A party of one

Today, I read an article in Psychology Today that pointed out that there are 86 million of us single adults in America, and that we are emerging as the new majority, and also the fastest-growing segment of the population. Most adults now will spend more of their adult lives single than married; quite a different demographic pattern from that when I was growing up, in the '50s and '60s.

The article describes a single woman who took a big risk by following her passion, by taking a leap into the unknown, something she said she could never have done if she was part of a couple. This got me thinking about the tradeoffs we all make, following our passions in this, the land of the rugged individual. All writers and artists have to confront the question of how to be selfish enough to do our best work, while remaining responsible enough to care for those who rely upon us.

I've long supported the quest by those brave enough to reject the safe route, the status quo, and seek a more meaningful life, a "less-depressed" life, a more engaged life -- whatever you want to call it.

But you need your friends to make it through. There is no Superman, nor is there a Superwoman. We all need our network. You need to remember those you can trust, and what they need from you in return. The Beatles said, "All you need is love." Among the many varieties of love I have tried to write about in this space is friendship love.

No one can follow her passion without trusting in friendship love. No one can let go of romantic love without receiving friendship trust in return. Such is the nature of the circle of giving and receiving that sustains us all -- or sends us outside of the circle alone, alienated, isolated, confused, and yearning for the ineffable.

That-- not marriage, a questionable institution at best, though still special when it can work -- is our best hope once we are single. Friendship. And what is friendship, especially between men and women, if not intimacy, truthfulness, and trust?

Without it, all we have is the emptiness of a party at home alone. The fate of millions in America, never spoken, never referenced, not even on the Obituary page of your local newspaper.

But it is in there, between the lines. Don't stop connecting. The life you lose may be your own -- or that of your friend. Then it will be too late to do anything but romanticize the past, a useless exercise in a post-modern world where history has ended, and the future contains nothing but shock.