Pity Me

“I don’t like eating out at families for Shabbos,” my Flatmate said. “I hate being the nebach case at the table.”

“You think that’s why people invite us?” I asked. “Really?”

“Well why else do you think they do?”

“For the pleasure of our company?” I replied, suddenly doubtful. Maybe my company isn’t all that scintillating. Maybe the only reason people invite me over  is because otherwise they imagine me alone in a dark room with cracked walls, lit  by a single, dangling, lightbulb, sitting at a wobbly table eating dry bread salted by my own tears.

Then I laughed. That was ridiculous. Who could imagine I had such a pathetic existence? No, they definitely invited me over for a much-needed break from discussing community politics and preschool options. They probably appreciate having someone new around to provide a more youthful perspective and broad-ranging conversation…

Friday night, as we proffered our parting thank yous to our hosts, the hostess leaned in and urged us to invite ourselves over any time. “You know Elisheva, who lives a few doors down from you? She has a hard time finding meals for Shabbos. She told me that sometimes she eats all alone. I feel so bad! But sometimes the week just gets away and I forget to invite people. So don’t feel uncomfortable about calling, okay?”

Pop. That was the sound of my bubble.

Okay. So maybe they don’t invite me for varied conversation. Maybe, I go to them for varied conversation. The truth is, if you want to imagine me in a nebach situation, it would be a teeny drop different than the dry-bread-in-a-dark-room situation.

You’d have to imagine me in a brightly lit, spacious apartment, at a table brimming with food and surrounded by friends, all carrying on an LCD conversation about… dating. It sounds so familiar, I suspect we had the exact same conversation last week.

“Hey, anyone try any new recipes lately? Read any good books?” I try.

Blank looks.

“Um, how’s work?”

“Ugh, not on Shabbos.”

“Goethe? Post-modern art? How about that government shutdown? The weather?”

“C’mon. This is what I come here for,” a guest says. “To get in my weekly crabbing about dating.”

Sigh.

Diaper brand comparisons? After-school daycare? Bring it on.

Nebach me.

Thursday Link: Things Not to Say to a Single Woman

I enjoy it whenever someone reminds the world that being single and female is honestly not the worst thing that can happen, because it’s really not.

Of course you don’t have to say things to insinuate it. I was recently at a classmate’s wedding. You know, the one who officially makes me the 10-percent forever single. I met a truckload of long-lost classmates, all wearing black, all busy working in some sort of therapy (occupation, speech, physical, mental). Somehow a few of us wound up in conversation with an even older (married) woman in black who spoke about her single days, crammed in an attic with other singles, living on leftovers from their dates.

“We had such good food every night, and we didn’t appreciate it,” she sighed. “When you’re single you just don’t appreciate these things.”

I was immediately jealous that her dates were so generous with the food. Mine, although usually employed, rarely spring for dinner. (And I, with the unfeminine ability to devour an entire entree and then peek at the dessert menu, rarely have leftovers to bring home.)

“I appreciate it!” I protested. “Sometimes the food is the best part of the date!”

I immediately felt an uncomfortable shift, and when I glanced at my classmates they were gaping, rather. Had I taken the conversation into awkward territory? Had I done the  equivalent of declaring that “I love chemo! You lose so much weight!”?

The conversation broke up after that, although I suppose it would have broken up faster if I’d just nodded and smiled: “Yes, singles don’t appreciate the goodness they have.” 

For the record: We do! At least, I do. I appreciate everything about being single – my parents would say too much. And when a fellow takes me out to eat, I definitely appreciate that too.

It’s always nice to hear someone make singlehood sound like the good old days. It sure beat when they make it sound like a terminal illness. Which brings me to the link: Things you really shouldn’t say to single women. (Link goes to Huffington Post.)

 

Just Go With It

This week I found myself far from home for Shabbos after a Megabus failed to arrive. Don’t weep for me: instead of Washington Heights, I wound up on the Delaware shore in a beach house. My major crisis was that I’d packed NYC clothes, and had to choose between wearing sneakers or 3-inch-heels to the beach. Seuda Shlishis was to the sound of a bunch of middle-aged men in Hawaiian t-shirts plinking away at 70s rock with various string instruments.

Havdala, though, was an issue. Short a candle and anything that smelled particularly nice, we walked out to the nearest shul to listen in. There was some curious  peering over the mechitza during ma’ariv (tsk tsk, gentlemen. Haven’t you ever seen women before?), and then everyone retired to the back for the ceremony.

It was a sonorous one. The rabbi had a pechant for chazanus. But finally he finished. “Ah gutteh vuch, ah freilichen voch, a mazaldikeh voch,” he wished his audience. “Ah shidduchdikeh voch,” he nodded at us.

We nodded, smiled, and headed out.

“I’m affronted,” I murmured to my friend.

She rolled her eyes.

“Oh stop it. He saw three pretty young women and singled us out for attention. When he doesn’t identify you as matchable, then you should start to be offended.”

Okay. Point taken.

Thursday Link: Where My Weekends Have Gone

HT to whoever sent me this (although The Onion  is actually the only newspaper I rss feed to my phone, so I would have seen it eventually).

SOML, except you can replace half the weddings with OnD dates.

Thursday Link: Freezing Fertility

I admit, this article came as a bit of a shock. I always assumed, in a sort of vague way, that if I wasn’t married at 30 I’d freeze some eggs. I figured I’d do more research when the time came.

Well, it turns out that freezing eggs is over $9,000 a pop, and has at most a 50% chance of success. (Is that per egg or per batch, I wonder?) This information had on me the reverse effect the article intended.

