Playa Hater

In many aspects, I'm not your typical girl. I don't know many Lady Gaga songs, I'm really not into jeggings, and I'd rather watch a football game than Glee and go to a dive bar than a nail salon. I've never had a manicure (waste of money when you use your hands as much as I do), and I didn't have senior portraits taken, or professional prom photos done. So it really shouldn't be any surprise that there wasn't any photographic evidence of me with any of the guys I've dated or been in relationships with.

I mean, yes-- there is a horrible held-at-arm's-length cell phone quality snapshot of me and a guy I was with freshmen year, and there's a photo of my on-again, off-again guy and I in a group of our friends, but that's it. No official "hello world, we're a couple, and can't you tell?" photos. I was thinking about this fact today while watching SATC reruns and thinking about how anti-girl that fact is. Also, about how slightly sad it is that I'll have no photographic reminders of how I felt together while I was with a guy.

Until now. Low and behold, not 30 minutes later, an image taken of the boy and I on his birthday surfaced on Facebook from his friend's cell phone. I knew that his friend had been taking photos of the shitshow taking place, and was expecting some hilarious Leaning Pile of Drunken Man photos, or possibly, ones of me standing in front of him with his chin in my hand, trying to get him to focus on me long enough to find out if he needed more water. Instead, what popped up was a photo of the two of us casually sitting on the end of the couch closely together, my arm around his neck, hand resting on his collarbone, his arm around my waist and hand on my hip, both our eyes focused down at some point on the floor in front of us as we talked about something. Or he slurred and I listened intently.

It's a great photo. I wasn't expecting it, especially from a friend of his. Totally candid, yet entirely truthful. I am now a believer in those body language experts who say they can tell if two people are sleeping together just by reading their body language as they interact. If a picture is worth a thousand words, than that photo only needed three: "So into him." I wondered, when I saw it, what the shelf life of it would be on the page of someone who is enjoying a Time Without Labels, and says that one of his favorite things about me is the fact that I don't ask about his business, yet has his own toothbrush on my sink and spent 3 of the last 7 nights at my place. As I expected, it lived live for about three hours, and then disappeared.

I'm not surprised because I know the situation. I know how refreshing it is to get out of long relationships and be single again, even if you're currently casually seeing someone that you really like. There's no rush to jump into anything, and the concept of not having to be committed to anything is intoxicating. I know that he's the sort of guy who wants to appear single on his page, even if he's into displays of affection in public, just like I'm the sort of girl whose Facebook relationship status is "In An Open Relationship" because that's how I consider myself-- in an open relationship with THE WORLD. I'm not into relationship statuses, or broadcasting it every time I start crushing on or seeing a new person. And while I'm not looking for any sort of label from him, and while I knew from the instant I saw it that that photo's shelf-life had a short expiration date, I have to admit, it did get me a little down to not see it there anymore. If you can show me off around town and to your friends, why don't you want to show me off in other aspects of your life, too? Because I honestly feel like I'm worth it.

Part of me, a very small part of me, took tiny offense to it, with a grain of salt. From the get-go when I saw it, I knew it would probably be removed because it would hurt his "playa image"-- the thought that he can flirt with whomever he likes online or in the real world because they don't know he's seeing anyone else. For three hours, that image was killed by any other girls who happened to see it, and the photo probably wasn't as well-received by him as it was by me because of that fact. In reality, he knows the difference between flirting with someone and trying to get with someone, and is very straight about it-- I have no worries that he's actively trying to get with anyone else. And hell, I'm a huge fucking flirt, so if he wants to get his harmless flirt on, he can get his harmless flirt on. But it got me thinking and couldn't help but make me wonder: Why do men always feel the need to be lining up the field? It's not just him-- it's the guy my friend is trying to see who has a ton of his "bitties", and what my ex who always had another girl on the side, just in case, did. It's what this guy explains in his "bottom bitch theory" video. This is dating, and as much as it seems like a game of chess or a full-body contact sport like rugby (but with kissing), IT AIN'T. I am not lining up my next starting line while I'm with a guy. As unnerving as it is, I play it play-by-play and day-to-day, and if it ends tomorrow, then it's gonna be awhile before I find another starting player to draft. Girls (sometimes, more than guys,) deal with periods of singledom and sometimes celibacy because of this-- when a girl is really with you, we're WITH you, ride-or-die style. And if a guy's not thinking the same way, than it's like you're dating on top of a trapeze of your feelings with no safety net underneath if he decides to drop you for the next Maria Sharapova or Mia Hamm or Serena Williams.

