Feature: To Settle Or Not To Settle?

There is that scene in Bridget Jones’ Diary, where, Bridge (as she’s called) lies on her couch, pajama-clad, bottle of vodka clutched tightly in hand bemoaning the fate of an untimely death for a single person. She worries that if she were to die, alone in her apartment, it is likely that someone may find her decomposing body three weeks later half-eaten by an Alsatian. 

I too fear the fate of an untimely “single” death. I imagine my distraught mother, overcome with grief, forced to go through my things. Her sadness only magnified as she discovers the true, mind-blowing total of my credit card debt, and then the small stash of “emergency” illicit prescription drugs in my bedside table. I can see her coming to the realization that I’m not the daughter she imagined, but her image of me will truly be shattered when she opens the drawer that I use to store both my vibrators and my financial statements.  I can just see the horror pass over her face, as she realizes that her daughter was not only a bit too sexually adventurous, but also was unfamiliar with exactly what a 401K is.

I overlooked all I could, but sadly, I overlooked how I really felt—which was bored and uninspired. 

What my filing system says about both my sex life and my financial health will not be addressed here, but ending up alone, will. A few months ago, Lori Gottlieb penned the controversial, (almost apocalyptic) article in the Atlantic Monthly entitled “Marry Him!”, in which she implored women everywhere to forgo deep, passionate connections in favor of companionship. In other words, overlook halitosis for companionship. 

Her doom and gloom outlook spawned outrage in many. But it got me to thinking, perhaps what she was saying was that things that we crave as we get older, change. And the things that seemed so far away in our twenties (like marriage and child-bearing and rearing) become realities in our thirties. So the question remains, do we break up with guys in our twenties for reasons that we would be comfortable overlooking in our thirties? Are we just too superficial, too myopic in our twenties to realize that companionship trumps bad shoes or a lack of an adventurous streak?

Interestingly, I recently found myself attempting to “overlook” a great deal in a man. I, at the ripe old age of 25, have now been single for three years, and when a guy came along whom I wouldn’t normally consider dating, I figured, perhaps I had been doing something wrong all along. I was going to throw caution to the wind and date (let’s call him) Hal.

I wasn’t super attracted to Hal, but no matter! At least I wasn’t physically repulsed. I’m adventurous and like the outdoors. Hal didn’t. In fact, the outdoors spawned complaining. A lot of it. I hoped that financial success would one day allow me to travel the world, learn languages, see great things. Hal, on the other hand, just wanted a pool. To be fair, he knew what kind of pool (kidney shaped, dark bottom). But point is, his dreams were dug firmly into the ground while mine flitted about somewhere between earth and outer space. 

I overlooked all I could, but sadly, I overlooked how I really felt—which was bored and uninspired. 

I found other friends of mine (also in their twenties) recently overlooking as well. One girlfriend dated a guy whose (unsavory) reputation preceded him. Another dated a guy who she knew was really just a friend, but tried to overlook the lack of chemistry.

It all brings me back to Lori Gottlieb’s mantra—“Marry him!”—but at what cost? When does compromise and understanding turn into settling?

Do you want the vows on your wedding day to read: “Being with you is better than being alone?”  I mean, do you really want to close your eyes during sex, not by choice, but because you’re unattracted? 

I’d like to posit a new theory—perhaps naive, and perhaps too optimistic. But maybe we date men in our twenties that we just wouldn’t consider in our thirties. Maybe in our thirties we no longer believe that we can change the a-hole, or reform the philanderer. Maybe by our thirties, we know ourselves well enough not to date the guys we would in our twenties. Maybe by then, we can see past the halitosis to a good heart. Moreover, I’d like to continue to believe that passion can turn into companionship, and we don’t have to sacrifice one for the other.

Of course, the real question that I continue to struggle with, is not when to get rid of someone, but rather, when to keep him. And that, my friends, seems to be the most difficult one of all to answer.