Why I can't imagine getting married.

When I was seventeen I fantasized about my wedding. My bouquet will be wild flowers, I thought.  There will be Christmas lights strung up and our wedding rings will be simple gold.  The groom, of course, will be my tall, British, freckled high school boyfriend.  I had this idea in my head for years.  I couldn't imagine life going any other way.  (It did).

Now I can't imagine getting married.  I left NYC because it felt crowded.  Because more than anything, I longed to be alone.  Every morning I have coffee by myself.  I prop my legs up on the chair next to me and read a book.  I do weird little stretches and I frequently peer out of the window like a nosy widow, checking up on the neighborhood. 

I love it.  I can't imagine sharing my space with someone else.  I can't imagine cooking dinner, rubbing each others necks, planning our weekends together. (yuck!)

It surprises me how different I feel, how foreign that all seems.  I have embraced being single in a way, and now I fantasize about a life with a dog, my writing, and a window facing the ocean.

(photo taken by the talented Julian Goldstein)