I feel capable of more. Or maybe I want more. I feel a little stuck. Or maybe lost is the word I’m looking for.
Warning: despite the title, disjointed thinking ahead.
For days (perhaps weeks), I’ve been riding one of my favorite hobby-horses: examining relationships and attachment styles; slow starts vs. fast starts; wondering how one navigates all of this crap; and also wondering where relationships fit in to living a fulfilling life?
This mild obsession of mine rears it’s head every time I grow tired of being single. This happens every time I think I live a pretty awesome life, but wouldn’t mind something awesome-r. As I spiral into some form of debate with myself, part of me says this is a trap. Part of me says – you’ve tried this before, Charlie Brown, and Lucy always pulls the football away. You’re at a good place, don’t mess with a good thing.
My current baseline for an awesome life (sunshine, reading, writing, hiking, time by the water, exploring the city) is amazing. In fact, minus the job and the fiancee, the life I’m living now feels damn close to where I was several years ago when I had a job and a partner and I felt like everything was falling in to place. And yet, that minus the job and the partner thing can, at times, feel like a pretty big minus. Especially on a long holiday weekend when I don’t have a lot going on.
In this state of mind, I find myself falling into old ways of thinking, old ways of defining myself and what I want. Eventually, after a few turns on my mental merry-go-round, I conclude that I am, and always have been, looking for a life (and companion) that is “simple” and “easy” and “wow.” Or what I want is some version of what I’ve had but with softer edges and more wiggle room.
Admittedly, there’s a certain irony or ludicrousness in having spent years trying to cultivate a more robust and resilient inner life only to realize it looks very similar to the life I used to live or had been planning on living: cafes, bars, concerts, art, long walks, hiking, running, reading, writing, and slowing down. It begins to feel as though I’ve been chasing some deeper understanding of myself… running, sitting, thinking, moving, only to get back to the starting line. Only to tell myself, that I was on the right path and the “vision” wasn’t flawed. The execution of that vision is another story.
In these moods (when I’m looking for the recipe for how to bake a good partnership), I can also go down strange tangential paths. I can formulate theories of what works or doesn’t and why. The latest theory I’ve been playing with posits that dismissive and/or extremely independent people should seek out other dismissive/independent people with opposite interests so that they have reasons to go their separate ways and do their own thing – independent lives with occasional crossover. Similarly, those people who form overly strong attachments (who want to spend lots of time with their partner) should seek out people who want a similar connection and share many interests so that they can do lots of things together. All of this assumes that people know where they fall on the “companionship makes my skin crawl to I wanna be attached at the hip” spectrum.
Unfortunately, I find myself falling into the later category (preferring a good amount of quality time with my partner) yet have a knack for pairing up with people in the former category (leave me alone, don’t you have something else you could be doing?). I don’t know if this is by design or default. I know I get a bored and lose interest if I sense the other person is just along for the ride – yet, I really want them to be along for the ride… or more accurately, I want this (whatever this may be) to be the ride they would chose with or without me. In this respect, I tend to seek out the independent types perhaps confusing their independence for authenticity and affinity. Two people with their own interests that happen to align well. Two people capable of doing their own thing, but also happen to like a lot of the same things and like the idea of sharing those experiences.
…
The other day, I was writing about the band P.M. Dawn and how I used to like them when I was in high school. I was writing about how their songs, along with songs like “Moondance” by Van Morrison, seemed to define my adolescent understanding of romantic love and most of my first relationship. I was trying to work my way up to writing about how my thinking has evolved over the years – specifically how I used to have an overly-romanticized understanding of love (as evidenced by liking a schmaltzy pop band like P.M. Dawn and lyrics like “I’d die without you”) and now I have…? I kept getting stuck when I came to the point of trying to articulate what my understanding has evolved in to. I know it’s evolved because no matter how strong the relationship has been – I have yet to die without them.
Because I’m trying this dating thing out again and because I was thinking about where and how I’ve changed, I started to write about what appear to be the two primary approaches to dating and starting a relationship: awooogah woogah love at first sight and, well… everything else that isn’t love at first sight. In my mind, it seems to be the difference between saying “I can’t wait to see this person again” and “I’d like to see this person again.” The past relationships that stand out to me – were the ones where I was dying to see the person again. I started to write about how while I seem to have a preference for that type of initial connection, something about it feels immature or unrealistic. I couldn’t pinpoint why it felt like an immature our less-evolved approach – and I began to wonder if a level of cynicism has set in. Do I still believe in it? Am I capable of it?
