We’d have fewer divorces if we had fewer marriages, and we’d have fewer marriages if we’d accept “singlehood” as a legitimate lifestyle.

If you’re on a dating website and like “long walks on the beach and watching the sunset alongside my special someone,” I’m probably not the man for you. I’d love to marry that “special someone,” but getting from singlehood to marital bliss is too much work.

I’m surprised at the number of people who don’t understand that.

Friends and family don’t see singlehood as a viable life form. Singlehood, they think, is a transition phase, a road from here to there. It’s the domain of the unhappy, the not-at-the-moment-fulfilled adults biding their time before wedded bliss. Even with the U.S.’s high divorce rate, there’s a basic, unquestioned assumption that you’re better off married, even with a less-than-ideal mate. If single, you’re looking or, wink wink, gay.

The marriage pressure lasts throughout our lives, with a possible exception for widows over 80. In our twenties, it starts with questions on who we’ll marry or, if dating, when. Close to 30 it turns to “whether” we’ll marry, spoken with a note of sadness and edge of distress. The underlying, unquestioned assumption is that you’re looking. Everyone’s looking. You need a soul mate; you need to be completed; you need sex. (I’ll give a bit on this one).

It’s okay to fail but unacceptable not to try. Tell someone you’ve stopped looking, that you prefer to live alone, and a jaw drops slightly, a head tilts.

Movies and romance novels bear some blame. When was the last time you saw a movie in which the hero, at the end, found himself alone and happy about it? Movies end on a beach or amid massive destruction with a man and woman realizing this is “it.” They kiss softly, the man leans in, the woman’s leg rises. A car blows up in the background, but they don’t notice, so in love are they.

Okay, I want that too, but it’s a lie we believe. Even if that kind of love happens, it transitions to a mature love – hopefully – long after the movie credits run. Or it has a 50/50 chance of ending in divorce.

On the day of my divorce, my lawyer told me not to worry, that I’d soon find someone else and remarry, so I dated some. A few months later, I attended one of those speed-dating events that packed 16 women into two hours. That did it. After sifting through all those faces, I realized I didn’t want to date, at least not women who viewed dating as a prerequisite and marriage as the goal. Mate-finding is a competitive sport for many older adults, and no one over the age of 35 actually dates – they interview. During a first date, we analyze attributes and balance them against deal breakers.

The day I admitted that I hated the process and gave myself permission not to participate, I felt relief. I freed myself from writing an essay on “what I want in a woman,” taking selfies that make me look 20 years younger (it didn’t work) and paying monthly fees. I freed myself from shallowly judging women based on little more than an email photo, of feeling like a heel or a reject.

So far, however, no one has said, “I know what you mean,” in response to “I’ve decided not to date.”

Reactions include: You’re not over the pain from your marriage (Carol). You’re just lazy (Tracey). You’d better get started while you’re still young enough to attract someone (Sandy). Don’t you worry: The right one will come along (Cheryl). Just tell me why you won’t date me. It’s okay. Really. I just want to know (a different Cheryl). I’m afraid you’ll die alone (Mom). You’re not trying (my daughter).

To be clear, I’d like to marry. I just don’t want to do the work it takes to get there – and my distaste for the latter overshadows the former. I have no fear that all the good ones will one day be gone, so there’s no pragmatic reason to jump into the market quickly. As a man, my odds only get better.

The problem is that I’m generally happy, and if/whether/when I date again, I want a woman who will add to my happiness. If it happens, I’ll stumble upon her volunteering to help people in need or protesting a social injustice.

If we’re to marry, we’ll do things together (not necessarily on a date) for months and build a relationship, not because we have a goal to get married, but because, day by day, we’re drawing closer whether we want to or not. This type of woman probably won’t have an online dating profile. This type of woman probably doesn’t swim in those ponds, so why should I fish there?

In the meantime, I’ll live alone and do my part to cut down on the sky-high divorce rates.

© 2015 SmithTakes.com