A “solo” polyamorous person chooses to lead a single life, on their own, away from their various partners. This is what I personally identify with the most. Except for the brief period when I was married to a monoamorous person and practised monoamory myself in that relationship, I have never lived in a long-term domestic partnership with anyone. I mention “longterm” specifically because even short live-in situations – for days or weeks – are forms of sharing the domestic life which comes with its own share of harsh and sweet realities.
While I really enjoy having people home – and thus the short stays are frequent between all kinds of partners and friends – the longer, more permanent domestic partnership has not happened for me. Not even with primary partners. I used to think this was accidental. Most of my partners lived settled lives in other cities, and my own frequent and long travel itineraries both for work and pleasure kept me mostly away from home. I must also confess that I have a particularly eccentric living pattern with very odd hours, for which, leave alone others agreeing to cohabit with me, on some days I find living with myself quite unbearable.
What I learnt only much later was that the strong desire to be on my own had quietly asserted its will on most of my decisions, including my relationships of love. While, on and off, an intense relationship would have me desire a shared domestic life a little bit, I would soon fold back into my solo existence with great delight and, if I may add, relief.
In more recent years, I have tried to understand what makes me such a joyous solo person who is also deeply polyamorous in my relationships, loving and caring passionately. I spoke with some other people like me to explore this further and I discovered some fascinating details about our lives and why we are this way.
Most of the solo polyamorous people I spoke to absolutely enjoy sharing their time and home with their partners when they visit, and love the comfortable togetherness that comes with growing familiarity over the years. The first few years of the relationships, these days, weeks, or months of spending time together are more of an exciting holiday – experiencing doing things together, like cooking, watching movies, spending hours talking about the subjects that matter, creating sexual intimacies that explore their varied desires, and meeting friends from each other’s lives. As years go by, there is more time spent doing the quotidian – work and other chores in the warm presence of each other. And all of them, without exception, shared that after a while, they start missing their solo space.
The period of happy coexistence is different for different people, but the craving for having the home to just the self is felt both strongly and recurrently. For me, I have noticed, it is always after a month or so of spending time with partners in my home or theirs that I start missing my solo space. Thankfully, for me, there has been no conflict over this with my partners as they understand it too, and some even feel the same way.
Some solo poly friends of mine stay single because they believe in relationship anarchy. Neither do they prioritise any one partner over the others nor have primary partners. They feel that sharing a domestic space with one of their partners would make them more important in all practical terms, and this would create a hierarchy among their other loves. But the few friends who do have primary partners and yet love their solo lives, find it hard to explain the reasons to others.
Even among polyamorous people, we often connect primary partnerships with sharing domesticity. Any deviation from this brings up doubts and misgivings about the depth of love and commitment. But solo poly folks shared how remaining single in their domestic space helps them build a relationship with their own selves and understand who they are without necessarily being influenced by or impacting their relationship with others. A large part of their lives consists of making meanings out of things on their own, conversing with the self, and reflecting and expressing them in some form. A friend blurted out, “Sometimes, an experience is so personal, so private that anyone being there takes away from its essence.” Do you not want to share it with your partner, I asked. “I do,” they replied, “but not just then.”
Some spoke about the “relationship escalator” – the feeling that once they start living with someone, the anxiety of “what next, what next?” might immediately take over their lives. Many polyamorous people feel that the moment a domestic partnership is established, the relationship starts to fall into a pattern of pressure much like monoamory, which they have rejected. The comfortable plateau of camaraderie in a relationship that some polyamorous people like me seek – where there aren’t destinations or life goals to be achieved together – is most appropriately lived through solo polyamory.
For me, the sense of independence that I manifest in my life is the most important reason for remaining solo. This includes the style and pace of my domestic life, the way my home looks, the various decisions I make on a daily basis, and being able to have relationships as and when I want to. It is hard to make space for ‘others’ in the home that primary partners share. They often feel stressed or frustrated because they either decide on terms of engagement where they do not bring another person home, or entertain another partner only when their domestic partner is not around.
