I have lived a lone life. For a long time, well into my thirties, I attributed that to my personality — I’m a loner, not a joiner. I also attributed it to my work life — part-time, relief, occasional, and done-at-home, none of which tend to result in the development of collegial friendships. And I noticed early on that any female friendships I had quickly dissolved when the other woman got married. And especially when she had kids. And friendship with men simply isn’t possible: time after time I tried, but it seems only gay men can accept a woman as a friend; straight men were always after a sexual/romantic relationship. Or assumed I was.
And all this was okay mostly. Between the minimum work-for-pay to pay the bills, the household chores typically done by the husband as well as those typically done by the wife (though very little of each, admittedly), the passion I had with being a composer and a writer (first literary, then academic, now comic) and a runner — there was no time for friendships, no time for social activities. But now, now that finally my obsession with my self is smouldering…
Now I seek kin. Well, that’s not exactly right. I’ve always sought kin. And mostly found them. Dead. Chopin, Socrates. Or unreachable by fame. Vangelis, MacKinnon.
Now I seek kin who are alive and accessible. And find none. I have too little in common with women who have spent the last thirty years married (and, worse, mothering). And even less in common with the men who have spent the last thirty years married. Lesbian women? The few I’ve met, like straight men, seem to be seeking attachment. And despite my non-attachment to a man and my very feminist views, my hormones are still — whenever they make their presence known — straight.
So where are the unattached straight women? Am I the only straight woman to have gone through life solo?
