap names with their friends. And so on.

And then…

And then there are the people who once set up their niece with the very nice boy down the block. Nothing much ever came of it, but the neighbor mentioned it to your aunt. And when your father said he was desperately seeking someone to set up his daughter, the aunt mentioned her to your father. And your father mentioned it to you, in the fashion of mentioning that strongly recommends follow-up action. And you, convinced that you’re going to see a professional shadchan of the first order, dress up, print crisp copies of your shidduch profile, and deposit yourself on her doorstep.

When does she sadly apologize for not being a shadchan? It varies. Sometimes it’s over the phone, so you have the option of discovering prior engagements that forces you to take an indeterminate rain check.

Sometimes it’s not until you ring her doorbell, and then you sit through the next half-hour being exceedingly engaging, because you know you’re wasting your time (and hers), but you don’t want it to show.

Sometimes it’s not until after the interview, when you realize that you just bared your soul to someone who was just being nice. She couldn’t bear to turn you away before. It wouldn’t have been nice to turn you down cold, considering your position as a rapidly aging single female. So she didn’t mention that she doesn’t actually know any boys (except the nice one down the block, but he’s married now to a very fine girl from Monsey). Now she can’t bear to see you leave with your hopes raised, so she breaks the news, very apologetically.

It’s not her fault. She just gave you an hour of her precious time too. And she’ll probably feel guilty for a whole day for not knowing who to set you up with. She might even call her friend to ask if her nephew is still single, only to find out that he’s learning at a yeshiva in Sydney for the next two years.

No, if anyone is responsible for the absurdity of the situation, it is that whole chain of people who are so desperate on your behalf that they conjure shadchanim out of the air where none exist, and pass them on, figuring, “It can’t hurt to meet people.”

Well, you can never tell.

It just takes the right person.

You need to be seen, you know.

Sometimes, chatting amiably to strange Women in Black, I wonder who failed to mention that the woman wasn’t actually a shadchan. Letsee… this woman is my mother’s, friend’s, friend’s… cousin? Sister-in-law? Something like that. So, it might have been the sister-in-law. Or the friend, or the other friend, or my mother.

I have to admire the number of links in the chain. Aren’t there only supposed to be three degrees of separation between orthodox Jews? And yet, here I am, discussing my  ideal mate with someone five degrees away; far enough for a serious game of broken telephone to take place.

My central nervous system generates glib answers to questions I’ve heard dozens of times before. Meanwhile, the back of my brain is wryly observing that in most aspects of my life, the opportunity to meet new people would be considered an exciting benefit. Really, why would this be any different?

I cross my ankles, sit up straighter, and try to enjoy the benefits of being single.

Unemployed and Single

Thanks H for this one – it made me laugh.

Riddle: how is being unemployed like being single? Or maybe, how is searching for a spouse like searching for a job? Or maybe, what do you need to… or maybe just follow the link and find out already.

Living Out of Town

“A guy moved here last year for a great job with a great company. He stayed here about three months before he packed it in and left. He said that if he stayed, he would probably never go on another date again.”

I guess three months was long enough to go out with the 6 single women in town.

People: if more singles lived out of town, more singles could live out of town.

Be brave.

Be bold.

Leave the tri-state area.

The Unexpectant Life

I met someone who had decided very early on to give up on getting married.

She realized that she didn’t have the physique, the looks, the femininity, or the vulnerability. She is smart, talented, independent, and difficult to impress. In other words, she knew no guy was ever going to propose to her.

So she went on with life.

No shadchanim. No dressing up for the neighbors. No trying to toe the line. No sticking to communities populated with single men. Nothing held her back. She was free.

In many ways I am jealous of her. Untethered by hope, she can move methodically forward to a clear, well-defined future. How pleasant it must be to never wonder and never wish for the unattainable.

And yet…

How terrible it must be to never wonder and never wish—to know with a morbid certainty that you are to remain single forever.

