I am having the time of my life being single.

It’s Friday night, and I (voluntarily) have no lighting in my apartment save for two candles and a laptop screen. I’m sitting on the floor naked, my groceries still in their reusable bags, the Drain-O doing its thing in the tub, and I am having the time of my life. I don’t move unless I want to. I don’t share unless I want to. I don’t move my shoes from the front door to their allotted place in the closet unless I want to, and I am having the time of my life. I share apples with my bunny. I shower by candlelight. I don’t turn the TV off when I leave for the day. I switch from my cotton robe to my satin robe in the middle of the night just because, and I am having the time of my life.

Trivialities, yes. I’m aware that I can totally do all of these things while in a relationship, too. I’m just laying the groundwork for how much I love being single.

I’ve learned how to be happy without alcohol. I’ve learned how to do a lot of things without alcohol while single, actually. I’ve learned how to be sad without alcohol. I’ve learned how to be fun without alcohol. I’ve learned how to show affection without alcohol, and I’ve learned how to say what I’ve wanted to say for the past two weeks without alcohol. I’ve learned how to listen to my body, and I’ve learned how to say no. I’ve learned when to boast, and I’ve learned when to shut my mouth. I’ve learned things about different personality styles, and I’ve learned things about myself. Like how much I hate olives and how much I hate making eye contact when I’m sleepy. Important things.

I don’t think I would’ve learned these things if I were in a relationship, or even dating, for that matter. Maybe my partner would’ve bought me a salad with olives in it, and that would’ve been the end of that. Maybe he would’ve turned out to be a great guy. I would’ve never found out, I guess. (I. HATE. OLIVES.)

I set my own schedule being single, and I don’t have to manipulate it in order to appease someone’s feelings, or desires. I come home, and I don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to. I decide last minute to walk to the bookstore to buy a book, and I spend $12 on nail polish. I wash my hair once a week, and when I do, I braid it up and look like Lil Bow Wow. I am having the time of my life.

I’m not ready to be in a relationship because I’m having so much fun right now, and I don’t think I know anyone enough who makes me want to consider an amendment to my future plans. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not planning accordingly, and if I should be more open to (or at the very least, more considerate of) the possibility of dating. I wonder if I’m “blocking my blessings,” as the kids say. And then I laugh because I am the blessing. Next topic.

I’m also still learning to care outside of my capacity. Sometimes this comes naturally, and I want to extend myself to others in totality in order to make sure I’m fulfilling my duties as a friend. I hurt when they hurt. I’m sad when they’re sad. I’m happy when they’re happy. I want to empty myself out for them. Then there are times when you actually could not pay me to care. I will leave my phone on airplane mode. I will read messages and not respond. I will not care more than they will, and I will not fulfill my duties as a friend. And I am still having the time of my life.

It’s burdensome to assume someone else’s desires, expectations, sadness, etc. I’m aware that relationships (in all capacities) are not always filled with fun and excitement and favorableness, and I’m also aware that I am not ready to assume the shared burden of the opposing aforementioned emotions in order to alleviate my partner. Don’t even care if it was Sterling K. Brown. If I’m sad, or tired, or apathetic, don’t text me when you’re those things too, bro. I ain’t got it for either one of us right now.

My best friend asked me what the difference was. She said, “You’re there for me and for your other friends even when you don’t feel like it sometimes. It’ll be the same with your boyfriend.” The answer: I’m faking it most of the time. I don’t want to fake it when I’m with him, or even when I’m with my friends, for that matter. I want to want to be fully present, and I want to want to give from that tiny reservoir of energy that I save for myself for Friday nights when I’m completely wiped from the week. Right now, that reservoir is just for me, Jack, and my dried pea snacks. And I am having the time of my life.

Anyway, these are just Friday-night rambles of how sweet this season is. I find the warmest comfort in friends who receive my ill-timed jokes and mid-day photos of baby animals with exuberance (read: toleration). I receive the deepest laughs from family members who have forgotten family moments that I remind them of, and I taste a face-full of bunny hair whenever I accidentally fall asleep on the floor next to her. I find joys in simple things: joys that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I was too wrapped up in someone before I was ready for them. And I want to be so full that I can still find these joys whether single or committed so that I can share them with him, whoever he is. And I want his joys, too. I want his joys that are ripe, and ready for the sharing. We don’t want no soggy joys on this side.

(I also really love doing things on my own, and I loathe having to ask for help. I’ve heard that guys like to feel needed, so some women fake like they can’t open the lid of the pickle jar so that their mate can feel “strong” and “needed.” Man, look.)

Anyway, here’s to being single, and here’s to owning your joys. Not trying to blossom from this season anytime soon.