Tuning In

'They aren't making snow!" When the cry went up at breakfast, the group despaired. But I rejoiced quietly over my coffee. No snow meant I could curl up by the fire and read without explaining my behavior -- which is always the best outcome of any ski weekend for a non-skier.

Why was I on a ski trip? Because I had ended a long relationship two months earlier, and well-meaning friends were urging me to "get out there." One recommended the week- end trips run by a local athletic organization, and so, with much trepidation, I signed up for the only excursion that fit my schedule. Turned out I was a good 20 years younger than the youngest of my fellow travelers, and then -- who'd have guessed? -- there was the skiing. Most troubling, I didn't want to be "out there" yet; I wanted to be home reading. It was a relief when the weather granted a watertight excuse to head for the lodge library.

"Never again," I vowed driving home.

But as a suburban dweller with lots of married friends, I often find I must go the extra mile - if not all the way to New Hampshire -- to reach the mythical romantic arena known as "out there." Although its precise geographical coordinates are never disclosed, I've come to picture "out there" as the MBTA map with little wine bars, hiking weekends, and book clubs in place of the station names.

Unfortunately, "there" is not on a map, and it doesn't follow any timetable. Just because your roommate met his wife when they both reached for the same organic kiwi doesn't mean spending hours in Whole Foods will be fruitful for you, too. But, of course, it might. And that, the advice books (and encouraging pals) chirp so cheerfully, is why you have to keep circulating. Skiing didn't work out? Consider croquet!

After all, this push, external and internal, for singles to be constantly "out there" is a natural outgrowth of the American Dream, which tells us that anyone who works hard enough can succeed. If hard work leads to results in the professional realm, why not in the romantic one? Marketers of Internet dating sites have gotten good at persuading us that if we haven't met the guy or gal of our dreams, we must not be trying hard enough (or spending enough money on membership fees, professional photographers, and profile-writing coaches). We'd best pull that dating profile up by its bootstraps and get out there.

The pressure to work hard at dating may be strongest for people who want children and fear their fertility is approaching its expiration date. But single friends uncertain about kids say they often face dilemmas in how to spend their free time. Should they do what they want or do what is most likely -- in an immediate or cosmic way -- to help them find Mr. or Ms. Right?

My friend Tanya, 32, confesses that she feels guilty every time she stays home and paints on a Friday night, even though she loves painting. "It's like I'm somehow setting back my social life," she laments. It's a bit ironic that Tanya feels she must devote less time to her interests in order to meet some-one who will, ideally, appreciate her for those interests. But it's an irony that may be familiar to anyone whose passions do not naturally foster meeting people.

When faced with such choices, some folks decide they are quite happy with single life - or happy enough not to devote all their evenings and weekends to looking for a mate. Others press onward, signing up for dating services, going skiing, and trying to bring their interests "out there," too -- like spending a Sunday writing poetry in public in a casual yet fetching outfit.

If my ski weekend bore any fruit, it's the knowledge that being "out there" when you don't want to be is rarely productive. Somehow, it seems that if you're really in the mood to read a novel or pluck your banjo, you should do so, and do your best to ignore those advice-book testimonials from women named Lisa S. who say, "I really wanted to stay home, but my friend dragged me to this party, and lo and behold, there was this handsome, emotionally intelligent gent with 'HERE TO MEET LISA S.' tattooed on his forehead."

Maybe with the right balance, you'll keep the light heart that is probably the best asset you can have "out there." What, after all, is more conducive to romance - or tougher to produce through sheer toil -- than happiness? And if you find happiness on group ski trips, more power to you.

Alison Lobron teaches English in Concord. E-mail comments to coupling@globe.com.