Alright, ya’ll; I get it. I’m black, I’m educated, I’m single. Thanks for bringing it to the forefront of my attention all of the time. Thank you for the constant reminders that the running theme of my existence should be loneliness, and big ups for the ubiquitous insinuation that my likelihood for marriage is steadily declining with each deafening tick of my biological clock. Oh, and shout out to Nightline for arranging a line-up of entertainers to tell me what I can do to rid myself of this heinous disease… I can’t forget about you.
Now that I have quite possibly placed myself into the "angry black sista” category, let me clarify the reasons as to why I feel that my anger is justified. For the past few months (years?), black women have been forced under the harsh magnifying glass of society and inspected for every pitfall and shortcoming that may or may not be contributing to their ability to marry. It has become so pervasive that I can rarely login to Facebook without someone posting a link to an article that promises tips on acquiring the proverbial keys to the heart of a potential love interest. Never mind the fact that this interest may not be what you need (at all)… but hey, it’s a prospect so you should be happy. With each article written, each forum hosted, and each comment issued by heralded “love doctors,” I personally feel that a shot is taken at the appreciation that I have for the person that I have had to evolve into, who just so happens to be a single woman. For some reason, I am being given reasons to believe that it is largely unacceptable to be single past a certain age, and I almost got caught up in the matrix (note the “almost”). The barrage of attacks launched at single blacks largely detracts from the strength of a person who can sustain themselves, by themselves, in a world that provides every opportunity for them to falter. It has also occurred to me that each debate does not do a thing to provide solutions to a seemingly disastrous problem, but rather provides a myriad of opportunities to stir up dissension and bitter blame games with the losing parties being both black men and women. Can we say community fail?
I am by no means claiming that the desire for love and marriage is wrong. But, I would like to encourage the possibility of seeing the beauty that inherently lies within each person, regardless of race or sex. Perhaps the key issue is that we’ve neglected to make this observation for so long that it has obscured our ability to recognize how magnificent we are as individual units… with the constant pressure to attend every First Friday event in the city to increase the possibility of being noticed, it’s easy to lose sight of how good we are single. Until Mr(s). Right finds their way to you, use this time to cultivate your brand. That’s right: find a hobby. No one wants to be around someone who constantly drones about how much they resent their lives. Work on becoming whole first and recognize that a spouse is primarily a complement, and secondarily an instrument in your completion… I’m just sayin’.
With all this being said… I’m single, and I’m over it. That doesn’t mean that I am giving up the game of finding love, but it does mean that I am choosing not to listen to everyone else’s speculation as to how I can change this minor facet of my life. It means that I will no longer allow anyone to iterate that a lack of suitors equates to loneliness, and that a supposed drought of unmarriageable gentlemen is an inevitable sentence to die alone. It really means that I have not read Steve Harvey’s “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man,” and clearly have no intention of doing so. Living single so far hasn’t been that bad, and I have discovered that there are much worse things that can happen to a person. In the vast, gray expanse of single life, create lists. Check them twice. Be specific, but also be reasonable. You might even want to pray over them. Seek, but be prepared for what you will find. And lastly, turn off the TV and log off the internet. There is a whole world out there just waiting to celebrate the beautiful, black single that you are.
Now that I have quite possibly placed myself into the "angry black sista” category, let me clarify the reasons as to why I feel that my anger is justified. For the past few months (years?), black women have been forced under the harsh magnifying glass of society and inspected for every pitfall and shortcoming that may or may not be contributing to their ability to marry. It has become so pervasive that I can rarely login to Facebook without someone posting a link to an article that promises tips on acquiring the proverbial keys to the heart of a potential love interest. Never mind the fact that this interest may not be what you need (at all)… but hey, it’s a prospect so you should be happy. With each article written, each forum hosted, and each comment issued by heralded “love doctors,” I personally feel that a shot is taken at the appreciation that I have for the person that I have had to evolve into, who just so happens to be a single woman. For some reason, I am being given reasons to believe that it is largely unacceptable to be single past a certain age, and I almost got caught up in the matrix (note the “almost”). The barrage of attacks launched at single blacks largely detracts from the strength of a person who can sustain themselves, by themselves, in a world that provides every opportunity for them to falter. It has also occurred to me that each debate does not do a thing to provide solutions to a seemingly disastrous problem, but rather provides a myriad of opportunities to stir up dissension and bitter blame games with the losing parties being both black men and women. Can we say community fail?
I am by no means claiming that the desire for love and marriage is wrong. But, I would like to encourage the possibility of seeing the beauty that inherently lies within each person, regardless of race or sex. Perhaps the key issue is that we’ve neglected to make this observation for so long that it has obscured our ability to recognize how magnificent we are as individual units… with the constant pressure to attend every First Friday event in the city to increase the possibility of being noticed, it’s easy to lose sight of how good we are single. Until Mr(s). Right finds their way to you, use this time to cultivate your brand. That’s right: find a hobby. No one wants to be around someone who constantly drones about how much they resent their lives. Work on becoming whole first and recognize that a spouse is primarily a complement, and secondarily an instrument in your completion… I’m just sayin’.
With all this being said… I’m single, and I’m over it. That doesn’t mean that I am giving up the game of finding love, but it does mean that I am choosing not to listen to everyone else’s speculation as to how I can change this minor facet of my life. It means that I will no longer allow anyone to iterate that a lack of suitors equates to loneliness, and that a supposed drought of unmarriageable gentlemen is an inevitable sentence to die alone. It really means that I have not read Steve Harvey’s “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man,” and clearly have no intention of doing so. Living single so far hasn’t been that bad, and I have discovered that there are much worse things that can happen to a person. In the vast, gray expanse of single life, create lists. Check them twice. Be specific, but also be reasonable. You might even want to pray over them. Seek, but be prepared for what you will find. And lastly, turn off the TV and log off the internet. There is a whole world out there just waiting to celebrate the beautiful, black single that you are.
PEACE
