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But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever. / So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever. --A.A. Milne |
Monday, October 16, 2000 Peter Pan and Me I never intended to grow up. That's something you probably ought to know about me. Peter Pan was my model and inspiration. I fully intended to keep from becoming a grown-up. Oh, sure, I'd grow older. There's no avoiding that, or, at least, it sure beats the alternative. But that's not what I was thinking of. And part of this was my decision, quite early on, that I was never gonna get married. I've clung to that resolution with the tenacity of a pit bull over the years. And even as I've found myself becoming a grown-up in other areas -- scheduling appointments, not losing my pens, even occasionally trying new foods -- this is one area where I've held firm to my convictions.
Admittedly, it's morphed over time. Before I left high school, the "I'm never gonna get married" mantra remained. In the years immediately following high school, I amended this to the claim that I would start dating once my brains turned to Jell-O -- a condition that I had noted occurring among several of my contemporaries, and which I assumed would strike me in due course. That is, I came to the conclusion -- based on quite a bit of evidence by way of direct observation -- that there came a time in every boy's life when he suddenly decided, out of the blue, that he was sick of being single and wanted to get hitched. I decided to prepare for this in the same way that somebody on a fault line in California might prepare for an earthquake; a natural disaster, to be sure, but probably inevitable, so best to be ready for it. Lo and behold, a few years went by, and nothing of the sort took place, and I began to suspect that if it hadn't by the age of 27, perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps I would be safe after all, and would manage to slouch my way into confirmed bachelorhood. Never turn your back on your fears.
Here is the problem. A few months ago -- a few weeks ago -- hell, a few days ago, were you to ask me why I didn't want to get married, I would have responded that the question was precisely the opposite; that I didn't understand why somebody would want to get married. And I would then follow it up with a long list of supplementary reasons why I wouldn't want to. I still have the long list of supplementary reasons why I wouldn't want to. But I can no longer say that I don't understand why it would be desirable. Damned epiphany. Who asked for it, anyway?
Mind you, my general reasons in the "plus" column could be filled almost as well by a like-minded housemate, or -- better yet -- a friend in the neighborhood. Part of the problem, I think, is that when I left Far Rockaway two years ago, I left my entire social network. I don't know anybody here, outside of college. I have no social life here, outside of college. When I left Far Rockaway, I all but made a break with the entire world I was in until that point. It's quite possible that my feelings of deprivation now are simply the cracks finally appearing in the wall I put up then, and that finding some sort of social network around here would solve the problem entirely. Admittedly, that doesn't account for the way I got wrapped up in the romance between Beatrice and Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing, each of whom similarly expects never to marry before they inevitably marry each other. Nor does it account for the way I have paid a bit more attention, radar bristling away, on the few occasions a female Orthodox Jewish student has wandered into the English Department office. But I don't think that last paragraph really represents the main problem just now. And while marriage could be one way of getting at the main problem, providing both a constant companion to spend time with and the necessity of reintegrating into a community, I don't think it's the only solution, or even necessarily the optimal one. At least, I hope that's so. 'Cause I still don't wanna get married.
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