“After Pfizer sees this article, I’m sure they will find a way to pathologize this phenomenon and quickly move a drug to market to cure it.”
That’s one of my favorite comments accompanying an article from yesterday’s New York Times, “One Is the Quirkiest Number: The Freedoms, and Perils, of Living Alone.” An interesting read if, like me, you live alone. Perhaps more interesting to those who don’t and wish they did.
According to the story, 1 in every 4 American households is a single-person household. I’d imagined far fewer than that. More surprising — it’s 1 in 2 in Manhattan. How do people afford that?
I realize that I’ve lapsed into a lifestyle I could not and would not maintain with a spouse or roommate. I’ve become a slob, clotheswise. T-shirts, sweats, etc. Definitely sloppy, but the standard now is comfort. I can and do “neaten up” when I need to — all the way up to a polo shirt and jeans. (So sue me. Denver is a cow town and neat jeans are acceptable almost everywhere.)
As far as developing the sort of quirks the article describes, I’m not. At least not yet. True, my laundry room functions as my closet and I only do laundry when I’m out of clean towels or clean clothes. Ditto the kitchen; I only do dishes when I run out of clean ones. I go to bed when I want and get up when I want, but the times rarely vary by more than an hour. On those rare days when I have to set the alarm to ensure I make it to an appointment, I feel very abused. I suppose that means I’m becoming set in my ways and reluctant to change, and I’ll admit to that. But I will stubbornly defend it as a right I’ve earned after all these years. It’s one of those “entitlements” the politicians keep talking about.
I’m certainly not like the eccentric folks in the article who stay up till all hours, talk and sing out loud, or walk around the house naked. I could if I wanted to, of course, but I don’t want to. I very much enjoy my solitude, privacy, and independence. The flip side, obviously, is there being no one else here. No one to share with, no one to help out when two hands aren’t enough, no one more nimble with a ladder or tools. And of course, no one in case of an emergency.
As for my living alone being part of some “incredible social experiment,” as sociology professor Eric Klinenberg described it, that’s ridiculous. This is not rocket science. The increasing number of single-person households is obviously the result of more divorces, more people choosing to remain single, and a burgeoning population of aging widows and widowers. It’s not an experiment and it wasn’t planned. It’s just the way society is evolving. I didn’t start out with the intention of living alone. It just worked out that way. And I’m not sorry it did. Not yet, anyway.