And also…

Is it possible to never wonder and never wish? Can even the most cerebral person accept with a cool conviction a future unpartnered?

No Flare Up

It was at the bottom of my bottom drawer – the one with my Chai Lifeline running t-shirt, lifeguard whistle, and assorted activewear. I  tossed it down there long ago when the drawer was designated for things I use infrequently.

It’s a silver matchbox holder and tray. It was given to me in Israel, as an entirely unnecessary thank you gift from the family I helped out on Thursday afternoons. The mother said she knew I didn’t need it yet. But she figured that one day I would be married and lighting candles and I should use it then. She also offered herself as a shidduch reference, by way of expediting the process.

I brought it out for the first time Friday evening. It felt odd. That is, it felt odd because it didn’t feel odd.

If my life was a novel, striking that match would have brought on a wave of self-pity and maybe the bursting into of tears. Instead, I observed that it was really quite pretty, but a little tarnished from sitting in that bottom drawer so long. Then I lit up.

Life is pretty full at the moment. There are intense ups and downs, tons to do at home and at work, and new struggles to overcome. Being single is really the easiest thing to deal with. I mean, I’ve been doing it my whole life. I can do it almost without thinking.

And secretly, in the back of my mind, I pack away remembrance of every high and low, for withdrawal on that day when I have to support a partner going through the same things.

The theory in most workplaces is that the best way to learn is to be thrown in the deep end. This way you know what questions to ask. Instead of “What is buoyancy?” you’re asking “Is there a significant introduction of drag from underwater arm recovery?”

But an important secret to success is to engage in directed study as soon as you hear that you’re going to be working in a pool. You read about water, maybe stick your head in a full sink, read swimmer biographies, and check out some books on hydrodynamics. On that first day you spend less time flailing around and more time trying out all the things you’ve heard about.

So, maybe I’m not getting experience on the ground, but that just gives me more time to do advanced reading and practices.

To paraphrase the unemployed:

I’m not single. I’m in transition.

Out of Control

Remember being a teenager? They expended a lot of effort trying to teach us how to be efficacious human beings.

One of the tools I recall was the circles of control. Basically, you envision yourself in the center of a circle of things that you can control: your reactions to other people, what you make yourself for lunch, how far you run in your morning workout. Outside them is another concentric circle of things not in your control: the weather, the stock market, who wins the Republican primaries, etc.

The line between these two circles is a fuzzy gray are full of things like job interviews and personal health. If you have wide circle of control, it includes much of these gray areas; if you have a narrow circle, it doesn’t.

I was up late one night feeling a little depressed about what one friend refers to as my romantic life. And then I thought: why am I even thinking about this? There’s so much else in my life that requires concern that I can actually do something about, why am I obsessing over this particular lacking?

Because there’s a limit to how much you can do to get yourself married. You can learn how to dress and act. You can learn what to say and what not to say on a date. You can take hundred-dollar photographs to attach to your shidduch profile. You can even learn how to gaze demurely up through your eyelashes while breathlessly clinging to every word that your date says. But ultimately, you can’t force anyone to marry you.

Maybe I’ve been carrying the whole dating thing too far into my circle of control. Maybe it’s time to admit that while I’ve done a whole lot, I can’t force the process.

Maybe it’s time to just let it go, and treat it like the weather, the stock market, and politics: something to deal with when it happens.

Maybe it’s time to just live without it.

Maybe all that’s easier said than done.

Thursday Links: I’m More Mature Than You Are

“Nuh uh!”

“Yuh huh!”

The argument began over here, at SiBaW. The question: who is more mature, single people or married people?

Some people seem to think that maturity is like pregnancy: you either are or you aren’t. Or that it’s like the original Model T: if you have it, it must be of a specific form and color.

Maturity comes in different forms, and people can mature in different ways. There are people who are externally very strong, who do well in the workplace, and so on, but who are emotional midgets. There are people who emotionally very in tune with themselves and others, and who completely stink at life. Some people manage both. Some neither.

