The Benefits of Not Being a “We”

From the desk (& bed) of Slutever’s Karley Sciortino

Photo Credit: Brian Merriam for Pamela Love

When you’re a freelance writer like myself, the only difference between Sunday and every other day is that on Sundays you can’t get a table at brunch. I often don’t even realize that it’s Sunday until I wander into my favorite local cafe around 2 p.m., only to find it heaving with families, groups of girlfriends and couples. And then I’m reminded that it’s the weekend, and I’m single.

I don’t really want to go into a New York Times-esque “Sunday Routines” rant where I lie about waking up at 7 a.m. and going on a run around Central Park. But I will say that my Sundays usually begin with a vat of coffee and a cold shower. Only then am I finally capable of opening my eyes. Then, my day begins.

When you’re in a relationship, there’s this illusion of being “busy” even when you’re objectively not. Lying around in bed with someone somehow feels productive — you’re “working on your relationship” or “bonding” or whatever. Ya know, quality time. But when you’re lying in bed, spooning Seamless Chinese food into your mouth without a warm body by your side — that’s tragic.

There’s this weird dichotomy in the way we see people’s love lives: If you’re not in a relationship, that means you’re single — a dirty word — which means you must be lonely and undersexed. Our obsession with pairing up has led to “I’m single” being two words that evoke being cursed. Usually, those words are uttered apologetically, as if not being permanently attached at the hip is something we constantly have to make an excuse for. There’s this idea that single women are all sitting at home crying in their bathtubs. Sure, that happens sometimes — but to people in relationships, too (I’m sure?). Just because you’re not currently codependent doesn’t mean you’re sad about it, or that you’re not getting laid. Honestly, I’m probably getting laid more often than a lot of my partnered friends.

The only times I really hate being single on a Sunday is when I wake up with a deathly hangover, and wish I had a boyfriend to bring me Advil and La Croix, and have sex with me even though I’m wearing my granny panties. Instead, I have to enlist a random Postmates guy to deliver my emergency rations.

When you are in a relationship, Sundays are partner-flaunting prime time. It’s the day all the beautiful couples walk hand in hand, and I imagine them buying beard grooming kits, books on curating and organic cooking, and sipping each other’s flat whites. But honestly, I have no yuppie-couple FOMO. Being single on a Sunday is pretty much like being single any other day of the week. Sometimes I wish I had someone who has to spend time with me, and other times I feel relieved that I don’t have to think about anyone’s pleasure but my own.

Sundays are strange because there’s this lingering “day of rest” mindset that doesn’t quite fit into the reality of the secular capitalist world. My Sunday ritual usually involves having these ambitious plans — to finish all the work I was supposed to over the week, browse a gallery or two, find a pair of pants that actually fit well… but what actually end up happening is that I spend the day taking naps, running down the batteries in my vibrator, reading, and perusing online dating profiles.

I realize that any discussion about using this time alone for self-discovery can verge into gag-inducing territory very quickly. But at the risk of sounding cheesy, in the last year-and-a-half of being single I’ve finally realized the benefits of not being a “we.” I’ve grown more aware of what I want out of a partner and what I can’t tolerate. I’ve become more streamlined, and that’s a good thing — I’m using my past experiences to make better choices about my future. Because in the past, I’ve bounced between relationships, in part because I had a fear of being alone. But it’s hard to process what you want when you jump from one broken relationship, straight into the bed of the nearest hottie. I needed to give myself time to come up for air.

It’s taken a lot of time being alone to fully understand the type of person I want in bed next to me. But now I’m pretty sure that I do know. And until I find that person that I connect with on a more substantive level, I’m pretty happy being in bed by myself.