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BY JENNIFER SILVERMAN
GOING SINGLE GIRL SOLO AT A BABY SHOWER...
Recently, I had the pleasure of co-hosting a coed baby shower for some good friends.
I reveled in celebrating their bundle of joy to-be, had a ball getting to know my fellow co-host, and sported my favorite espadrilles.
Amid a shindig brimming with wonderful moments, those little voices in my head (you know the ones) suddenly began chattering.
While sipping a mango mimosa, a little voice remarked that I was one of maybe three guests in attendance who was not a parent.
While sampling a pastel-hued confection, another little voice took the convo up a notch by reminding me of my single girl status at a baby shower rife with couples.
It’s funny. Lately, the realization that I’m one of one, rather than one of two, seldom crosses my mind.
I don’t think about it on walks with my canine sidekick, Petunia, or when lunching with friends, or during my fifty-thousandth viewing of the big screen version of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.
It’s not a thought I ponder in the early morning or while drifting off to sleep.
For some time now, my plus zero standing simply is.
And I’m cool with it because going solo these days is a decision I made for myself.
On the offspring front, my sans-child future has long been a given. For the most part, I’ve never felt called to or even wired to be a parent.
In fact, I suspect that small children can intuitively tell that I’m not a baby person - much like dogs can spot non-dog people. They seem to know that I don’t speak their language.
Although I am overjoyed for my friends with kids, I recognize it’s not for me.
So, what’s with my babbling internal peanut gallery?
Of course, feeling out of place when one is outnumbered in any regard is the norm.
I remember a college professor who hailed from Texas recounting her first days as a college student in Manhattan.
She took great pains to select the perfect floral sundress to make a good day-one impression. When she entered the lecture hall, she was shocked by the sight of hundreds of freshmen donning black ensembles.
She was a shy outsider in bright coral and canary who had unwittingly become the center of attention amongst a sea of New York black.
Although I’m fairly certain that no shower guests were mentally finger-pointing the childless, divorcee in the fabulous shoes, the little voices got me thinking.
It must mean something that I only feel uneasy about these life decisions when I realize I’m the sole castaway on an Island, right?
In most circumstances, going against the grain doesn’t faze me. In fact, I typically find it liberating.
So, why does feeling different suddenly trigger loneliness in people who are not actually lonely in life?
Maybe we’re provoked by the sudden reminders of what we don’t have.
Maybe it’s the discomfort inherent in being singled out, only to wonder if we’re doing it all wrong.
(Of course, there is no “right” way, even when there is a popular path.)
All in all, the gregarious little voices who crashed the baby shower were overpowered by my excitement for my friends and desire to enjoy the festivities.
Plus, it occurred to me that being a castaway on an island is not necessarily a bad thing.
Afterall, classic TV aficionados may recall that after Gilligan and the gang were finally rescued, the castaways longed to give civilization the heave ho and return to their uncharted isle.
Although little voices are entitled to their say, they are no match for the fulfillment achieved via living authentically.
Sammy Davis Jr. sang it best in I’ve Gotta Be Me. “I’ll go it alone, that’s how it must be. I can’t be right for somebody else if I’m not right for me. I gotta be free.”
I'll return to the exciting world of dating when the mood strikes, but for now, just like Sammy, I'm really content to be free. Afterall, “I gotta be me.”
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