But it's easy-- in today's world, the internet and our presence online is what dictates how people who don't see us every day or regularly view us. And if he's flirting with other girls online, it just wouldn't do to have a couple-y photo at the top of his page. I get it, though I'm not entirely down with it. I run into the same issue every time one of my close guy friends posts something that could be considered especially intimate or overly interested-- I worry how other people will read into it. Granted, at this point, I'm pretty sure the guy I'm seeing knows they're my friends and he's the only one I'm currently seeing and/or sleeping with, but then again, whenever he leaves me a comment, then I'm always stuck wondering what my ex thinks of it. It's a no-win situation out there in cyber space.

XOXO

A Crisis of Fidelity

My roommate and I recently decided to co-opt a cat together. It wasn’t long before we came across the ethics of responsible ownership in regards to the cat’s desire for freedom in the outside world, and our own over-protective tendencies. “Do you just open the door and hope it comes back?” I wondered aloud, a little horrified by this idea, having grown up in the sticks and my only memory of the “In versus Out” cat debate being me throwing my monstrous tom outside for my own safety as a small 10 year old when he got large enough to bring down small game.

“It’s kind of like men,” my roommate said. “You hope it remembers where it gets fed.”

“But look at my track record,” I argued. “And you expect me to have faith in a cat?”

Upon further thought, we agreed that I actually may have better luck retaining an un-run-over cat in the city than an un-committed man. Which is just sad. But I really feel, deep down, that it’s kind of like sharks and blood—if a man can smell the fact that you’re not sure if you really want to be committed or in a serious relationship, what’s to stop them from having the same proclivities, too? When I came home, I was pretty sure of what I wanted. I quickly realized, in fact, that what I thought I had wanted and what I quickly found out I really needed were two completely different things. Which resulted in what was roughly the emotional equivalent of leaning over a galvanized barrel while throwing dynamite in to kill the fish swimming around inside. Shrapnel flew, and what remained wasn’t even enough to make sushi anymore. Life picks up the little scaly pieces of the debacle and shrugs.

Watching SATC2, I spent a good deal of time wondering if I liked it or not. Ok, so the clothing, yes-- I think the overwhelming reason for making that movie had to do with that fact that there has been so much gorgeous fashion lately and the public needs to see it on SOMEONE, so hey, 4 women we spent over 6 years staring at isn't a bad choice. In fact, it's a pretty shrewd one. Speaking of shrewdness, the other predictable part of the movie was the relationship drama. But, in this case, I'm not sure it brought up the right questions or fell flat of the mark.

Maybe I sympathized with Carrie too much on this one. In one scene, like many in the movie that star her and Big together, she stands in front of the TV, their clichéd instigator, and asks, "Is this because I'm a bitch wife who nags you all the time?" To which Big replies, "No. I feel like I'm disappointing you."

As Carrie found out, with any disappointment in life, there's only so much one can take before you start to think, "Well, fuck." Exactly that-- fuck. Or kiss. Or look elsewhere for what's missing at home. While her (SPOILER ALERT AHEAD!) kiss with Aidan didn't quite warrant a massive freak-out of transcontinental proportions, though, yes, I do agree she did the right thing in telling Big about her indiscretion. I always prefer when I'm told about matters like that, as I'm sure you are, as well. No one likes being in the dark. No one likes being left fuming and guessing and jumping to horrible conclusion after horrible conclusion. Believe me. I lived it for a number of months.