There are single people with organized lives and apartments, and married people who live in pig-sties.

There are people who can organize and coordinate extra-curricular activities for six children under the age of ten, and there are people who can organize and coordinate a product launch on six continents, and these are not always the same people. Some people can’t do either. Some can do both. Some of those who can do both aren’t married and don’t have their own children.

Even people who seem mature can have bouts of immaturity.  Parents, for example, can easily reduce their adult offspring to kvetchy, whiny creatures.

Of course, it’s all been said already in the comments, so go over and take a look.

…and yuh huh, even my mommy says so!

 

——-

The funnest part of this article (which I arrived at via Princess Lea) is this paragraph:

Not your usual private eye, Mr. Levin is a practicing Orthodox Jew, a member of the Bobov Hasidic sect and the founder of T.O.T. Private Investigation and Consulting, a New York-based company that specializes in Orthodox-related cases worldwide. The company, whose focus is uncommon — and perhaps unique in the United States — hires forensic experts, former homicide detectives, photographers and even pilots, mostly on a per-case basis. Its services range from investigations into international banks and Israeli investment companies to local background checks for prospective Shidduchim, or Orthodox marital arrangements.

Only a chossid would become a private eye… And apparently some people do go for the FBI background check.

I Wish…

…that I knew the date that this comic was written.

Thoughts in a Department Store

Why can’t they ever sing about anything except falling in love, being in love, and falling out of love? What about 98% of life as most people live it? Can’t someone compose a song for the rest of us?

Guest Post: I’m Crazy, But Only For Today

I’ve never done a guest post before, but YH landed this in my inbox, and I like it. Even better, YH is a guy.

When I got back into shidduchim last year, there was one rule first and foremost in my mind: I wanted to get married, not play games. One of the reasons I want to get married is to find the happiness that comes from stability, because it’s hard to be happy when you have this huge gaping hole in your life. It’s hard to see the positives past such a big negative. It’s hard to enjoy yourself when all you want to do is lie down and indulge in self-pity. We’ve all had something which makes us feel incredibly lousy. It’s the essence of the shidduch crisis. The crisis isn’t that there are thousands of unmarried men and women who desire strongly to have kids and raise a family. The crisis is you and me. It’s a personal crisis shared by thousands.

I know what it means to hold a baby in your arms, to teach a child to read, to show little ones right from wrong. Boruch Hashem, I’ve been blessed with several ridiculously cute kinfauna (kn’ayin harah) whom I treasure more than anything and who love me back unconditionally. Boruch Hashem I have a close relationship with my married siblings, so I have a glimpse at the inside of the married universe.

It’s the hardest thing for me in the world.

How can I maintain a balance, an equilibrium, when every day I’m constantly reminded that I’m still alone, that I’m still single – especially in a culture that revolves around family life? How can I maintain yourself through rejection after rejection; to see my optimism and self-confidence crumble into dust?

I have to take some time off. Indulge in a little of that self-pity, and do it without feeling guilty. Just let it wash over myself. Watch a movie, seek out sympathetic friends. Do something relaxing, comforting. Then think it through – remember what my life is about. True, the life I want includes a wife and family. But that’s not the life Hashem has given me – not yet – and I have to live the life I have now to the best of my ability. There is so much out there for me to do: I have no business wallowing in yearning for something out of my reach.

To the contrary: it’s time to grab life by the horns. Time to kick back into high hear, make a goal for myself, follow it through to the triumph. Start exercising, drop a few pounds, ditch the raggedy sweater with the nachos stains and get a nice shirt and new tie. It’s time to feel better about being me, to start being proactive about life in general.

It’s okay to have a bad day, but only as a launchpad for a better future. It’s okay to crazy – but only for a day.

High and Dry: Life Without a Shower

The reason I posted about moving out is because of a link to a post that The Jolly Green Midget sent me. The post is about how married people get gifts and single people don’t. Just think about it: engagement party, wedding gift, baby shower… we spend on married people constantly. And what do single people get? A thank you card afterwards.  If we’re lucky.

