I'm not sharing my sandwich, and I don't want your toothbrush either

When I changed my degree for the fourth time during my last year at university, a friend looked at me knowingly and told me that I was a “Las Vegas Wedding Chapel of Personal Identity.” I think he said it out of exasperation, so used to me changing my mind and flipping my life on its head that nothing came as a surprise to him anymore. But I liked it. I like that I have the ability to reinvent myself at whim. To wholeheartedly throw myself at my decisions and dreams, and to recognize when those decisions and dreams need to change. I'm still young and figuring out what I want out of life, still basking in the freedom to define myself in any way I choose. Everything with wings is restless, I've been told, and be it soaring above the world as a restless bird or floating along in Zizek's boat, I'm content to be rootless right now.

And this, I think, is why I have so much trouble sharing my sandwich. Why normative committed romantic relationships don't work for me. Why my first reaction last night at my best friend's wedding when she handed me her bouquet was a panicked: “BUT I DON'T WANT TO GET MARRIED!!”

Sharing your sandwich means allowing someone else not just into your life, but into the decision making space of your life. Until I plant myself somewhere, until I'm ready to build a life for myself with some degree of permanence, until I can commit to a life and identity for myself, I can't commit to a life with another person. When you share your sandwich with someone, when you grant them a title – be it boyfriend, girlfriend, partner, or anything else that spells some kind of exclusive commitment – you entitle them to a degree of decision making power in your life. They gain the right to be included in the choices you make that impact their lives. And I'm not ok with granting someone else that kind of influence, even if those choices are as insignificant as what time I get up in the morning or what I eat for dinner. As long as my wings are restless, I don't want to have someone else entwined in my daily routines. I need the freedom to pass through the Las Vegas Wedding Chapel of Personal Identity whenever I please, without needing to consult anyone but myself.

I'm beginning to see that this may not be the way I am forever. I feel a stable identity lurking in the not so distant future. This transitory existence of mine is beginning to get old, and I'll soon be ready to put down roots somewhere, to plant a permaculture garden with some permanence and to know that I'll be around long enough to see a full five year crop rotation. Maybe then I'll be able to share my sandwich. Or maybe I will always need the feeling of independence and freedom of being able to cut my roots and fly away on a moment's notice, not that I necessarily will, the possibility might be enough.

All I know is that for now, I'm not sharing my sandwich, and I don't want your toothbrush either. I'm only 21 after all, I'm allowed to be young and free and stupid. I've still got a lot of revolution to live.