Today marks the official end of my celibate summer. After yet another breakup last June, I swore off dating—and sex—for three months. For the past four years, I’ve been in a relationship, one for three years and the last relationship for one year; it was time for a break.
My friends didn’t think celibacy would last. “Celibate summer? You’ll be lucky to make it through celibate Saturday,” they teased.
Celibate summer wasn’t as hard as I (or they) thought. In fact, I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent with my friends, especially my girlfriends. I’ve enjoyed this time to embrace my singleness.
Some friends still don’t understand. “I bet you have four guys lined up for today,” one suggested. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Today will be no different from yesterday. The last thing I want to do is embark on a “manic manhunt.” I’ve been there, and I don’t like the feeling.
I won’t put up a profile on Match.com, SilverDaddies.com (Ugh. I guess I’m that age now.), or Manhunt.com. At least not right now. And you won’t find me hanging out in the bars. Most gay bars don’t get rolling until midnight, and I’m in bed by ten most nights.
The only thing that has changed is that I’m now open to dating, but I’m not sure how that’s going to happen. A potential date would have to parachute into my front yard and knock on my door to find me. Several friends have said not to be so quick to dismiss the possibility. I appreciate their optimism, but that’s not where I want to put my focus.
I want to be comfortable with “what is,” and right now I’m single. Most importantly, I’m happy. And isn’t that what really matters?