The post, methinks, is a tad whiny. If you gave birth while single, I’m sure you’d be entitled to a baby shower. And seriously, a divorce party? How many of those are there, really? But I can’t help but wonder if the author doesn’t have a point about whole engagement party thing. Okay yeah: I’m jealous.

Because let’s face it: what can match the sheer joy of ripping the wrapping paper off a Kitchen Aide of your very own? Are single people never to experience this exhilaration?

And I was also thinking that if I’m going to move out, I need stuff. Even if you plan to camp in an empty apartment, you need a sleeping bag. Or an air mattress. You need something. When friends got married, we all chipped in to get them the things they needed to start their own household. But when single people move out their friends just offer to drop by and eat cake at the housewarming.

I tallied up the household goods I’ve accumulated over the years. I have:

One pot

One pan

One spatula

One bowl

Two knives

Two food-storage containers

One microwave

One iron

I’m not in such bad shape. With a pot and pan spatula and bowl and knife I can make and serve most things, in one form or another. The lack of fork and spoon might be an issue, so I’ll have to stick with finger food. I can reheat things in the microwave, make grill-cheese sandwiches with the iron, which I can also use to rearrange the creases in my shirts to more acceptable patterns. What more can a person need?

I can think of two things:

Potato kugel

A couch (or bed)

The couch nobody ever gets at a wedding shower. But the food processor with the vaunted kugel blade is a standard item for engaged folk. And yet, because I’m single, I’m doomed to face life alone, without even potato kugel as comfort, at least until my first paycheck comes in. (The furniture can wait ‘til the second paycheck. I do have my priorities straight, you know.)

Someone suggested I throw myself a goodbye party and hint that gifts are accepted. It’s a good idea, but yeuch. I can’t imagine throwing a party for gifts.  I had never even heard of the concept until my third annual Chanukah party, in 5^th grade, when the mother of a new kid in the class sent her along with a present. I was puzzled at first, then a little insulted. How dare her mother insinuate that I’d throw the party for material gain. As if. I still think the idea is obnoxious.

The truth is, I don’t actually want to schnorr off my friends. I just want to complain about the injustice of it all.

Now someone explain why I’m wrong.

Reason Number Whatever for Getting Married

…or for getting your hands on some school-aged children in some other manner (artificial insemination, adoption, etc).

Back when we were in school, the lead-up to any holiday was full of anticipation. Even in high school, every teacher would so bemoan the fact that we didn’t learn “Yahadus” anymore that they’d mix something related into their lessons. Now… well…

Good4 has joined my annual tradition of waking up the night before Purim and going “Ohmigosh! I didn’t arrange matanos l’evyonim yet!” I’m flattering myself, of course. She’s way ahead of me. My first year out of seminary I didn’t remember until Purim day.

Then Best4 sent a video of Kinfauna #4 telling the Purim story as a musical production, complete with school-crafted popsicle puppets and pre-school level musical numbers. (And parental prompts from the class newsletter.) Best4 gets the same running start on all the holidays just from being around kids. (And he gets to watch Kinfauna #4 ham it up on a regular basis.)

And yeah, I miss that. These days holidays just happen and I show up to them as a guest. When you’ve got your own household, you own the holiday. And when you’ve got kids, that same old story becomes  fresh again, popsicle-stick puppets, Vashti songs, and all.

Are People Pitying Me?

I remember when I thought 24 was kind of old to be single. Being single at 24 meant you were having an unusually tough time getting married. You’d been out with a gazillion guys and seriously, you still couldn’t find anyone to marry? You were nebach and you were suspect.

Now I know that at 24 you haven’t gone out with a gazillion guys. That engagement isn’t a milestone you pass like a birthday, and that it’s not something you can miss by accidentally taking the scenic route. It’s something that very consciously doesn’t occur when it isn’t a good idea for it to happen.

