But for a total of two and a half weeks split between two relationships, I spent my first twenty-five-and-a-half years single. For the first eighteen years, I was contentedly single. Then I hit college, and the rush to find a husband hit. I failed at that endeavor, and was crushed. And then I went to graduate school and discovered my independence and the joy that came from adventure and travel and truly living life to its fullest. I never completely stopped hoping that some day "Mr. Perfect" would come along, but I reached a place where I truly wondered if the single life wasn't for me. I liked the ability to uproot myself, to replant myself, to have my own opinions that didn't have to affect anyone; I liked the chance to live boldly and without concern for another.
And then things changed, so unexpectedly that I've got a bit of emotional whiplash (in the best of ways, though). I've met a man with whom I hope to live out the rest of my years. He is my love, my "better half" in the least cliche way possible, my best friend. I am my happiest when I'm with him, and he makes me stronger and more humble, better reasoned, and all of those other good things. He both leads me and lets me lead; we balance one another so well. When I'm with him, my world is right.
I want you to know, though, that my life isn't better than it was when I was single. It's different, yes. Am I happy with him? Yes, in ways I almost didn't dare to hope I could be. But my life was happy before my love came along, just in different ways. My struggles are different now, the things that make me sad different, the ways in which I often find myself lonely different, the things that I fear different. I don't want to lose him, not now, not ever. I'm marrying a man who I don't want to live without.
But I don't ever want to forget those years I was single. I don't ever want to forget how formative they were, how I learned to be strong. I don't want to write them off as somehow inferior to my life with my love. Those years made me who I was. Those years were valuable beyond preparation for marriage. They were valuable in making me me.
To engage in "what-ifs" is so useless. I am engaged to the man of my dreams; I'm getting married soon. I'd like to think, though, that had I never met Justin, my life would still be happy and fulfilled. I'd still be serving God, still be loving life, just in a different way.
And that, my dear single friends, is what I want you to know. Single-hood is not a curse. It may be what defines you, but it defines you, not as husband-less, but as a person with limitless possibilities. Possibilities for mobility and freedom and travel that are not possible when you're connected to another. Possibilities for service and relationships not possible once you're married. I don't have to tell you that, though. You know that.
As humans, we're never satisfied. You might always long for a mate and never find that longing satisfied. My heart breaks for your pain. But know that although my longing for a mate has been satisfied, longings have not ceased. They've just shifted.
In July I'll be marrying my love, and I'm marrying him as a strong woman, a woman who learned to love life without him and before him, a woman who will be able to carry on with the business of life during his deployments [but I'm still terrified for him to leave because I can no longer imagine my life moving forward without him in it], a woman who can be strong at least as much as I am weak. I'm marrying him as an equal, not as someone who needs a man to be strong. That's what makes us strong; we pull together, equally yoked. [we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a great team...]
I'm thankful for my single years. I don't miss them, but they were good in and of themselves. They made me who I am. Some of us marry young, some old, some never. May we all live our lives to our best ability. May we all serve God in the situations in which he places us. May we love another.
And may that be enough.
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