…
These last few days have been slow. The city seems to have emptied out. People here get out of town for the long holiday. They travel north to Tahoe or other places not on my radar or in my circle of experience and comfort. Not yet being part of a larger friend group creates a sense of missing out… and holidays make me contemplative in the “holidays make me homesick” sort of way. The other thing I was attempting to write these past few days was about how my markers of time and seasons (my old annual traditions) were thrown out the window five years ago when I moved away. I no longer attend every Thanksgiving, or Christmas Eve, or July blues picnic, or 4th of July party. Furthermore, because I haven’t been in the same place for very long, I also haven’t established new annual traditions. Unless I settle back down in the Philly area, I’m not sure I’ll return to those old traditions (at least not annually) and establishing new ones requires deeper roots than I currently possess. The holiday and it’s accompanying sense of displacement has me thinking about upper-case L Life which may or may not involve a partner. Put more succinctly, holidays would feel less lonely if shared.
Lately, perhaps because of the slowness, I’ve had a small but nagging desire for more, deeper, or different connections. I’ve been remembering and thinking about those day-to-day connections I’ve had in the past – the person or people who have been my primary and my fall back options for when I’m bored with myself or just tired of making all of the decisions on my own. If I used to rely too heavily on others for my own happiness, I’ve swung wildly in the other direction and have limited myself to those joys that I alone can provide for myself (which, as I mentioned earlier, looks eerily similar to the happiness I once found in a partner). Neither approach is optimal. Lately, especially on a holiday whose television commercial is one of beer and barbecue and good friends yucking it up, I’ve been wanting the type of friend or partner I could call up and say, “hey, whatchu up to, wanna go do something?” I liked when my default mode was expecting to see so and so on a regular basis – when getting together on a daily basis was more of a yes than a maybe. Put more succinctly, holidays (and regular days) would feel less lonely if shared.
Without a primary partner who likes doing a lot of the things I like to do, I might do well to establish multiple connections with different functions: bar friends, beach friends, concert friends, hiking friends, museum friends, hang out and do nothing friends, sit around and listen to music friends, hey how was your day friends, go on a road trip friends… These relationships are (or can be) very different types of people. In fact, just listing those things out, it seems exceedingly rare to find one person who could fulfill all or most of those roles… but oh how much easier life would be if such interests were consolidated into one person (who also happens to be cute). See above theory on attachment types and similar interests.
The last time I had that type of a connection was five years ago when I was engaged (though I can’t be sure how aligned we were). I got close to having that type of a connection when I dated someone from Memphis – we talked every day and shared a lot of the same interests, but because it was long-distance we certainly weren’t going to get together on a whim let alone every day for a beer or a walk.
I’ve written about this a lot. It’s a regular vacillation for me – swinging between independence and inter-dependence. Trying to figure out how to settle into a slow burn when the initial connection is a screaming hell yes from a rooftop. And for years, I’ve had this sense that despite thinking that I want that type of every day connection again, I have trouble imagining it. I have trouble visioning how we would get there. This is where I was going with my attempt to understand my evolution from my P.M. Dawn days that, upon further inspection, doesn’t feel terribly evolved.
Maybe what I’m feeling is a tinge of regret. Regret for not having developed this independence sooner or for having been greedy in past relationships – for not wanting the honeymoon to end. Regret for starting off in ways (unfettered access to each other and irrationally exuberant) that set an unrealistic and unsustainably high bar for both of us. Scratch that – I’ve always liked when things started off that way. Exciting beginnings are fun. I think what I regret is that we never figured out how to navigate a slower come down. Perhaps all such beginnings are bound to crash. Perhaps I should be looking for different beginnings, slower beginnings. And while I don’t want to repeat my crash and burn mistakes, I’m finding myself back in a situation similar to where I was before those relationships: enjoying life (a lot), but maybe looking to share. It feels like dangerous territory. I know what you’re going to do with that football, Lucy.
Yet, something feels different. I feel different. I feel less greedy or better equipped to negotiate time and space together. I feel like were I to do it again, it’s not the beginnings that I would change. Were I to do it again, I think I’d need and maybe want less or expect less from my partner. I’m far more practiced at going it alone and probably more protective of my time and space. Moreover, it’s taken a few years, but I’m finally rejecting some of the criticisms I heard and internalized from at least one relationship: mainly that I’m incapable of giving space.