Speaking of jumping to conclusions, now that I'm back from Italy, everyone is looking at my left hand and the same diamond that's been there for the past 3 years and saying, "You're engaged, I see," like I took the opportunity to run away and madly seduce some rich Italian count with a charming villa somewhere on Lake Como. How do I respond to this? Half of me-- the half that believes that childbirth is a totally unnecessary pain to go through when there are already millions of other children who need families on our already over-populated Earth, and would never, ever drop her last name for matrimonial bliss-- wants to say, "No, and hopefully never," and but the new blasted biological tick-tick-tick-bitch wants to reply with a sigh and a "I wish." I'm settling for a nervous giggle instead as of late. When I get scared, I giggle. I can't help it. Just the idea confounds and terrifies me. What man would want to put a ring on me, anyway? I feel like that's a huge investment risk. Beyonce may preach “If you like it, than you shoulda put a ring on it,” but as the authors of “The Ethical Slut” argue, "A ring around the finger does not cause a nerve block to the genitals" (15).

Hindsight being 20/20, the problem is that running away to Italy to seduce a count (or a pro soccer player) and live foodily ever after would not be so unlike me. My attention span with men has been likened to that of a crack-addled Rhesus monkey. I also have legendary "man-dar"-- if there's a good-looking one within a two-block radius, I know about it. I literally will go on point. I've got a nose for these things, and it's good because I'm like a kid in a very grown-up candy store. I figure, you can look; you may even touch-- just don't let it melt in your hands.

"We may not always know what fits without trying it on, so we tend to be curious and adventurous. When we see someone who intrigues us, we like to feel free to respond" (The Ethical Slut, 5-6). As a flirt, I agree with this sentiment. But as someone who is often a half of a relationship, I can tell you that I am not complacent with being “one of.” I am the sort of person who deserves to be “the one.” Just like you deserve to be “the one” to someone else, and not “one who sometimes comes around.”

This thinking puts me highly at odds with my actions at times. I am highly monogamous as a rule, right up until the point I’m just not anymore, which is what makes it so unexpected or dangerous. There have been times I have found myself in someone else’s bed while not quite out of a relationship with another. There’s no simple flip-switch for this kind of thing, and yet, it can be instantaneous. No one ever can prepare for the connection. Which renders us as helpless as fish in that dynamited barrel. Not flattering when you’re trying to maintain a mysterious, independent persona.

So have I been cheated on? More than twice. Have I been shattered by it? Yes. But have I also been a cheater? Yes. Have I be a co-partner in other’s infidelity? Yes. Does this make me the same wicked bitch of the North-east like I have imagined other women to be? No. It just makes me human, with questionable taste in men. The difference, to me, is that I always ask myself, what are the risks being taken for all involved? Is anyone being purposefully hurt by these actions? Empathy is a huge part in maintaining what is an honest lifestyle. If you wouldn’t want to put in the situation in a reverse role, than my feeling is, don’t do it. But my definitions of some things might be a little skewed. And the problem with my "problem" and my logic is this-- the same men I hunt out have a tendency to be just like me, too. It's one big, dangerous, flammable ball of trouble. Like Carrie found with Aidan, playing with fire can get too hot to handle sometimes. Problems at home-- be it differences in living habits; differences in desires and personalities that get in the way of the partnership; a feeling of constantly needing to "mother" or be "mothered"; miscommunication, or NO communication-- can lead to problems outside of the home.

"Hollywood tells us that 'love means never having to say you're sorry,' and we, fools that we are, believe it. The myth has it that if you're really in love with someone, you never have to argue, disagree, communicate, negotiate, or do any other kind of work" (The Ethical Slut, 18-19). But anyone who has ever partnered with another person for any period of time can tell you, it doesn’t work like that. There will be times when nothing someone is doing seems to be right. You will get annoyed, and frustrated, and brow-beaten, and more than a little convinced that the grass is greener over on that other person’s lawn. Tapping out is an option, but actually putting in the time and effort is the higher road. That’s the beauty of relationships—in the best ones, both you and your S.O should be working for the common goal not only of fulfilling desires, but also of stretching each other while trying to help the other be the best person they can possibly be. That’s what relationships are—challenging.

