~ archived since 2018 ~

Alone Again, Naturally

thetrollking

January 13, 2012

0 upvotes

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/08/fashion/why-men-cant-stand-to-be-alone-after-a-breakup-or-a-divorce.html?_r=4&ref=fashion&pagewanted=all

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Post Information

Title	Alone Again, Naturally
Author	thetrollking
Upvotes	0
Comments	9
Date	January 13, 2012 4:39 PM UTC (14 years ago)
Subreddit	Posted in /r/MensRights
Original Link	https://old.reddit.com/r/MensRights/comments/oflah/alone_again_naturally/
Archive Link	https://theredarchive.com/r/MensRights/alone-again-naturally.1029243 https://theredarchive.com/post/1029243

Comments

[–]FenrirIII 2 points3 points4 points 14 years ago (1 child) | Copy Link

[–]thetrollking[S] 0 points1 point2 points 14 years ago (0 children) | Copy Link

[–]C0CKPUNCHER 1 point2 points3 points 14 years ago (5 children) | Copy Link

[–]thetrollking[S] 2 points3 points4 points 14 years ago (4 children) | Copy Link

ONE cold, misty autumn morning, I slipped and fell. I was on my way out to do errands, the mossy wooden deck on the north side of my house was slick with dew, I was in a hurry, I skidded, and both feet flew out from under me.

As I fell — danger signs flashing in my brain: falling! falling! — I curled up to protect my head, landing squarely on my tailbone. Pain lighted up my spinal cord. My brain joggled in its cradle. Bright lights dazzled my eyes.

I lay there for a minute or three, gasping in pain. Then the old control center kicked in: “Move.”

Like a computer running through settings during start-up, I wiggled my legs and my arms and moved my neck. Everything was working. Still, the pain in my tailbone was intense.

“You must get up,” I said to myself. But there was another voice in my head, the one cowering behind the control center.

That voice was whimpering and scolding. “This is what happens when you live alone,” it said. “You fall, and there is no one to help you up. If you don’t pick yourself up, you could lie here for three days, maybe even two weeks, before anyone finds you. Lucky you aren’t paralyzed.

“It is not good to live alone.”

Just the evening before, I had driven down my lane thinking about how many of my neighbors were single women, of all ages.

They — we! — have been single for years. They — we! — aren’t showing any inclination to change our status, though I think I can speak for them — us! And, for that matter, everyone in the world! — when I say that, of course, if we were lucky enough to fall madly in love with someone again, we would gladly trade in our single ways and hitch up.

But the key word is “madly.”

Because many women, once released from marriage, seem to feel that it would take an act of madness to move back into a setup that involves not only housekeeping in all its manifold time-sucking beauty but also husband-keeping.

As I lay on the deck aching, another light blinked on in my brain, shining a halo around a question that has been vexing me for years: Why do men hate to be alone?

Maybe it was my joggled brain, but I was no longer capable of subtle thought. Instead, I was overcome by sweeping generalities.

The world divides into two groups: one (men), who think you can fall at any moment, and when you’re down, you’re out, and you need help; the other (women), who pick themselves up and move on.

Judging by statistics, to say nothing of the glaring evidence around me, men do not have any problem remarrying. In fact, most men seem unable to live alone for longer than, say, at the outside ... three months.

Most single women I know really love their lives.

Sometimes we suffer pangs of loneliness, sometimes we ache for the companionship of that mythic soul mate, but mostly we cherish our independence. We love doing whatever we want to do, when we want to do it.

Women alone eat breakfast at 11 if we feel like it, lunch at 3 and dinner never if that’s the way the day is winding down. Single women do not worry about cooking unless we want to. And we don’t want to unless we like to.

Single women love not having to get permission to spend our own money on a 10th pair of black boots or a painting or a wood stove.

We love not being judged, not being criticized, not being hemmed in. We love the give and take of making our own decisions. We love putting things down on a table knowing they will be there when we return. And eventually, we come to understand that there is no reason to curl up on “our” side of the bed while we sleep. We no longer have to take sides. We can sprawl across the expansive middle.

Single men could not care less about any of the above lifestyle features.

A marriage is a lot of work. Strike that. A man is a lot of work. Anyone who has been in a bad marriage knows that its defining characteristic is the unspeakable loneliness in which one feels shrouded, a sense of isolation amplified by not being alone.

Until I fell, I never understood exactly why men were so loath to remain alone. Surely it wasn’t just a sexist reliance on having a mate who did the shopping, cooking, nesting, scheduling and child-rearing? All around me were plenty of men who pitched in at least a little on all those things, men entirely capable of taking care of themselves.

After I hit my tailbone and joggled my brain, I lay there, thinking that, by the time everyone compared notes about when exactly was the last time they had heard from me, I could be moldering on the floor. This is, indeed, dangerous.

Home is where I am supposed to be safe.

And that’s when the circuit breaker tripped. Men are hard-wired to feel danger all the time. I know there must be science around somewhere to back up this assertion, but seriously, that’s what makes a man a man. A man is on guard because that is his job.

He hunts and tangles with wild beasts. He does not nest. He gets in the way of nesting. And above all a man does not willingly venture near that snake pit called “feelings.” He avoids danger, aware that only so many arrows are granted to him in a lifetime, so he should husband his resources.

Being alone feels dangerous to a man. No one has your back. No one feeds you. No one nurses you in your sickbed. No one takes up a watch if you vanish or sends out a search party if you wander off the trail.

The world is dangerous enough without adding the dangers that come of being alone.

Women do not walk around alert for danger. Nor do we feel that being alone is dangerous, except in the rare instances when we fall and crack our tailbones. Women are hard-wired to read the signals that keep us from danger, and, when confronted by trouble, we escape, fleeing into our homes. In fact, I have observed that women who have escaped loudly troubled marriages often feel safer when they are alone.

To a woman, being home feels safe.

We love our nests. We tend them, and in exchange we expect them to keep us snug and warm and serene and safe. Which, generally, they do. Because nests are reliable.

As I said, my brain was joggled. Suddenly, everything I learned in the ’70s seemed refreshingly clear-eyed. A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

Now I understand why a man needs marriage like a fish needs water.

I may be alone down here in this snake pit of feelings, wrestling with questions that slither into the dark recesses of the human soul faster than you can shine a moonbeam at them.

At least, alone, it is quiet enough to hear myself think. But the guys may have a point.

Dominique Browning is the senior director of Moms Clean Air Force, fighting air pollution as a children's health issue. She blogs at SlowLoveLife.com.

[–]EvilPundit 2 points3 points4 points 14 years ago* (2 children) | Copy Link

[–]kanuk876 2 points3 points4 points 14 years ago (1 child) | Copy Link

[–]Bobsutan 0 points1 point2 points 14 years ago (0 children) | Copy Link

[–]thetrollking[S] 1 point2 points3 points 14 years ago (0 children) | Copy Link

[–]windynights 1 point2 points3 points 14 years ago (0 children) | Copy Link