Deep down, part of me still believes you have to be willing to give all (or most) of it (it being a form of the self) away and that if two people are genuinely aligned, it won’t feel like a sacrifice. But I’m not sure. I’m not sure if that’s the right approach, the mature approach, much less if that’s the proper sign that someone is a good match who might be able to go the distance.
And so, in this present state, I hold back and walk cautiously. Despite always being available now (I’m literally free all day, every day) and still being a bit of an energizer bunny in terms of being open to doing lots of different things (see above list: music, bars, walks, etc. etc.), I suspect that some of the people I’ve gone out with in the last five years (or even six months), might describe me as aloof, distant, uninterested, or unavailable. And I can’t tell if that’s a me thing or a them thing or just a chemistry thing.
This is the type of over-thinking that I do when I’m feeling nostalgic and a little isolated. Thanks, 4th of July holiday. Thanks a lot.
…
The other night, after a day of walking six miles to the beach and six miles back, I ate dinner, showered, and went to my local pub. I sat next to a couple and talked to the woman. She was drunk and rambling all over the place. She only just started dating the guy she was with. She’s also in the middle of a divorce. They were from Ohio and were out here visiting their kids – or something like that. She talked about going to concerts. She talked about the mushroom gummies they got when they were in LA, but she wasn’t sure if they were legit. She wanted to know where the nearest dispensary was. She wanted to know if they should drive or Uber to Chinatown (I strongly recommended Uber). He talked to the guy next to him about working as a butcher – cuts of meat and all that. With a smoker’s laugh/cough, she said to me, he’s always talking about his meat. She talked about chasing ghosts (in the literal sense of the supernatural). They planned to visit Alcatraz and look for ghosts. She said she’s a big Robin Williams fan. she wants to go to the house where he died. When I mentioned a nearby pizza joint that he used to frequent (hole in the wall), her boyfriend asked, “glory-hole in the wall?” She apologized for him – said he gets crass when he gets drunk. I’m guessing he’s often crass. They left. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, she came back into the bar looking for her phone. They left again. After a while, they came back to drink some more. She couldn’t remember where they had gone in Chinatown. She lost her phone again. It was in the Uber they took from Chinatown back to the bar. They shot a round or two of pool. As they left, he thanked me for being so nice. He said everyone in this town is so nice. I said, “yeah, it’s pretty great.” I wished them safe travels back to Ohio.
That’s one type of relationship. I assume it won’t last or won’t be healthy or isn’t healthy, but they seem to have a good time together. They seemed like they were living a boozed up, drug-dusted, wild ride type of life. The note I wrote on my phone was something along the lines of “and so what? isn’t having a good time together what really matters?” Take chances, screw things up. Live life in lots of different ways until one type of life sticks. The note on my phone was a reminder that these are all just phases. Maybe I’m in my “hang out at bars” phase. Maybe in a few years I’ll have a “never touch the stuff and drink green smoothies and do yoga” phase. Maybe years after that I’ll have a sailing or rock climbing phase. The note on my phone espoused a type of hedonism – one that embraces freedom, one that says try everything, bring on the drama, live out loud, burn bridges, drive blindly through the corn fields of life. Analyze less, do more. Most people have never flirted with the fire of what their lives could be. Other people always waltz in and out of their comfort zone with any devil who’s willing to dance. Who’s to say if one way is better than the other? None of this should be that hard. None of this should be that consequential.
…
Not long ago a woman answered my question of “what are you looking for?” with “I wanna fall in love on a level I have not yet experienced. I want a partner who will make me better. Someone I can support, learn from, and share my incredible life with. I have too much fun to be doing it alone.”
How many chances do we get at that type of love? How many little things get in our way or become non-starters? How does our narrow vision of what should be (usually based on a history of what has been) hold us back?
…
While shaving and getting ready for the day, for no good reason other than the fact that I’ve been thinking about my “journey” or evolution as well as my attachment style, I began to recollect past break ups. I tried to think through the ones where I was stoic and the ones where I was a sniveling, sobbing mess. The primary distinction between those two reactions seems to reside in who initiated the break. With the exception of one time (where I had pretty deep regret), I don’t know that I’ve ever been a mess when I was the one doing the breaking. On the flip side, I’m almost embarrassed at how hard I took it when others did the breaking. That seems obvious. The one walking away holds all the cards. They probably wouldn’t call something off if it were going to reduce them to a blubber fish. Then again, I surrendered a dog that I loved – so what do I know.