There’s no perfect code to this; no Rosetta’s Stone to dealing with monogamy or your partner. As Carrie said, "Can you ever expect anyone on the outside to understand what goes on between two people?" No, I don't think you can. I think that every relationship is a tiny little universe in and of itself, and that no matter how long we talk about it with our confidants; no matter how many times we play the movie reels of memory and conversations over and over and over inside our minds; no matter how much we write about it and expand on it; and no matter how enlightened or entitled we think we really are, we will never understand our own relationships, let alone those of the people around us.

XOXO

"Something More," Said The Clock.

I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what makes a perfectly functional and happy person decide to throw their lot in with another person and want to be in a relationship. Not being a big fan of relationships or the institution of commitment myself, I was recently horrified to hear the first audible "tick" of what I previously thought was my busted biological clock. Maybe it's the fact that a close friend with whom I played wing-woman for has now reached past the 1 year anniversary with said boyfriend I did the winging maneuvers for and are vacationing and cohabitating together, or the fact that I'm watching people I grew up with planning for their long-term serious relationships, weddings, and even babies, or maybe it's just the fact that I have done the "I'm so not serious about you I'm going to do everything to prove to you I think this is a lark and self-sabotage this whole state of affairs" thing for the past 5 years, and now with a landmark birthday approaching I'm realizing I should be acting as old as I'm getting and I'm ready to give it a rest for awhile. Whatever the reason, the ending thought remains the same: Scary.

I think as graduates of first grade, we can all agree on the fact that 1 + 1= 2. So why, then, do proponents of love and the Hallmark company seem so hell-bent on convincing us that two people in a relationship are one entity?

I've found myself wondering where my extremely colorful past fits in with my new desires. What about all of a woman's past relationships? Are they now halves? What happens after the union, no matter what sort it was, how serious or how tenuous it was, is gone? How can anyone be expected to deal with so much continuous disappointment? Are we trying to be martyrs, or can we just not get out of our own way? As long as there are women, there will always be women who fall for the wrong guy. Women with a predilection for the Bad Boys. Women who have convinced themselves that if she just loses that last 5 pounds, if she never says "no", if she can change her inner desires to be less demanding and more like him, he will somehow realize that she is perfect, just perfect, for him. These are also the same women who often end up finding just the sort of man who is not perfect for them. (Guilty as charged.) Usually, if anything, I'm over-confident. Most of the time, I am pretty sure I could rule the world single-handed if all the nation's leaders suddenly all came down with a deadly infectious disease at a U.N meeting and keeled over. But for some reason, when it comes to men, all bets are off. Maybe it's because women really have no idea, past a good steak and a blowjob, what men really want. Maybe, if they talked about it, like women have a tendency to do (myself not included here, as I would usually rather extract my own wisdom teeth sans Percocet than talk about my feelings), we could all be a lot more clear and a lot less confused and apt to spend an inordinate amount of time and energy on someone, just to realize that they are never going to change. At least, not for us.

Which brings us to why men like some women and not others. Frankly, I cannot understand what anyone sees in me. And I am not being self-depreciating here. At times, I want a divorce from myself. I have altogether too many flaws and personality quirks to be consider either easy to live with, enjoyable, or sane. When I see a guy look at me like he adores me, I want to shake him and ask, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? DO YOU ENJOY BEING RUN RAGGED? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT I DO!" Because no matter how crazy women can get at men and relationships and love and how delusional we can make ourselves, there is that-- that ONE MOMENT-- where you watch him watching you, and you are hit over the head with it like a two-by-four that he likes you. Not, "I think you're entertaining" likes you. Not, "I'm imagining you naked right now" likes you. But that often sought-after and rarely found moment where the guard goes completely down behind his eyes and you catch that look and instead of what most men would assume, you do not go "There is the answer to all my dreams and desires!" but instead think, "OH. SHIT. That's real."

