A man? Why do I need it? Now that he’s gone, I can sleep until lunchtime, walk around the house naked, put funny patches under my eyes, order weird boxed food and barely use the refrigerator, watch stupid TV shows, work at night if necessary, hang out with friends or spending a long time shopping with my daughter. It’s so cool. This is such freedom to be, to feel, to express oneself, and is it really possible to give it in return of your own free will... in return for what, by the way? The need to give in? Reporting obligations? Being forced to compromise? When I hear something like this, I think of three things: The fact that many of us only get closer to forty (or even later) to find the happiness of learning something about ourselves. Here are all these patches, food in boxes, a suitable daily routine. Because before that you are non-stop responding to the needs of others. For example, the needs of an anxious and unhappy mother who only needs A's or the needs of her first husband, an adept of sterile cleanliness. And then suddenly it turns out that you too may have needs, tastes, and choices. This is unusual and great. I also think how difficult partnership is for us. We are well savvy defensively, but we are not ready to open up; good at showing disappointment but weak at showing gratitude. We enter into adult relationships with the childish hope of mother’s love, but what we get next to us is a neurotic who doesn’t know himself, just like ourselves. As a result, there are countless stories in which two good people are extremely unhappy. Burnt out, disappointed, they come to the conclusion that love is an extremely unsuccessful investment, and never again. And I also think how little time we have. If only by forty we manage to taste ourselves, there is a great temptation to get stuck in imaginary self-sufficiency. After all, at first glance, it is very good and promises endless opportunities for self-development. So why not run along this smooth road? But, as for me, we gain the fullness of ourselves only through another, and a psychotherapist can be this other only for a certain period. Then you need a real other - a husband or lover, boyfriend or girlfriend, cohabitant or ally, and with him - a subtle co-tuning. And it’s not about serving other people’s needs - it’s never about them at all, but about a special community in which you exist even more than before. And then the patches and boxes of food fade into the background. Of course, they don’t disappear completely, but they turn from the center of attention into an ordinary accompaniment in life. Because there is something more interesting. And also because they don’t demand anything from you and don’t pinch you off, but only strengthen you.