There are those who suggest that not being able to take break ups well is a sign of low self-esteem. The reasoning is that people who know their value tend to shrug off rejection in a sassy “your loss” kind of way. I’m not sure how accurate or honest that is. I think that, more often than not, the “your loss” crowd is putting on a front – using defense mechanisms to protect their ego. If you really care, if it’s genuinely and deeply important, you’re bound to grieve and you can’t shrug it off.
I played with the idea of what a middle ground reaction might look like: not a crumpled mess but also not dismissive. In my head, I could hear the words I might say in my attempt at a more dignified response. “This hurts. I thought we had a lot of potential. I’m sorry you don’t see in us what I see in us or that you need something different…” I couldn’t figure out how to end that fictional conversation. “I hope you find what you’re looking for” feels insincere. In the moment I’m sure the sting would still fresh and that my hope would be that I’m what they’re looking for. I’m sure there would be a sense of you’ll miss me when I’m gone. “Reach out if you change your mind – I’m around” feels too casual and breezy – as does “good luck.” Maybe “que sera sera?” I’m not sure how one expresses regret, sorrow, and detached openness to whatever comes next in a goodbye.
As I thought through these things, I began to focus on two specific break ups. One was in a relationship where we had a series of breaks. I can’t remember the details, but one of the earlier breaks was more devastating than the others. In hindsight, I wish I had been more composed then. I wish I had accepted it and walked away (a lingering attachment to this person interfered with later relationships). The other break up was a similarly significant one. It was in early October. My girlfriend and I had had a tumultuous few days. My daughter had said she’d be moving in with me. My father and brother had an argument and stopped speaking with each other. An old girlfriend texted me out of the blue. And the new girlfriend was having doubts about the relationship. We had been together for about three months – which tends to be a critical juncture in new relationships. I don’t remember what caused the breakup (that’s probably selective memory on my part). I remember feeling gutted and begging her to reconsider. I felt like I was going to throw up. I texted incessantly that morning and maybe also the next day (again, selective memory). I remember she began to reconsider when she was at the airport waiting to board a flight that we were supposed to be taking together. She said leaving without me didn’t feel right. I don’t like playing mind games and I don’t like thinking about relationships in terms of power dynamics, but I think that was the moment that our dynamics changed. That’s when I went from feeling secure in that relationship to feeling insecure. That’s when we began the toxic cycle of withdraw and chase. I sometimes wonder what would have been different had I just let it go. It seems like such a fine line between fighting for something you believe in your core and losing one’s dignity.
I’d like to think I’d do it differently now – that I’d find a better balance between holding on and letting go. But of course, everything is situational and I don’t know how I’d react today or how I’ll react next time.
Cutting through the noise. Cutting to the chase.
A long holiday weekend in which lots of people have left town or made plans put a spotlight on those parts of my life that feel a little thin. Furthermore, because I’ve gone out with some people these past few months… smart, cute, and interesting people, I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions. I’ve been digging through those years when I did this dating thing before – looking to see if there are lessons to be learned, cues to follow, patterns to repeat or avoid. What am I looking for? How do I know something has potential? If it doesn’t have the urgency that past relationships had, is it doomed or will it be lackluster? Is it bad if we don’t match up on as many interests?
This mess of a disjointed post began days if not weeks ago when I said to myself that I appreciate my bar buddies and my hiking buddy, but I need more than a group of bar buddies. And the more I examined it, the more I came back to this admission that I want what I thought some previous relationships would have settled into. I want the magical start, the eventual predictability and consistency, the mutual exploration, the creativity that comes from getting to know someone on a deeper level. In admitting that where I was before in a relationship worked for me, I find myself wondering how to recreate the conditions that led up to it. The contradiction I’m facing is saying that I still want what I had in my last big relationship, but I’m not attached to the person (or people – meaning my former partner and my old self). The truth is, I want something with all of the comforts and potential of what I’ve had before, but with the wisdom and care that I now possess.
I don’t have the faintest idea on how to get there.