While I may make a good friend and a fun time, I really cannot see what would make me captivating to a member of the opposite sex. Maybe this is a great example of why love and infatuation are random and women need to stop comparing themselves to other women and asking "Why her, and not me?" Maybe there is no reason. There are other people out there, other women and other men, who are not going to demand a single thing from you, but in the long run, are they really the sort of person you want to be with? Shouldn't you want to be with someone who wants you to be the best you possible? I'm apt to believe this, especially when faced the with realization that despite all my bullshit, there are people out there with a soft-spot for me a mile wide. That would be the only explanation. But the problem with a connection like that with someone else is despite all of your warning signs and pros and cons lists, you're loathe to let them go. It's not, believe me, that you are so unlovable that you will never find someone else who will look at you that way again or make you feel the same. It's just that nothing will ever be exactly like that connection, and that connection may just be the one that you need, questions, hard work, disappointment, and all.

I'm getting old enough to realize that despite my parent's fairy tale, love is not easy. Loving someone, in fact, is one of the hardest things in the world, because loving who they really are, and not who you'd like them to be, requires a nearly Gandhi sense of acceptance. And there are times-- when the trash is spewing forth from the garbage can because it hasn't been taken out in over two weeks, when he forgets meeting with you for the second time in a week, when their tongue is in someone else's mouth-- that love and acceptance seem damn near impossible. And that's the hardest part-- keeping that love despite all of someone's faults. I'm tempted to say that we fall for who we do because they're difficult. It's said that nothing worth having is even gotten easily, and I think we'd become more quickly bored if it were so easy and simple. And when we get bored is when we hop onto the next slowly passing train, or person.

"A human's desire to mate, the pair up, to be part of a couple, will never change. But the way we go about it, how badly we need it, what we are willing to sacrifice for it, most definitely does" (Liz Tuccillo, intro to her novel, "How To Be Single"). That's the problem: what two people want is rarely the same thing. How people manage to "work it out" is beyond me. I used to be a status-quo girl. Most days, I still am. I'm content to share a bed, share some time, share a few meals, and otherwise, be on my own. I don't demand much, time- and commitment-wise. A friend of mine who just got out of a three-year relationship asked me how I do it, how I maintain my life when trying to juggle it with someone else's. The real answer to this, and the answer that is not quite the most flattering in the world in regards to the whole "selflessness" item, is that even when I'm in a relationship, my mentality is still that of a Single Girl. I can't separate the Independent Me from the Someone's Girl Me. I've lived far too much of my life being my own girl that I don't think I can, or would, ever want to lose that part of me.

I'll admit, some of it may also be the fact that I do not have a stellar retention rate, either for keeping relationships, keeping an interest in one man, or actually doing things By The Book: dating, commitment, relationship, a satisfactory amount of time, clean break-up. I tend to operate outside of the lines of public dating decency. That's just the way my stripes run. I am tempted to say, "It's not long long you were with someone that matters; it's the effort you put in," but then again, I have also never stayed with one person any longer than six months. As Tuccillo writes, "I have dates, I have flings, I have "situations." But I don't have men, one after another, whom I cart around as my boyfriend, and then break up with for some reason or another and say later to my friends "What was I thinking?"" (Tuccillo, 197).

But the more I see of the world and of other people, the girl who used to be content to sit on your sofa and order in starts to wonder, "Is there more than this?"