But most of all, I don’t think 24 is kind of old any more. Women my age with 2.5 kids fill me with wonder, not envy. Maybe I’m behind in building a family, but I haven’t been wasting my time. I’m not a pathetic single, sitting around waiting to get swept off her feet. I’ve been busy, living and learning and growing.

Now is not as good a time for marriage as ever before – it’s better. I’m older, I’m more mature, I know more and can do more and can feel more. I’m more patient and less judgmental, more crystal about my own desires and less clouded by the expectations of others. I’m different from the person who graduated seminary, in some ways perhaps for the worse, but on the whole, I think, for the better.

It was that high school self who thought the current me was a sad case. And the people who currently agree with her are probably in the same stage, or never had reason to move beyond it. To all those people: I’m sorry for causing you such distress. But please don’t waste any sympathy on me, because I don’t feel like a nebach case. I’m 24 and I feel great.

Living at Home and Maturity (Mutually Exclusive?)

Conversation at an editorial meeting preceding the publication of Leonard Sax’s “Boys Adrift:”

Female Editor: “…and these guys are living at home in their parents’ basements for years until they’re 27—even 28!”

Female Marketer: “I lived with my parents until I was 34.” Awkward silence. “Then I bought a house.”

Female Editor: “Ah, but you had a plan.”

There is a general conception that living at home breeds immaturity. I, for one, have never understood how maturity, the emotional state of reacting to situations in a socially appropriate and adaptive manner, should be dependent on the location of one’s abode.

It’s not that living away from home doesn’t have its allure. The Independent has the ability to exercise many exciting options the Live-at-Home doesn’t, such as leaving breakfast dishes in the sink, vacuuming after 10pm, and snacking on leftovers whenever he or she pleases.  In short – the ability to live without being held accountable for one’s every action. I would not, however, go so far as to call this line of reasoning “mature” by any stretch of the imagination. “Independent” and “mature” are not and never have been synonyms.

Overheard:

Conversant 1: “I’m sorry, but a person isn’t mature if they’re living at home. Sorry to say it, but if Mommy is still packing your lunches—hello! Grow up!”

Conversant 2: “Because buying your lunch at Starbucks is really mature?”

Of course, living independently does throw one into situations that are likely to develop mature behavior. Such as, for example, choosing to wash the dishes because one desires cleanliness, and not due to authoritarian dread. But, although it may be more difficult to develop these behaviors at home, there is certainly nothing preventing the assiduous adult from doing so. Moreover, plenty of people living independently never take advantage of these opportunities either, preferring to eat off paper or throw out the dishes when the sink gets too full.

At the same time, I have to admit that my behavior is very different when I’m living independently. On my own, I do the dishes without reinforcement, clean up for Shabbos spontaneously, and even prepare a brown bag lunch for the next day. At home, well, a certain amount of reminding is usually necessary. And forget the lunch. That’s why God invented vending machines.

So, do I magically mature when I leave home and regress when I return? Unlikely. Rather, when I’m on my own I’m playing house. In my house. The systems that help things run efficiently are the ones that I compose after my own trial and error. I have a feeling of ownership for my little household that I don’t have at home. When I was a teen and tried slacking off, the parents would remind me, “This is your home too.” But they were wrong. I was just living there.

Popular psychology tells us this is normal. The best way to motivate and encourage participation is to create a feeling of ownership. Etcetera, etcetera. And this would have been a good enough excuse for me if I hadn’t spent some time working in an environment with a two-tier employee system. The upper tier was a management caste that made the decisions. The lower tier was a union caste that carried them out.

Observing the union workers, I was struck by how much they resembled children going about their assigned chores. They dragged their feet, cut corners, and complained. In fact, sometimes they even whined.

Manager: “So, you were supposed to replace the candiflange. Did that happen yet?”

Mechanic: “Nope. But I recommend using the ATK-984.”

Manager: “We discussed that last week and we decided to go with the ATK-779 instead.”

Mechanic: “Piece of junk.”

Manager:  “Did you order it?”

Mechanic: “Nope.”

