It's an ancient word in the English language: "Spinster" is what it said on the marriage certificate on the dreary day in London when my wedding took place. That would indeed be me, though little did I know at the time. Then I was a bit of an Anglophile, an American ingenue marrying a blue-eyed young English man who "read" classics at Cambridge. That was about all I needed to know. (Just kidding.)

Now long gone from that union, I am pretty much on my own. There's no place for me on Noah's ark. I'm fine with that. More to the point, Mother's Day is Sunday, May 11, which seems to whisper, you missed the end of every female quest. There is no Spinsters Day, but hey, somehow I survive this spring Sunday with spirits intact.

I like to say, I make my own fun. I'm nothing if not resilient. This Mother's Day, I'll see my goddaughter dance at a ballet performance. Also on the weekend schedule is my millennial book club.

All I ask is that friends don't talk about their private school carpools; there's a silent code in that conversation I can't crack. On the other hand, it's a quick cure for a spinster's blues. I might add, female friendship is an absolute must for navigating my way, like oxygen.

Every woman should try young, free singlehood. Embrace the liberty that goes with living life as an individual sport. To come and go as you please is an underrated pleasure. There's the joie de vivre of having a dance card full five summer days in a row. April in Paris for an enchanting wedding dinner and dance many springs ago still stays high in my memory sky. I don't have to ask or tell anybody when I buy a frock or stay up past my bedtime on a school night. There's nobody to tell me he likes my summer clothes better than my winter wardrobe.

The truth can be told at a certain age, roughly when William Shakespeare retired from writing plays. Along the journey, I've told lots of people the best of all worlds is a happy marriage, however it's defined between two people — including a man and a woman. It's perfectly clear from reading The New York Times that vows are in vogue for gay and straight couples alike.

What's more, the world is full of uxorious men. (George W. Bush's cultural contribution was a preening devotion to Laura.) Why do I find this disconcerting? I just do, ever since the Great Recession began. I'm sure an economist could tell us why divorces seem scarcer.

But what I never said before is: Being a spinster is not half bad. Shhh, it's not something they want you to know, ladies. Happily single runs a strong second. You know, as President Obama says, a single here, a double there. Out of the ballpark once in a blue moon. In the meantime, your cat is there for you.

One thing that put a crimp in this worldview was, I must admit, George Clooney getting engaged. Shucks, did he have to go and do that? It was nice having him buzz around one's own outer space as the man who would be forever single. Surely, I'm not the only spinster who took that news hard.

Also, I noticed my English ex is one of the richest lawyers in London. I'm happy for him having a little girl named Daisy. Now and then I think of the garden parties we could have given, alas. But domestic bliss was not meant for us. No regrets.

In sum, you are still part of the human race. To follow your fancy, you work up the strength to go to the symphony alone. But that is no tragedy. One learns to enjoy one's own company.

As an Englishwoman observed floating on the Nile in Egypt, "Otherwise you'll never go anywhere."

To find out more about Jamie Stiehm, and read features by other Creators writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com.