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Singleness' Seven-Year Itch
by Camerin Courtney
September 14, 2005
I'm sprawled on my back on my living room floor listening to the new Rita Springer worship CD in the dark. I'm playing the occasional air drum along to the upbeat first song when an old familiar feeling hits me: I love living alone.
It's the end of a long day of working, working out, paying bills, washing dishes—the usual routine. I'm soul-tired, but for some reason when I spied the new CD moments ago, I wanted to listen to it now. And I can. Because there's no one to say "turn that down, I'm trying to sleep/watch Letterman/finish this work project" or to question why my favorite way to absorb new music is sprawled on my living room floor. Nope, it's just me, the melodic words of faith, and no doubt a chuckling God looking on. Were I standing, I'd probably break into my "I love living alone" dance.
It hits me it's been quite a while since I've done that inspired dance of joy. When I first got my solo home, I used to do it all the time. But now, years later, I run in and out of my home so often with nary a thought about the privileges and blessings it affords me. This place that was so obviously God's provision has become just part of the unnoticed scenery of my life.
I had a similar epiphany about decreased gratitude with increased time when I sat down to prepare for a singles talk I was scheduled to give earlier this year in California. I dusted off a talk I'd given at another singles conference and prepared to give it a few tweaks to fit this event. But as I read over my own words, a startling thought hit me: I don't buy this.
I'd written the original talk in my late twenties and had delivered it with conviction and to positive reception several times over the years. But as I sat reading my thoughts and insights about the single life, I knew I couldn't deliver this talk again convincingly, honestly, authentically. It had been honest in my 20s, when singleness was so much easier to see as a grand adventure, when most of my adult life stretched before me, when there was plenty of time to "get married someday." Sure, there were Singleness Stinks days in my 20s, but for the most part it was exciting and fresh.
Well into my 30s, I'm realizing the honeymoon is over. There are still Singleness Rules moments, days, seasons. But they usually occur when I dig deep or step back and consciously look at the big picture.
From my vantage point on the floor, I glance up at the clock on my coffee table and realize it's stopped. It's the second clock in my home that's stopped this week, and it feels downright symbolic. Time standing still. I realize that lately singleness has felt like spinning my wheels. Like being stuck in a rut.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still enjoying my singleness. I still travel a lot. I'm still reveling in the good parts of my independence. I still love the freedom to get involved in lots of activities and ministries and love on lots of people. It's just that nagging little word still.
Laying here in the dark, I start to wonder if there's a singleness parallel to the much-discussed seven-year itch married people supposedly get. In the same way that marriages can be good and fine and yet stale and flat if left unnurtured over the years, I wonder if there's a similar phenomenon on this side of the altar.
In our age of Dr. Phil, it seems to be common knowledge that to break out of a marriage rut a couple needs to commit to spend more time together, invest in the relationship, or just mix things up a bit. But I'm left wondering what nurturing singleness looks like. How do I nurture a life stage? How to I invest in a relationship with, well, no one?
This question plays over in my head throughout the following week. And in the usual places where God and I chat about the things that nag my conscience—the car, the shower, and the kitchen sink—he begins to drop answers into my restless mind. A few gut-check questions to ask myself at regular intervals in my single journey:
What am I putting on hold? I've wanted to paint the walls of my living room for a couple years now. I keep putting if off, thinking I may move before too long. And yet the hospital-white remains. I think also of the movie club I've been talking about starting with a few new friends I've made lately. And of that ministry in the city I've been meaning to call to find out how to get involved. Surely following through on some of these things would be a good start to "nurturing my singleness."
What am I saying about my singleness? My friend Justine and I had a vent-fest recently about our single state of affairs. Over french fries and fruity drinks at a local restaurant, we let out all our frustration over a guy she'd gone out with a couple times before he just disappeared as well as the seemingly small pool of godly single men in our geographic area. Though we admitted we both felt better the next day after getting all that frustration out in the presence of one who understood, we also pledged not to let all our conversations center on the negative and challenging aspects of our singleness.
What am I taking for granted? Realizing I was taking advantage of many singlehood blessings and just not realizing it, I made the conscious effort to notice and be grateful for these things. So I dug up my Thanksgiving Journal, the book I return to at sporadic intervals over the years when I need to right my attitude, and realized my most recent entry was from three years ago. Ouch. Rereading past entries fills my heart with great joy and amusement (for some of my more random sources of gratefulness: candy corn, air conditioning, refrigerator magnets, a new nail polish color called Fatigues). And adding new entries helps me notice the good things about right now.
What of this staleness do I simply need to push through? In The Sacrament of the Present Moment, author Jean Pierre de Caussade writes, "The present moment holds infinite riches beyond your wildest dreams, but you will only enjoy them to the extent of your faith and love … To discover God in the smallest and most ordinary things, as well as in the greatest, is to posses a rare and sublime faith." Even when the honeymoon period of our Christian walk is over and we're in the walking-it-out and practicing-the-disciplines part, we still have the biblical challenge to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God (Micah 6:8). We still have the biblical model to know contentment in any and every situation (Philippians 4:12). Learning to find joy in the ordinary moments of life surely will serve us well in life, faith, and possibly someday in marriage.
I'm starting to catch glimpses of the greater good that can follow a rut—like those older married couples who aren't all gushy like new lovers but are so quietly and beautifully in sync with one another. And those "senior saints" who possess a faithful peace and joy that seem unshakable. Like those deeper, grittier, more honest words I finally offered that singles audience earlier this year. In the moments when I go deep and travel this road right, singleness feels less like the bright, cheap, fad-inspired jacket I just bought, and more like a well-worn favorite pair of shoes.
I find myself grateful that though I'm fickle, God is forever faithful. That though I sometimes get bored and stuck in a rut, his mercies are new every morning. And I realize that if I really want singleness to be fresh and abundant like it should be and like I want it to be, I need to adopt the posture from the other night more often: humbly on the floor letting words of grace wash over me. And looking up.
Camerin welcomes your feedback and brainstorms at: SinglesNewsletter@ChristianityToday.com
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