Manager: “Why not?”

Mechanic: shrugs “Nobody told me to.” Manager looks astounded. “I just carry out orders.”

When I heard this exchange I was initially embarrassed for the mechanic. Here was a full-grown, middle-aged man with adult children, and he sounded like a sulky teenager. Yes, he was in a situation where he did not feel ownership and so on, but he was an adult. He had a choice about how to behave, and he was supposed to choose the mature way.

And almost immediately, I was embarrassed for me. Because I’m also a full-grown woman, and sometimes I sound like a union worker. In fact, I even refuse to do things that I insist are not in my contract—like washing chulent pots.  Shouldn’t I also be taking the mature route?

Does the fact that we have always abused the better nature of our families give us the right to continue doing so as adults?

So yes, I enjoy living independently, with all the privilege it brings. But there is no doubt in my mind that living at home provides unparalleled opportunities to develop new facets of maturity.

Because as long as I’m living in this house, why shouldn’t it be my home too?

 

(Note: this does not extend to chulent pots.)

 

On Being Muddled

A hat tip to the Curious Jew for sending me to this post by Fudge. It captures the enervated malaise of an Unmarried Person taking stock of his/her life.

It’s not that I’ve ever thought I was a crummy human being because I wasn’t married. I’m good at lots of things, even if getting myself married isn’t one of them. Rather, it’s about that detached, confused state that a single person so easily slips into. Where do I belong? What should I be doing?

It’s so simple, or at least so defined when you have a family. Family first. Husband and children. The important parties are there to give their input. But for single people, it’s all a tangled muddle of loops of hope fading off into a million uncertain futures.   Maybe half the desire to get married stems from a desire for definition and clarity in life. To just know what you should be focusing on.

An example of this that frequently arises in my life is the Career Question. Everyone knows that your chances of bumping into the right guy are higher in the tri-state area than out of it. But career progress in a job can often lead to OOT. (Which is not unwelcome. Who wouldn’t want to live outside the tristate area if they had the option?) However, if one moves OOT for a job, one is being Career Oriented and Independent, which is anathema in a (n ultra-orthodox) woman and bad for dating in general. Also, there’s nobody to go out with. Whereas if one stays in NYC then one is being family oriented sans the family – and how pathetic and depressing is that?

(It gets even more muddled if the OOT job is more family friendly than the IT job. It loops, cancels out, and leaves you stranded someplace, pathetic, but not entirely sure why. Well, you know why. It’s because you’re single.)

Fudge’s solution is to get direction in life from something else. Slot yourself into the grand scheme of things without a spouse. Find meaning in life as an individual.

The idea is inspiring. It sounds wonderful.

…except, yeah. It still doesn’t help. I’ve never really had a grand personal ambition. I try to do well in my education, employment, and hobbies. But I’ve always taken a more passive approach to Big Meaningful Missions. I take them as they land in my inbox. It’s given me some interesting tasks in life, but nothing near steady employment. So choosing Fudge’s route is going to require a full-blown mid-life crisis. Why am I here? Why do I exist?

But even so. Let’s just say I’ve found meaning in expressing my love for God by bringing spirituality to knock hockey. Does that mean I can move to Thailand now? Stop paying the SYAS tax? Channel my spare cash into trust funds for the kinfauna? This approach may help me figure out how to spend my spare time, but it doesn’t answer the big question of what should be important right now.

And so I remain, befuddledly yours,

A Uxorially Challenged Person

Too Comfy Being Single

People have two lives. There’s the outer one that’s evident to all observers. This mostly consists of a blank face and your actions. Then there’s the inner life. This is where the thoughts that drive the actions occur. Any given action could have a myriad of thought processes behind it. The mysterious part is that nobody really knows why you do anything unless you tell them.

‘Course, that’s never stopped anyone from speculating, assuming, and concluding about your motives.

Thus we have people observing SIR and lamenting that she’s getting too comfortable being single.

