The woman who took my temperature is only 30 years old. My skin is smooth and radiant, I can see now that my skin is dull and dragging. Her eyes are bright and eager to smile, almost as if she is smiling already. Under her teal cardigan, she is wearing a crisp white shirt and a crisp white blouse. The same teal accents are found in her necklace and her glossy nails. Looking down at my fingers, I see a coffee stain on my sweatshirt arm and a tear in the cotton cuff.

My ear is being examined by her. She asks me if it's a cold. She is sweetly curious about me and excited for me. I answer no, it is not for work. I want to escape. She asks me if there are any people up there I know and if I am visiting relatives or friends. I respond again, but my voice is shaking. I see her confused expression, then a flash of concern. Alone? She asks. I nod. She smiles, not because it is what she wants, but because there is nothing else she can say.

It's not unusual to take a break from New York. I traded my small apartment and subway traumas for a farmhouse overlooking the mountains at half the rent. It was strange for a 36-year-old woman to leave New York City to be entirely alone for months. People find it difficult to accept my aloneness at an age when they expect me to settle down. They expect me not to have children or believe in marriage. Although I wish that I was able to show my disinterest in these traditional paths, it's not what I do. I would love to meet love. I thought I would have children. It's not possible. Now, I realize that the question isn’t whether I want these things. It sounds good. My bigger question is, at what cost?

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Although the late thirties are a time when a woman is likely to lose her fertility, it also seems like this age marks the beginning of self-discovery. My other female friends who are not childless enter the age of pressure and many of us begin to see our lives in a more honest way. If you think life will be a certain way, as in movies and books, then you have to question your intentions. It was unendingly hard, but it has been the best thing for me. This line of questioning was the catalyst that allowed me to finally take writing seriously after years of misguided, but ambitious attempts to "have all". Although I am not always on the same path as I imagined, it is clear that I did find love.

This is where it gets tricky. You may not be able to create and care for the person you want, but it can make it more difficult. I find sitting in my apartment alone, which I have recently accepted as my absolute favorite way to spend my time, a worry that my future self may resent my reclusive writer self for not being more involved before it is too late. Every day, I listen to the parental chorus of "having children" which is so powerful. The dumb saying that you cannot be complete without your "other halves" haunts my mind. But after so many years of trying to find love, I've never felt more complete than now, all alone.

People often call me lucky when I tell them that I prefer being alone. It makes me laugh. While I do prefer to be with someone who loves me, makes me laugh, and also allows me to be alone for long periods of time, it is not what I want. However, when I consider that interrupting my writing with Tinder dates is a way to meet my future husband, the decision to either go out or fall in love isn't really what I'm making. I weigh the possibility of interrupting whatever I'm currently doing for the more probable alternatives. I consider spending money and time taming my frizzy curls since men insist I do so, watching what I eat as thinness has become so deeply embedded in my consciousness that I find it difficult to feel attractive without it, laughing at stupid jokes and filling in the gaps with too many questions, and other work that's become reflexive, but drains my core.

Even now there are so many other ways I would prefer to spend my time. But the question of having children still haunts my mind. Nowadays, I often wonder if I want children as much as I think about another snack. My most honest moment is when I realize that I don’t want kids. My gut feeling is that any desire I may have for children is mostly a superficial concern over how displaced I'll feel. Similar to how I feel outmatched without a partner. This is how I feel when my hair is natural and wild. Similar to how I feel uncomfortable not wanting to go out when it's sunny because the only ground that I want is the ugly terrain in my mind. I would rather do this from the comfort of my sofa.

I tell my family and friends that I'm going to Vermont to write. This is a self-made retreat for writers. Two months of being completely alone is another thing. I want to do the things that are right for me. I want to live in a place where I don't have to partner so that I can discover who I really am without having to think about what I should do for others. I want to spend my day writing, and not pondering if I should have. I want to be able to look in the mirror and feel good. This is not because I spent too much time or money trying to imitate someone else. It's because I have done nothing and that's what I like. I want to feel constant joy when I am alone so I can trust it even when all around me is telling me it's not enough. I want to be able to identify what it is that I truly want, even if no one else is.