In polyamory, we choose whether we want to keep our partners separate from each other or introduce them and let things take their own course. These are choices made with mutual agreements. For people living solo in polyamory, this decision is easier in practical terms. One can separate or engage partners at will. But for those who live together, it becomes difficult to keep their domestic partners separate from other partners and maintain distinct relationships.
There is another important reason for me to live solo that some of the people I spoke to agree with. The mind-space one shares with a partner increases with sharing domestic space with them. If one person is always there sharing your space; if their life is inscribed within your domestic everyday – then it becomes harder to keep more mind-space free for others,’ said a friend who has moved a few times between living with someone and staying on her own while being polyamorous. I agree with that. It has the tendency to look and feel more and more like a monoamorous experience.
Few people talk openly about the financial aspect of living solo as a polyamorous person – as people generally don’t like talking about money. Anyone living in this country as a single person will tell you that it is harder financially. Not that family lives are better in this economy of high inflation, but double incomes help in sharing the burden. From rent and utility bills, to buying groceries and eating out – this country is not geared towards letting people be single. The discounts are always on bulk and economies of scale do not favour single lives. For women, the single life often costs more because one pays a premium for staying in “safe” neighbourhoods and “safe” housing facilities.
Having said that, one of the reasons I chose to live alone is because I believe every person has a certain financial temperament and it is very important for that to match if one is to have a conflict-free domestic arrangement. Financial temperament includes not just spending habits and priorities, but also aspects like risk-taking on investments, attitude towards charity, and overall relationship with money. I have seen many people in domestic partnerships, both in monoamory and polyamory, fight over these financial issues. My need to make decisions about, control, and disburse my finances as I want to without any influence or pressure from a domestic partner is an important reason for my being solo.
A reason that came up almost at the end of a conversation I was having with another solo polyamorous person, struck me as the most beautiful one, full of old-world charm and romance. He said he wanted to live away from his primary partner because he wanted to keep the mystery and attraction alive. He then went on to speak about how much he treasured the longing he felt when he was away from his partner: the skip of the heart when they met after an interval, the flutter in his stomach at the sight of this lover. I was reminded of love poems of Amir Khusrau and Ghalib as I heard him speak. Later, I realised that I felt this way too.
The staying away created a sense of “biraha” – a longing – that kept my relationships more alive and desire more intense. This deprivation of the object of affection creates a deep thirst in me that is hard to explain. In that state of longing, the different methods of communication that connect my partners to me – emails, texts, phone calls, and video chats – add various new dimensions to the discoveries I make of myself and my partners.
Many of these reasons are similar to what monoamorous people experience if they choose to live solo, away from their lover. But the decision to remain solo in polyamory affects more than two lives and must happen with mutual understanding. A question we often have to contend with even if asked in jest is, “You have more than one lover, and still can’t find anyone to live with?”
I tried to connect this with my passion for travelling solo. I am quite an adventurer and love visiting new places, exploring cultures, food, and people. While I like travelling with friends and partners, I absolutely delight in travelling alone. In fact, even when I am travelling with others, I need timeout to go off on my own for a while. This has to do with the deep connection I feel with this world that is immensely personal. I need to be alone with her – in her valleys and waters, as much as her cities and villages. It’s an ancient feeling – some may even call it spiritual. Face to face with the all-pervasive life force of the world, each one of us is as truly alone as we are together. Some part of me thus remains solo and some, a piece of the larger collective. I acknowledge and accept both. This liminal space is for me, the authentic self that I celebrate. The moment closest to this feeling is when I return home sad after dropping off a partner to the train station at the end of a wonderful week of live-in together; and the open balcony of my flat, the plants, and warm fairy lights embrace me in gay abandon. I sit. I smile. I am where I belong.
Excerpted with permission from All Our Loves: Journeys with Polyamory in India, Arundhati Ghosh, Aleph Book Company.
