Single in your 50s: No, I am not lonely

It’s interesting that the single or divorced man – the carefree bachelor – has the more glamorous and acceptable image, when in fact it’s women who tend to do better living alone. Niki Bezzant explains.

Iwas 46 before I lived alone for the first time. Now I can’t imagine living any other way. Some people find that surprising. Surely, they say, you must get lonely. Wouldn’t you like to cosy up with a partner again? What about when you’re old?

I usually say yeah; never say never. But honestly, the thought of living with another person – any person – holds no appeal.

I find I have a great capacity for spending time with myself. I crave it. I think I might have spent a lifetime craving it. And now I’m making good.

We don’t have a huge tradition in New Zealand of people living alone before marriage, as people do in other countries. Like many, I went from living with my parents, to living with flatmates, then boyfriends, then a husband.

I never had the chance to live alone. I suppose in my 20s I did what was expected. I enjoyed my flatmates; I enjoyed my married life. Now though, alone is how I want to be. I’m not alone alone. I’m not lonely. I have a more rich and interesting social life than I’ve ever had. I’ve learned to cultivate and nurture friendships. And I reflect the evidence: single people are, science says, more likely to foster fulfilling social connections. Married people can end up with social networks they haven’t consciously chosen: the inlaws; the coupled-up friends who come as a package deal – do we ever really like both members of a couple equally?

I get to consciously choose who I spend my time with. And – at least as importantly – who I don’t.

Being alone means I have the privilege of living pretty much exactly as I please. I can eat what I want, when I want. I can indulge my interior design whims. I can spend money without consulting anyone. I can attempt DIY tasks minus mansplaining. I can spend a whole day sewing a dress, or upholstering a chair, strewing my mess all over the living room. I can travel as I please. I can stay up late reading, or drinking cocktails in basement bars. I can organise my life to suit me and no-one else. It’s pretty great.

That’s so selfish and shallow, you’re thinking.

Yes and no. Here again, there’s evidence single people – probably because of those stronger social connections – contribute more to society via volunteering and participation in community than couples generally do. I love making that contribution.

There’s discomfort among some coupled-up people with middle-aged women who live alone though. There’s a certain suspicion; a hint of pity. Is it resentment that we don’t have the commitments couples do? Judgment that we’re wasting our time in frivolous, feminine pursuits in our frivolous, feminine homes? Or pity that we’re sad and lonely, failed in our relationships, crying over our meals for one?

Writing in the Guardian, in a piece titled ‘‘Why can’t we believe unmarried, childless women are happy?’’ behavioural scientist Paul Dolan offers:

‘‘Perhaps we do see [single women] as a threat to the hierarchies and presumed order in society. Or perhaps we are a bit jealous of them having apparently freed themselves from social convention. Or it might be that we cannot resist making comparisons with our own lives when we hear about how happy other people are: if they are happy, then I must necessarily be less so, as if happiness were a zero-sum game.’’

It’s true, sometimes, I detect in others a different feeling: envy. Especially from women.

I remember when I first left my marriage and talked to other women about that decision. The most common word they used in response? Brave. You’re so brave, they’d say. I caught a whiff that some of those women might have liked to do what I had done, but felt, for their own reasons, they couldn’t.

(And by the way: I don’t consider my marriage to have ‘‘failed’’. I consider it a success. It just ended. The time I spent inside it was good, and I wouldn’t change it).

It’s interesting to me that the single or divorced man – the carefree bachelor – has the more glamorous and acceptable image, when in fact it’s women who tend to do better living alone. Dolan, in his book, Happy Ever After, concludes single women are happier and healthier than married women, children or not. Men, though, are healthier, wealthier and happier when they marry.

Women are worse off in every way, except financially, when they’re married, even dying sooner than unmarried women. It’s definitely time to rewrite that ‘‘sad, single woman’’ narrative.

And what about sex, you’re wondering.

Yes, that’s important to me. I have a romantic life. I have a – what – lover? Boyfriend? The latter feels weird to say at my age. We’re connected and close, but independent; we have fun and intimacy and neither of us, I think, wants or needs it to be anything else. I’ve never thought we should move in together.

I’ve actually always thought the idea of couples living in separate apartments in the same building was smart. Or separate wings in the same house, like wealthy aristocrats. If you had the money, that would be the way to partner up, I reckon. Together but apart.

There are downsides, or perhaps sacrifices, to being alone. I give up a level of security. I am the only one responsible for me. If times are tough, there’s no-one else to take up the slack (something highlighted during the lockdowns; thank you, Jacinda, for those wage subsidies). I can’t take a year off and start a business while my spouse brings in an income. I can’t leverage a double income in pursuit of investment property or retirement savings. I can’t retire early or go parttime so I can work on the book I’m writing (that last one is frustrating).

There’s also a body of evidence of ‘‘singlism’’ – discrimination against single people. The psychologist Bella de Paulo has spent her career on this. She refers to ‘‘mental blanketing’’, a phenomenon she describes as ‘‘the relentless glorifying of marriage and shaming of single people’’. Apparently, the bias runs deep, even extending to the medical system, where one study found single and divorced people are less likely to be recommended to receive organ transplants than married people.

Still, I think I’m OK with all of it. I’ve found myself, being by myself. I’ve learned to be truly independent, finally, in midlife.

I’ve learned to save money; to have a contingency; to properly budget. I’ve learned to ask for help when I need it, whether it’s to screw in a mirror or get help post-surgery. And I’ve discovered the absolute joy of being free to decide, in a moment, the next thing I’m going to do, with reference only to my own feelings.

But what about when I’m old? Won’t I be sorry then?

Well, when I’m old I hope I’m like one of the strong, independent older women I know. Like Pat and Jackie, who both live in my building: active, smart women; involved in their communities and far from lonely.

Or my wonderful aunties, who I swear are busier in their 70s and socalled ‘‘retirement’’ than I am in fulltime work. None of these women is short of company; none of them wants to co-habit.

When my Aunty Trish turned 70, she made me go ziplining with her. It was a blast. Though if she wants to jump out of a plane at 80, I think I’m going to chicken out. I’m not quite that brave.

I’ve discovered the absolute joy of being free to decide, in a moment, the next thing I’m going to do, with reference only to my own feelings.