I'm tempted to say that there has to be. I'm tempted to say that despite people's fundamental differences, there is something that is akin to the look in someone's eye that makes them willing to stretch who they are and what they can do for someone else. I'm tempted to say that, because if I don't, I'm pretty much admitting defeat right here and right now. I'm also tempted to say it because we cannot live with all of our bullshit intact for the rest of our lives. We're all pretty ridiculous people who start out one way, and gradually change because of our love for someone else that is not ourselves. That is the only way we're ever going to get better than we are this very second. One day, there is going to be a guy who will look at me and say, "I'm not trying to clip your wings, so just fucking stand still with me for awhile more than a month or 6 months. It's not so horrible. If you keep trying to run, I'm just going to let you go." And if I care about him as much as I should, that will be the day that I should get smart enough to slow my roll and start thinking about someone other than just myself. And if I don't, or if you don't, then we really are all just helpless fools when it comes to love. So best of luck.

XOXO

Commitmentstein: A Monster Of Our Own Making.

I am a commitmaphobe. Now, don’t get me wrong—there are some things I have absolutely no problem committing to: a cell phone service provider, a certain brand of mascara, riding boot, motor oil, or restaurant. But at heart, I’m the sort of person who once they agree to do something, spends a pretty good amount of time re-thinking my decision to commit, even if it’s just spending a weekend somewhere or agreeing to meet someone in a specific place at a specific time. Christ, I can’t even commit to how I feel about Phish Food versus Chubby Hubby. I have a nearly chronic grass-may-be-greener questioning nature. As it has been pointed out by one of the people who knows me best—and I mean capital ME; not just the person I project to the world, but the devious, conniving, self-serving, helplessly human ME—I am not happy unless I have something to endlessly worry and puzzle over as I try to decide whether it’s worth it or not, and what it means for ME. Commitment, therefore, is not one of my strong suits.

This, I think, is one of the overwhelming factors in why I am a pathological One Month Girl. One month always seemed to be the perfect amount of time in which to meet someone, convince them I’m great, have them convince me they’re great, and then watch everything fall apart when both parties realize that everyone is, in fact, human. As I say, it usually only takes me one month to get sick and tired of you, or one month for you to see into all my crap and decide it’s not worth your time.

Being such a self-proclaimed commitmaphobe with enough past history, blunders, and failed relationships to substantiate that claim, I recently picked up Elizabeth Gilbert’s newly-published novel “Committed.” Gilbert, of “Eat, Pray, Love” fame (another book I absolutely adore and brought with me to Italy,) is another self-styled commitmaphobe—only in her case, it stems from a bad divorce. She also believes that most commitmaphobes suffer from the same fear of lasting-decision-making. In the second chapter of “Committed,” titled “Marriage and Expectation,” she writes,

“The problem, simply put, is that we cannot choose everything simultaneously. So we live in danger of becoming paralyzed by indecision, terrified that every choice might be the wrong choice…Equally disquieting are the times when we do make a choice, only to later feel as though we have murdered some other aspect of our being by settling on one single concrete option” (Committed, 45).

About the only thing that you could get me to be committed to without being fully thrilled about it would be a mental health facility. And then I don’t think I’d have a choice. As Gilbert writes, “It doesn’t take a great genius to recognize that when you are pushed by circumstances to do the one thing that you have always specifically loathed and feared, this can be, at the very least, an interesting growth opportunity” (Committed, 20).

So why all the resistance to committing? Why are people so loath to hitch their trudging life-pioneer’s wagon to another person’s? Because we are people, and we are fallible. Because we have so many options that the next wagon, the one going faster, with the nicer oxen (or ass) always seems like a better one to take a chance on. Because there is temptation, and laziness, and sheer bull-headed stubbornness in the desire to be a singular individual. Because trying to be with someone else is like bashing your head repeatedly against a brick wall. An attractive brick wall, but bashing your head full-force against it all the same and getting those rectangular lines stamped all over your forehead and now broken nose, nonetheless.

Differences between the genders explain the break of commitment phenomenon quite nicely. Women have a tendency to over-examine, overanalyze, and overhype situations they are in until they don’t even resemble what is going on in reality, and not on the inside of their heads. Men are also guilty of this, maybe to a lesser degree, but they seem to go about it differently, exhibiting more of a “me against the world” fantasy, in which they feel as though they have to constantly avoid being “trapped” in a situation or relationship when in most cases, no one is deliberately trying to tie them down—instead, just a little bit of reliability is being asked of them, instead. A huge imposition, right?