I don’t know what SIR’s been doing to incriminate herself, but I can imagine by extrapolating from my friends and myself.

The fact is, we’re single. And while I’m single – while I’ve got nobody else to think about – I’m going to enjoy my independence. While I’m free from the burden of humongous bills, I’m going to splurge every now and then. While I have no family to care for, I’m going to advance my career.

Does that mean I’m not ready to settle down and look after a spouse? No. Does it mean I’m not saving for the future and can’t tighten the belt for necessary expenditures? Seriously, no. And does that mean I don’t plan to look after my children when I’ve got ‘em? No, not that either.

Is that wrong? Would you be happier to know that I spend my evenings in my room tearfully reciting Tehillim, instead of being outside in the fresh air building a soapbox derby racer? Would you like a ticker on my forehead so you can see how I weigh so many decisions against the belated Prince who just isn’t showing up?

Because the fact is, I am not comfortable being single. As a single, I have to hedge all my bets. Everything I do and every decision I make occurs under the shadow of my single status. Should I take that job and move there or risk unemployment but stay here? Should I try to find work with a company with awesome flextime options or go for the one with the better pay? Should I be buying something large and non-transportable when I might be married and across the continent in a half a year? Hey, Prince Charming, can you show up already and save me from living two lives at once?

Let’s face it. I’m a prisoner to the status I’m hoping to change. As long as I’m dating, part of my life belongs to a guy I haven’t met yet. And it’s a lot harder to  accommodate a guy you haven’t met, because you have to accommodate him in so many possible variations. Trust me: when he finally shows up, fitting him in will be a comparative breeze.

Me: O-oh! So you’re the permutation that wants to study toucans in their native habitat! Glad to meet you. See, I’ve got this alternative transportation fund I’ve been thinking of in terms of snowmobiles, but now I know to label it the Outrigger Canoe Fund. You’ve really taken a load off my mind. What took you so long?

Him: Delays out of Galeao Antonio Carlos Jobim International Airport. Also, my toucans were breeding and I didn’t want to miss the mating rituals.

But even prisoners have fun. People, being people, always make the best of their situation. That’s why I’m out with the girlfriends tonight, and that’s why I bought those gorgeous boots I don’t technically need (yet), and that’s why, if you don’t need that wheel, I’ll take it for my soapbox racer. It’s the perfect size.

Sinister Secret Society

Welcome to the Secret Society. There are rules. There are regulations. There are expectations of how you will behave and comport yourself. We will tell you all about them after you take the oath.

Are you one of us?

Well of course you are. You’ve been waiting for this day. Talk about “na’aseh vinishma” – we know you’re in, so we can make demands.

Someone will tell you all you need to know.

Several someones.

You won’t know when. There will be no warning. But information will be imparted and you will know it. After which you are expected to behave accordingly.

Are you ready?

That was a rhetorical question.

Welcome to Shidduchim.

That old high school classmate who suggested you start ironing your hair daily? She was an agent. Listen and obey. That nosy neighbor who gave you the elevator eyes when you were taking out the garbage? She was an agent. Listen and obey. The former teacher who told you that story about the girl who dressed up on the day she happened to meet her future mother-in-law? She was an agent too. Listen and obey to climb in the order. Disobey and risk the shame of being an eternal novitiate.

Three women – two of them young – sit in a living room.

“You should at least iron your bangs,” says the older young one, flipping her perfectly straightened hair. “Now that you’re in shidduchim, you need to look nice for people.”

“I know,” says the youngest, self-consciously tugging a curly lock. “I just don’t have that time in the morning.”

“You’ll wake up a little earlier. It’s worth it. This is important.”

The older woman stands up and excuses herself. The straight-haired young woman nods after her. “My aunt? She’s a shadchan.”

The curly-haired one looked horrified. “And I was sitting here like this–!” her fingers flutter over her messy bun.

“Yes,” the other says. “But she’ll be at my wedding next week.”

“So I have another chance,” the first sighed in relief. The testing had begun. She would not fail again.