It was Audrey Hepburn who said, "I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it." Sounds a lot like the women who surround me. Not that there's anything wrong with needing affection.
Sure, we all desire to be loved, cherished, fawned over and obsessed over. But with this "terrible need" comes a terrible cost. The problem is that while it's all very well and good to be ensconced in a quest to find that special somebody who will sweep us off our feet and make us feel complete, many often neglect the most important person on the planet ... themselves.
Since the age of 12, or admittedly earlier, I have dedicated most of my waking hours to the male species ... from the days of catch and kiss and stressing over how many boys I could pash at the school dance to moving far beyond first base, texting multiple men at once, frantically trying to find "the one" and then for the past six years writing this column, which focuses on nothing else but ... men, love, sex and relationships.
He might have a point. Nevertheless, women spend way too many waking hours having wept, giggled, screamed, rejoiced, lost friends, gained friends, run up credit card debts and put their lives on hold for things that they thought would lead to a fairy-tale ending, only to end up without one. Instead they are confused, lost, numb.
My single girlfriends who are in their 30s and 40s look back on their lives and wonder: have they been merely "existing" or have they been truly "living"? Have they received all they want out of their lives ... despite not having a man by the side?
"Ninety per cent of the population simply exist. They don't live," said a New York friend the other day. "You have to learn how to truly live in order to be happy ... Sure I have existed - but have I been truly living? Have I really stopped to smell the roses? Most importantly, have I passionately fall in love with myself?"
That reality for her came crashing down last week as we marched through New York's Central Park together. She was frazzled by a plethora of text messages sent from men across the world (potential suitors she was trying to choose between) and had spent the last 20 minutes explaining to me the differences between them and analysing who would make a better partner. She then spent the next 20 minutes trying to work out exactly what wording to use to text them back.
I watched her in awe and then said softly: "Why don't you put down your phone and take in the sights around us?" She paused. She stopped, thought about it for a moment and then made a startling admission. She began to question exactly how many hours over the past year, or even more frighteningly the past 10 years, she had spent stressing about the perfect guy: 50? 500? 5000?
"What else could I have achieved in that time? Travelled the world five times over, developed business models, learnt three languages fluently, read every single book at Borders?"
Suddenly, she felt nauseous. "Why have I wasted so many hours on men?"
For so many women, men seem to become a sedative, blocking them from their true selves, and their ability to appreciate their individuality. They become a crutch; a validation, a way of defining oneself.
As scary as it sounds, my week in New York taught me that all of us should acknowledge that it is really OK to be single, and that so long as we have spent the time sowing the seeds of a beautiful relationship with our own body and soul, we are complete.
My girlfriend could spend the next month giving all my hard-earned dollars away to Vodafone with a copious amount of calls, texts, and emails to anyone who pays us the slightest bit of attention; being hungover after having been bar-hopping with yet another player the night before, or merely spending too many waking hours thinking and talking about penises.
Or she could actually stop existing and actually start living. Do what she loves as an independent woman and maybe, just maybe, she'll find a like-minded companion along the way ..
Sure, we all desire to be loved, cherished, fawned over and obsessed over. But with this "terrible need" comes a terrible cost. The problem is that while it's all very well and good to be ensconced in a quest to find that special somebody who will sweep us off our feet and make us feel complete, many often neglect the most important person on the planet ... themselves.
Since the age of 12, or admittedly earlier, I have dedicated most of my waking hours to the male species ... from the days of catch and kiss and stressing over how many boys I could pash at the school dance to moving far beyond first base, texting multiple men at once, frantically trying to find "the one" and then for the past six years writing this column, which focuses on nothing else but ... men, love, sex and relationships.
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"You give us too much power," one male told me the other day. "Penises really aren't that exciting. Find a hobby."He might have a point. Nevertheless, women spend way too many waking hours having wept, giggled, screamed, rejoiced, lost friends, gained friends, run up credit card debts and put their lives on hold for things that they thought would lead to a fairy-tale ending, only to end up without one. Instead they are confused, lost, numb.
My single girlfriends who are in their 30s and 40s look back on their lives and wonder: have they been merely "existing" or have they been truly "living"? Have they received all they want out of their lives ... despite not having a man by the side?
"Ninety per cent of the population simply exist. They don't live," said a New York friend the other day. "You have to learn how to truly live in order to be happy ... Sure I have existed - but have I been truly living? Have I really stopped to smell the roses? Most importantly, have I passionately fall in love with myself?"
That reality for her came crashing down last week as we marched through New York's Central Park together. She was frazzled by a plethora of text messages sent from men across the world (potential suitors she was trying to choose between) and had spent the last 20 minutes explaining to me the differences between them and analysing who would make a better partner. She then spent the next 20 minutes trying to work out exactly what wording to use to text them back.
I watched her in awe and then said softly: "Why don't you put down your phone and take in the sights around us?" She paused. She stopped, thought about it for a moment and then made a startling admission. She began to question exactly how many hours over the past year, or even more frighteningly the past 10 years, she had spent stressing about the perfect guy: 50? 500? 5000?
"What else could I have achieved in that time? Travelled the world five times over, developed business models, learnt three languages fluently, read every single book at Borders?"
Suddenly, she felt nauseous. "Why have I wasted so many hours on men?"
For so many women, men seem to become a sedative, blocking them from their true selves, and their ability to appreciate their individuality. They become a crutch; a validation, a way of defining oneself.
As scary as it sounds, my week in New York taught me that all of us should acknowledge that it is really OK to be single, and that so long as we have spent the time sowing the seeds of a beautiful relationship with our own body and soul, we are complete.
My girlfriend could spend the next month giving all my hard-earned dollars away to Vodafone with a copious amount of calls, texts, and emails to anyone who pays us the slightest bit of attention; being hungover after having been bar-hopping with yet another player the night before, or merely spending too many waking hours thinking and talking about penises.
Or she could actually stop existing and actually start living. Do what she loves as an independent woman and maybe, just maybe, she'll find a like-minded companion along the way ..
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