If you’ve followed this blog since the beginning, then you’ll know that I used to have quite a thing for knights in shining armor. I often found myself falling for people – especially men – who could swoop in and take care of all my little problems. Exhibit A can still be found here, even though I’ve fought the urge to delete this post and thereby remove all evidence of past codependent tendencies.
Therapy, introspection, and a fantastic book on overcoming abandonment issues helped me uncover the roots of my attraction to men who could fix my life — deal with car stuff, lift heavy objects, make phone calls I didn’t want to make and generally do things I was too lazy, insecure or spoiled-brattish to do myself. Continue reading “No Knight in Shining Armor”
In the past, most of my Valentines days have pretty much been disasters. The worst Valentines were actually the ones when I found myself in a relationship. For one reason or another, our best laid plans always turned out to a be a bust. Expectations were unfulfilled. Hopes were dashed. Drama ensued. More often than not, my then-lovers and I would end the day in passive-aggressive anger rather than the throes of passion.
The best V-days for me have been the ones I’ve spent alone.. focusing on self-care, meditating, sipping on champagne, getting my nails done and
sobbing uncontrollably while watching old epis of Grey’s Anatomy. So it was not without some trepidation that I noted February 14th fast a-coming, and wondered if this might be my first-ever boo’ed up Valentines that was not an epic fail.
“Your job,” I joked with my girlfriend recently, “is to not fuck up Valentines.” If we just made it through the day without any cray, we’d be making history. From prior experience, I’d learned that projection-fueled expectations were the enemy of intimacy. We talked at length about how we each experienced disappointment in Valentines past, and how we thought we’d avoid such scenarios this time around. Part of our approach was making light of the whole thing. Valentines? Whatevs! We were too evolved, too emotionally mature to buy into an arbitrary, commercialized holiday. Continue reading “My First Non-Fucked Up Partnered Valentines”
For the last few months, my followers on Twitter have known something my blog followers do not:
I’m in love. Profoundly. Deeply.
And given how frequently I tweet about the joys of building our partnership, it is difficult for me to articulate why I haven’t blogged about us.
Partly, it’s because Twitter feels more like a protected space — indeed, my tweets are “protected”, meaning that they are “only” visible to the 900+ strangers I’ve allowed to follow me.
The other reason I haven’t blogged about her is that I’m really fucking happy. I find that I’ve mostly used my blog to write about relationships in the past when I was terribly unhappy or unfulfilled. What I learned from over-sharing about those experiences is that if a relationship is so bad that I feel compelled to blog about the drama, then it probably means I should not be with that person. It may feel cathartic, but at the end of the day, a blog post is not going to turn a bad relationship into a good one. If my soul is telling me that someone is not a good fit, then it’s probably just time to move on.
And so I’ve moved on . . and on . . and on . . over the years, leaving situations as I outgrew them. Fumbling. Wandering. Wanting to find a partner. Being in denial that I wanted a partner. Feeling bad about wanting — then finally allowing myself to want, shamelessly.
* * *
It’s breathtaking how quickly life evolves. I didn’t think I would find anyone compatible this side of 2035, but decided against all logic to try anyway. I was jaded and cynical, but by some miracle, a seed of hope survived. I had a plan to date slowly, but broke just about all of the rules I so carefully outlined. And that’s just the way it is. You meet someone and you’re pulled together. You flow into this love, knowing that you can’t control the outcome. You cherish what you have, knowing you cannot keep it. You hold her, knowing that you must let go. Again and again.
What is clear to me is that I can only love this woman so deeply because I love this woman so deeply. All love is Self-love. The only question is whether, when and how we relax into this realization.
* * *
It seems impossible that we have not been together for years. I’ve lost track of what time even means anymore. She’s already traveled with me to places I used to live, walking through old memories, healing my past with every step — my human sage stick. We’ve celebrated our respective birthdays with friends and loved ones. We’ve had cocktails with my colleagues. I’ve spent more time in New York city with her than I have in my entire life. She’s become a seasoned veteran of the LIRR and a de facto second momma to Zora. My Twitter timeline is over-full with snapshots of our courtship. There she is, sitting on my lap at a diner in New England. There we are, huddled up on a cold Long Island beach.
So why haven’t I blogged all this loveliness until now?
Maybe it’s because every romance I’ve ever written about has imploded shortly thereafter. Maybe I worried that somehow, breaking my silence here would jinx us. But then I remember that this can’t be “jinxed” . . . that those past relationships came to rest as they were meant to. I remember that it all really is just God unfolding. I remember that this Universe is abundant in love . . . and abundantly in love. I remember that I’m not afraid. Even when I am.
There is something deeper than my fear, something that smiles in the face of my trembling heart and whispers:
Be still and know that I am God.
* * *
What could I say about this woman I love, in this space, that would not sound incredibly corny? What could I say that would not breach the sanctity of us? What could I tell you about the synchronicities? The spiritual, emotional, energetic – even psychic – connection we cultivate? What could I say about our chemistry that would not make her blush?
* * *
“I love you because the Universe wills it.”
* * *
In the space of this love, there is so much laughter, so much respect and understanding, such intimate communication, so much intuitive knowing, so much fun, so much exploration and adventure and self-awareness and compassion and…and all those things that are too personal, too beautiful to write about. Things I’ve already told her. Things that are only for us.
One of my life projects is learning how to date slowly. I talk about it in therapy. I talk about it with friends. I talk about it with family. I talk about it with people I’m romantically interested in. I read about it. I reflect. I practice. I meet people. We date. It’s not exactly slow, but it’s half a pace slower than the time before. I make more mistakes. I have fun. I suffer. I review lessons learned, brush off my shoulders, lick my wounds and begin again.
An excellent book on how to do this, practically, is “How to Avoid Falling in Love with a Jerk” by John Van Epp. I confess that I did not buy this book in order to learn how to date slowly. I bought this book in order to learn how to avoid falling in love with jerks. And, whadya know, it so happens that these two themes are inextricably intertwined.
Maybe not all of it..