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She has found love yet again but she loathes to leave single life and the freedom that comes with it. In her own words, “There are lots of ways to live a life. You just canโt live all of them at once.” Read the article below.
Christina Patterson, a successful 51-year-old writer has opened up on single life. She says she wasted so much time in her younger years agonising over being single, she could have written a voluminous bestseller in that time. She had a successful career at a young age but felt a boyfriend was the final piece to make her happy. She says she’ll advise her younger self not to ruin the beautiful life she’s got pining over something she doesn’t have.
Writing in Daily Mail, she says that being single meant she had the time to climb the career ladder and nurture life-long friendships and those friendships, she says, are more important that romantic connections. Friends are happy to sit around with you doing nothing long after the spark has gone out of romance.
She has found love yet again but she loathes to leave single life and the freedom that comes with it. In her own words, “There are lots of ways to live a life. You just canโt live all of them at once.” Read the article below.
My parents met on a hill in Heidelberg. It was, they always told us, love at first sight.My mother was 18. My father was 21. Two months after they met, my father sent my mother a telegram saying: โWill you marry me?โ My mother sent one back saying: โYes.โ When my father died, 47 years later, he was still buying her flowers.
This is not what happened for me. I always thought it would, but it didnโt. I have lived on my own since I was 26 and have been single nearly all my adult life. People often asked why and I never really knew what to say. I even bought a book called If Iโm So Wonderful, Why Am I Still Single?
Looking back, the answer is clearer. The steady, reliable men I met seemed boring. What made my pulse race was charming men who made me laugh. What made my heart sing, in fact, was narcissistic charmers who played the game and often didnโt stick around.
In my 20s, I tried to look cheerful as I went to friendsโ weddings alone. I smiled at speeches. I smiled at photos of the honeymoon. I smiled when people put babies in my arms. But I didnโt smile when I got home. I thought they had won the lottery and I had not.
When I hit 30, panic kicked in. I put a skull and crossbones on the invitation to my party and pretended it was just a joke about passing time.
At 40, I had just ended a relationship with another charming bad boy. And at 50? Well, if anyone had told me when I was 30 I would still be single at 50, I would probably have picked up the phone to Dignitas.
I had a party anyway. You should always mark big birthdays with a party. But it certainly wasnโt the 50th birthday Iโd planned.
Then last year, I found love. I had to wait until I had turned 51, but I did, at last, find love. I donโt worry now about who Iโm going to spend Christmas with or whether Iโm going to be alone on a Saturday night. If I want to go to a gallery or for a walk in the country, I donโt have to trawl through my address book to find a friend who is free.
Holidays have turned from a bit of a headache into – well, a holiday. It isnโt much fun being ushered to the back of a restaurant by waiters asking if โmadam is eating on her ownโ.
I donโt know if my relationship will last. None of us can know. I still live on my own. My home is my castle and I have no desire to fill it with someone elseโs stuff.
I still have the friends Iโve always had. I still go out a lot on my own. But for the first time, I find myself swapping the word โIโ for โweโ. To be honest, it feels a bit strange.
I stutter over that word โweโ. Thatโs because a part of me doesnโt want to let go of the rich life as a single woman I spent so many years building up.
When I think of the hours I spent moaning over bottles of chardonnay, then sauvignon, and then prosecco, about the nightmare of being single, I can feel my cheeks burn.
I could have written War And Peace in that time. I could have written the whole of Dickens.
But instead, I said one thing, again and again. If only. If only I had a boyfriend. If only I had a husband and a family and a nice little house. If only I had these things, everything would be fine.
I would have these conversations after a long day at work in a job I loved. In my 20s, I was organising literary events, having dinner with top writers.
In my 30s, I was running a national arts organisation. In my 40s, I was a newspaper columnist, interviewing Nobel laureates and senior politicians.
I went on press trips to Syria and Cambodia, Shanghai and Iran. And I still had the impulse to say to Nobel laureates and former prime ministers: poor me. Iโm single. Feel my pain.
And when I wasnโt working, I was seeing friends. Iโve always been very lucky in my friends. Friends are the people who shriek with laughter about the man youโve just met on the internet who droned on about his work, drank too much, then left you to pick up the bill.
Friends are the people who scoop you up when you didnโt get that promotion or when youโve just been dumped. Friends are the people who come with you to a hospital appointment when a scan shows a shadow.
Or at least my friends are these people. My friends are my family. They are my cheerleaders, my necessary critics, my clan.
If I could speak to my younger self, I would tell her those friendships she has are so strong, loving and supportive theyโll last longer than romantic relationships and will give her more joy, more laughter and more fun. I would tell her it might take a bit of courage, but itโs better to go to parties on your own.
You make more of an effort, you meet more people and you often have better conversations.
I would tell her to relish her opportunities. When youโre single, you can go where you like, do what you like, meet who you like.
You can leap on a plane and have an adventure, as Iโve done many times. I wouldnโt recommend them all, but they were never dull.
Iโd remind her that when youโre single, you donโt have to cook. You canโt just alternate chablis and Kettle chips, but you donโt have to waste time on gourmet meals for one. You can save your recipe books for dinner with friends and sparkling conversation.
When my father retired, my mother told him she married him for better or worse, not for lunch. Now I understand. Some love domestic life. Iโm afraid I donโt.
I would tell my younger self to savour the energy and curiosity that drives you to seek more. If youโre single, you often get more done. You have more time to devote to your career. You have more time to nurture friendships. You have more time to read, learn things, meet new people.
I used to dream of sitting at home with a box set, but thereโs a big world out there and you canโt see all that much of it when youโre curled up on the sofa.
Never feel ashamed to be on your own. Being single doesnโt mean youโre unlovable or weird. Millions of people are looking for a partner. A third of us live on our own.
When youโre single, you have freedom. You can live life with an intensity you might later miss. The security of a good relationship is less exhausting, but when you swap freedom for security, you may – sorry, darling, if youโre reading this – have a bit less fun.
What I would tell my younger self, in other words, is not to ruin the rich life she has by yearning for what she hasnโt yet got. There are lots of ways to live a life. You just canโt live all of them at once.