The Wedding Avoider

There’s a scene in Adam Shankman's 2001 romantic comedy The Wedding Planner that I’ve always adored.

In the film's opening, wedding planner Mary Fiore (played by J-Lo) pulls off a fairytale event, expertly alleviating a bride’s wedding jitters, finding the FOB (father of the bride) when he goes MIA, and turning a bridesmaid’s ill-fitting dress into a chic look that I spent years trying to emulate with a clothespin. Afterward, Mary gets home from work, and the scene that I love is a sequence of the rest of her night.

It’s meant to be kind of sad. Mary plans out the perfect day for a happy couple, then returns home to an empty apartment and eats dinner alone. Viewers get the sense that there's something missing from her life.

But to me, this scene was the dream. As a kid, I aspired to what Mary had. This woman got home after a successful day at work, made a quick, minimal-effort meal, pulled up a little table, and sat herself down in front of the TV with a glass of wine. I literally recreated this scene in my Dream Date Challenge submission without realizing it. To a T. I even included the cleaning part.

This scene was what I wanted out of life. I knew that someday I, too, would obsessively straighten my tray and meticulously fold my clothes the way that Marry Fiore did. Mary's life was organized, her career stable, her home neat and tidy. She spent her free time playing Scrabble and watching old movies in the park. Absolute goals.

It strikes me now that this lifestyle resonated with me so much growing up. It wasn’t the romantic ending of the movie that I yearned for, where Matthew McConaughey chooses Mary and she finally gets her own happily ever after. It was the part where she was at home all alone, obsessive-compulsive tendencies on full display, completely free to do whatever she wanted.

I see my lifelong fondness of this scene as further proof that my desire to be single isn’t some passing craze. It’s something I’ve looked forward to, consciously or not, since childhood. I've always wanted to be on my own, with no responsibility to anyone but myself. And I’m loving it.

Because, I’m happy to report, after a total of twelve months living back home with my mom and sisters, I finally have my own apartment. Not just an apartment, but my apartment. For the first time in my 27 years of life, I’m living alone.

It is awesome.

I confess, I was worried that I might get lonely. I've always enjoyed solitude; I used to tell my parents that I wanted to be a hermit when I grew up. I've never been lonely in the past, but there's always been someone sharing the living space with me, whether I actively interacted with them or not. So this was a first, and I was a bit nervous that my "I don't need people" front would crumble once I got a taste of real solitude.

But so far, so good. After several months on my own, I couldn't be happier. I thrive in solitude. I'm less anxious, more productive, and better-focused. I'm cleaner, neater, more hygienic. I go to bed earlier and wake up earlier. I've even been exercising more (I moved within walking distance of a Taco Bell, Starbucks, and Jimmy John's).

Living alone doesn't have to be sad or pitiable. Singlehood isn't some interim stage of life between the more "meaningful" relationship phases; it's a gratifying way of living all its own. There’s so much to do—movies to watch, games to play, books to read, stories to write. I can craft or bake or clean or sleep. Being single is freedom, and that's what this scene represents to me.

I'm still unpacking and getting settled, so my life isn't quite as organized as Mary's yet, but I eagerly await the day when those final items are out of their boxes and put away, and I can gaze around to see a spotless living room, a cozy bedroom, a pristine bathroom, and literally nobody around to bother me.