Currently living the single life, also known as the best party of one, ever.
Photo of the writer
I never really cared that I was single. All of my other friends were, and I was contented with having unreciprocated crushes on guys I barely spoke to, and in hindsight, never truly liked in the first place. But now, it’s different. Now, I’m nineteen turning twenty, and this year, as I started planning a Single Ladies night for Valentine’s Day, complete with rom-coms, chocolate, and Flynn Rider, I realized a pivotal fact of life that changed everything: all my girl friends have boyfriends. Boyfriends. No space between the syllables, not a friend who is a boy, not another random human of the male variety. A boyfriend. And I realized just how blatantly single I am.
The single life is okay, though. I’m seriously fine, because for the first time since I was eleven years old, I don’t have an irrational desire for a guy’s approval. I don’t need validation from someone else to know that I’m good enough. I don’t feel the need to impress people. I wear mascara because I like it.
Makeup was a big deal to me in middle school and high school. I wasn’t allowed to wear it, and while others used it as their “form of self-expression,” I wanted it because I was straight up insecure. I wanted to better myself for boys, and “pretty” wasn’t a word I used to describe myself until recently. Now, I can honestly say that I wear it for my own benefit. And yeah, to hide the occasional pimple because PMS happens, people.
To all the boys I’ve liked before, I no longer need your approval. I realize that my younger self was a silly, small-minded person because when I rack my brain trying to think of why I liked some guys, the answers are so superficial. They were cute. They were nice. They talked to me. I no longer need validation from a boy, and it’s so liberating.
Do I feel bad when I realize I’m the only girl in my close friend group who’s not dating? Not anymore. It’ll happen when it happens.
So this February 14th, you can bet that I’ll be enjoying myself because I deserve to have a good time, and I don’t need a guy or other single people to do it. You can bet that I’ll be sipping steaming hot coffee in some café surrounded by happy couples with zero bitterness about the empty seat across from me. No, I don’t have a Netflix account, but I will be sitting on my couch in my sweatpants, snacking on chocolate I bought for myself after eating a dang good dinner I didn’t need to make for two. I’ll be watching chick flick after chick flick without feeling like I’m boring the person next to me on the sofa (because no one will be there), basking in the blue light glory that is 90s and early 2000s rom-coms that don’t get enough credit for their sheer awesomeness because it must be difficult to take the same basic plotline and make it different enough to keep me engaged, rooting for the the guy and girl to get together in the end when I know from the start that they definitely, undoubtedly, will. Oh, and a few Marvel movies thrown in the mix wouldn’t hurt either. #TeamCap
Seriously though, Valentine’s Day is a celebration of love, and I know I have a lifetime of loves and heartbreaks ahead of me. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say that I love who I am, and an “I love you” from myself is good enough.