But maybe Gilbert substantiates this idea. She writes, “When it comes to questions of intimacy, I want many things from my man, and I want them all simultaneously” (Committed, 48). That is an almost inhuman amount to expect from someone, and yet, when I look around, it’s the norm that I see, and, in fact, the norm that I expect. The problem is that women get used to depending on something from a man—be it phone calls, someone to make the first pot of coffee in the morning, or someone who always says the right things—and when that expectation is not filled, it feels like the world crashes down around us, rendering us disoriented and moody. “Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he leave me my two cups of coffee that he knows I need in the morning? Why did he ask me how my day was and then tell me what a dickhead my boss is for making my job a living hell?” And so on, and so on—“Why didn’t he say goodbye? Why wasn’t he on time? Why didn’t he pick up the drycleaning? And it all ends up spiraling into, OH MY GOD, WHAT’S WRONG?!”

Maybe we just shouldn’t expect so much. I know—it’s completely counter-intuitive to everything we’ve been taught, but we were also taught that going to the doctor’s isn’t going to hurt, the Easter Bunny exists, and every Disney princess has a happy ending, ever after (and look at the divorce rates in the U.S). We all know where that got us. What if we could suddenly stop being so disappointed in our partners and relationships and ourselves? What if we could stop being so afraid to commit, because that scary bar could be lowered, and we could do it ourselves?

This is not to say that we should not expect things of people. Surely, there are some things that you should be able to expect from the people in your life, nonnegotiable. You should be able to expect someone who looks out for your best interests, as well as theirs. You should be able to count on someone to treat you with respect and decency. You should be able to expect someone to be there when you say “This is important and I need you.” You should be able to feel confident and comfortable in your relationships the majority of the time.

The only further advice to not expect so much and burn yourself out that I can give you is to be sure not to sacrifice all your time and effort in the name of not expecting so much. Although you may be able to give 112% right now, if your partner is only willing to give 20, don't bend yourself in half to make up for all of their lost effort. You'll drive yourself even more crazy. They'll stop trying to work because they'll (rightly) assume that you'll do all the work for them. It'll piss you off. You'll start to resent them. There is absolutely nothing wrong with taking a mental and emotional health time-out and just letting a relationship lie where it is if it's stalling at the moment. Both of you should still be there when you return from getting your air. And if not—who really wants to be with someone who would leave when things get a little stressed, anyway?

Pure science can prove that not expecting everything from someone is healthier in the long run. Psychologist Carl Jung believed that the first six months of any relationship is pure projection of your desires upon the other person, which explains why at about month five every. little. thing they do start to inexplicably annoy you to distraction and unhappiness. You are, in fact, finding out that they are a real, imperfect person. A person who has their own emotions and moods and problems that don’t involve you. Goethe once said, “When two people are really happy about one another, one can generally assume they are mistaken.” Why? Because we see what we want in our partners. This is not a bad thing; in fact, this is what assures that the human race continues. But perhaps we need to start seeing less of what we want, and more of what is really possible for two people.

“People always fall in love with the most perfect aspects of each other’s personalities. Who wouldn’t? Anybody can love the most wonderful parts of another person. But that’s not the clever trick. The really clever trick is this: Can you accept the flaws? Can you look at your partner’s faults honestly and say, ‘I can work around that. I can make something out of that.’? Because the good stuff is always going to be there, and it’s always going to be pretty and sparkly, but the crap underneath can ruin you” (Committed, 129-130).

