My friend “Polly” decided to leave her boyfriend of 5+ years, move in with two gays in a place I’m told is called Bushwick, and try life on her own for the first time, ever.
In her words:
“This girl’s a fucking nutjob.” “Bipolar.” “That dude’s better off.” Yes, I can hear your interior monologue from Brooklyn (the acoustics off the bridge are ah-mazing). I get it. Respectable, sympathetic girls don’t do things like that to hot, supportive, amazing guys who love their crazy asses.
But staring down the barrel of marriage, it clicked: I’ve never been on my own. I always came home to parents or the live-in boyfriend, never walked into a party or social event without the bullet-proof vest of my partner layered over my party-gear and never learned to be the interesting, self-reliant woman with cool stories to tell.”
Is there a list of things you should do before you walk down the aisle? If you’re sure you’re not ready what’s the right move to make for a step back to re-boot? Will living in Brooklyn with gay men answer the age-old questions every almost married woman asks?
I don’t think I know. Polly’s sure she doesn’t know. But she intends to figure it out, and I intend to read about that. You should too — here.