But trot over and read it for yourself. And then let me know: would freezing your eggs be a relief or an additional stress?

 

HT to Kansasian

Thursday Link: Hey Parents – It Could Be So Much Worse!

I mean, so I’m single.

I can think of so many worse possibilities.

We <3 NEFs — From a Distance

Thanks to SuperGirl for sending me this Tumblr link. It describes a safety precaution I have to keep in mind as some friends steadily march their way toward engagement.

Knives are just for food. 

Knives are just for food.

Knives are just for food.

Thursday Link: Sheng Nu Like You

Thanks Essay for this link.

Somehow, in spite of the fact that there are 30 million more men in China than women, there are still loads of single women nearing 30. (Take that, NASI 10% statistics.) It’s a global epidemic!

On the bright side, now I know the truth: I’m not over the hill. I’m sheng nu. As the Chinese gov’t puts it:

These girls hope to further their education in order to increase their competitiveness. The tragedy is, they don’t realise that as women age, they are worth less and less. So by the time they get their MA or PhD, they are already old – like yellowed pearls.

Ouch.

Friday Repost: Don’t You DARE Cast Aspersions on My Single Friends

Some people won’t deal with single shadchanim or single references for the most base, disgusting, suspicious, and horrifying reasons.

Thursday Link: Same Old Familiar Pleasantness

Ha’aretz makes you register to read their articles free, but it’s worth it for this beautiful piece.

My favorite parts:

I can already predict the end of the evening, or perhaps next week or three weeks after that, when he will make that inevitable, anxious joke: “So, will your next story be about me?” And I smile and think, “Do something interesting first.”

The beauty of this line is that she actually is writing about them. It has a subtext not unlike that associated with the great music blogger’s line:  “You’re so vain you probably think this post is about you.”  I do get that question too often. It makes dating while blogging about dating rather awkward at times. How do you tell someone that they’re not being written about without implying that they’re not worth writing about?

She also writes:

The neighboring tables watch too, curious about the young couple who might be engaged to marry within months; she knows that the younger girls are wide-eyed as they play guessing games nearby, because only a few years ago it had been she herself watching from afar: “What do you think, Leah? Is it their fifth date? No, no, they look too uncomfortable, must be a third.”

Hey wait, younger girls? I still do that. It’s always fun to nudge your neighbor and point out a date, the couple standing a careful distance apart, the awkwardly restrained conversation of two people who are still trying to make a good impression on each other, who still don’t trust each other quite enough to just be their regular selves…

Just last week I was out with some girlfriends and a date took the next table over. I guessed they were on 5 or 6 based on their greater comfort level and the way the guys eyes shined when he gazed at the girl. They made a very cute couple too. If that was you in Shalom Bombay, I wish you all the best.

There are times when I consider putting aside these shidduch dates, but I realize that I have no interest in stepping outside of the warmth of my small, familiar world. There’s no other place I’d rather be in, no dizzying cocktail party that can rival the quiet intensity of our traditions.

Amen.

Living in the Now?

Sometimes, I really hate feminism for making us all have to work, instead of staying home, cultivating hobbies, and making dinner every night.

Then, sometimes I really love it for making it possible for us to spend our time productively, even if we’re single.

It is a female habit to analyze every change in one’s life against the effect it will have on a hypothetical future family. How will I handle kids and this job? How will  I support a learner on this income? If I get electrolysis, will it all be undone by pregnancy hormones? If I get a job in finance, what will I do if my future husband wants to live in Kansas City? Do I really want to get promoted if it means working longer hours that will keep me from being at home when my kids get off the bus from school? And on and on.

A few days ago, eating tuna out of a can on a business trip in Manitoba, similar thoughts crossed my mind. And suddenly I realized: that’s a really stupid way to approach life.  Imagine if I’d done that 6 years ago. Where would I be right now? Definitely not in Manitoba. Imagine all the things I’d have missed out, hugging the metropolitan area, working part time, living a family-oriented life with no family to orient around.

You can always rearrange your career later, if necessary. Why downgrade ahead of time in anticipation of what might never be?

So, my resolution for the next six years is not to worry about the hypothetical. I’ll just live my life based on my current life, which is one situation I know I can count on being in (for nine months at least).

New Rule: Don’t Rely on Single Friends

I propose the 3-month rule for making plans with single friends. Beyond that, their priorities can get fuzzied by a gentleman caller who may have called more than the usual amount of times.

There was the time a few of us had loads of fun at the Rennaissance Faire, so we decided to go again next year. We all whipped out our phones and entered the appointment.

Well, within 9months one had gotten married and moved to Israel, and the other was married and in Connecticut.

Then there was the time I made a bet on a matter that could only be proven at the end of the year. Again, Friend and I marked it in our phones. But before I could win (or lose) the prized pie of pizza, the phone was lost down the drain and the owner had left to Israel, met a gentleman, married him, and moved to Houston.

So I probably shouldn’t have gotten excited about the idea of an annual kayaking trip with a NMF#17. Granted, you don’t often find nice Jewish girls willing to spend a week paddling down a river and camping in the woods. There is no reason to suppose that someone wouldn’t come along and snap up such a rare gem on sight. But I can’t help but feel a teeny drop let down about it.

When you get down to it, every single woman’s goal seems to be to get married. And she will prioritize that well above any of her other single friends. So, it’s important, when dealing with single friends, to never plan more than nine months out. This way, you will never get stood up, or jilted for a man.

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.