How many people can say that they really know their partner after just a month or two? The longer it lasts, and the longer you stay together and learn more about each other, (which is the goal of every relationship, after all—to actually BE TOGETHER,) the greater that chances that you will have to deal with depression and disappointment and unhappiness and quarrels and disagreements and periods of time where you feel alone, even when you’re together, because you are sure—no, CONVINCED—that this is not the same person that you started out with. But it is. They’re going to make you mad, and you’re going to piss them off. After a certain amount of time, you can just see the forest from the trees now, or the flaws from the perfect smile or the charming mannerisms. The sad news is, so can they. And this is where the idea of two people committing to each other comes in, not, as some might assume, at the beginning of a relationship. No, the real commitment is when you can finally sit back, eyeball the big, hairy monsters that your former sweetheart-turned-pariah has been hiding, and say to them, “Ok, I see your self-absorption and tendency toward melancholy, and I raise you my need to be the center of attention, the way that I make everything a much bigger and more frantic deal than it needs to be, and the annoying way I mutter in my sleep. Can you handle that?” And if they say yes, and you say yes to them, then—THEN—my friend, you are in the commitment business. Not when you first get together. Not when you first decide to split time between two residences and share meals and bathrooms and life details. Not when you ask if you are in a “committed relationship.” Real commitment can only happen with time, and a firm grip on the personal reality between two people.

This form of commitment, not to an ideal or a relationship, instead focuses on commitment to a person. A commitment to on the daily accept their “most tiresome, irritating faults.” Gilbert explains, as she comes to grips with the idea of living with just one, flawed man for the rest of her life, “What I am talking about is learning to accommodate your life as generously as possible around a basically decent human being who can sometimes be an unmitigated pain in the ass” (Committed, 132). Because that is what you are doing—you’re welcoming a pain in the ass into your life. You’re telling them that you are committed to being their co-ass. That you like their ass-ish-ness. That you might even, in fact, find it endearing and lovable and value it, quirks and all. And really, once you learn not to expect the moon from someone, and instead take what they can give you, flaws and all, what more could you ask for from them? Nothing. And right about then, you can start to learn to be content. Content, and committed.

But how does this make a commitmaphobe feel better and more like committing to another person, let alone a situation, isn’t the end of the world? Commitment isn’t going to ruin your life. It doesn’t have designs on sapping all of your hopes and dreams and aspirations and tying you down in one place to one person, ‘till death please-come-quickly-and-take-one-of-you apart. Instead, it has the desire to give you a cohort in crime, who, like your parents, will love you inexplicably, no matter what you do or who you are. It gives you a solid constant when the rest of your life is changing so fast it makes your head spin. It gives you someone who always knows what you need to hear, whether it’s a “You are amazing and can totally do this,” or a “Get your ass in gear and stop fucking around.” The goal is to render you not quite so alone and afraid of what someone wants from you. And so, I close with the words that made this one commitmaphobe feel a little more lenient in dealing with the thought of letting other people into her life and dealing with the repercussions. Because sometimes, just sometimes, the only thing that you realize you’re missing to make yourself, your desires, and your life whole, is another person who can handle your shit, too.

“In the end, it seems to me that forgiveness may be the only realistic antidote we are offered in love, to combat the inescapable disappointments of intimacy” (Committed, 133). The trick is not to ask for or expect someone to be something that they're not; instead, sync up who both of your are and what you both want or need. I'm not the sort of girl who you buy Valentine’s Day flowers for. I don’t want to be the girl who you feel like you have to take out for dinners and dress up for, because I don’t really do dates without feeling massively awkward. I'm just the kind of girl you can tell when you hear a good show is coming into town. I want to be the girl who you call when you’re heading home at night. I want to be the only girl who is expected to walk out of your bedroom. Those are my expectations. I'm sure you all have your own. They're pretty pared-down. When it comes down to it, we're all pretty simple. So don't ask for too much. Do not expect too much. Don’t be too harsh, or too judgmental, or too quick to act or make up your mind about something and rule it out. The only way you are ever going to get out of any relationship alive and satisfied is if you first relax your own ideas and expectations enough to let someone else just be the “themselves” that you love, for whatever twisted reasons. And that is pretty phenomenal. More phenomenal than scary, I’d even say.

XOXO