Learning | Experience (#1-2)
Hi.
So, a number of people have asked why I ceased writing. The answer is simple: Because I didn’t want to share what was going on in my head. In the vernacular of my prior relationship, it isn’t you–it’s me. It has been, to put it lightly, a rough year.
A Year in the Words of Others reflects that period, although by its nature the events alluded to are vague. I could delineate the events, but that wouldn’t accomplish much, because life is always forty-six times more painful in the now than in the then. Reams of backstory would be necessary that I’m simply not up to relating at this point. Suffice it to say that this year has been one of the more illuminating in my life.
That doesn’t mean it was good, or that I’m happy. I am 35 years old, I am barely over the poverty level and have operated much of the year in a deficit, and I am terribly single. There is plenty in my life that I am thankful for; I can enumerate my blessings easily. However, at the end of each day, I still retreat to an empty bed in an apartment I barely afford. I am resilient, stealing glimmers of happiness like fireflies, but cannot control the thoughts that surface during those moments alone.
I can stem neither envy nor desire. I am in a constant state of longing: for improvement, for progress, for motion. During our elementary education, many of us learn about the phenomenon of plate tectonics, wherein the Earth releases its internal heat by convecting, boiling much like a pot of pudding on the stove. This molten asthenosphere seethes beneath the strong, rocky crust and lithosphere, creeping laterally and transporting oceans and continents as on a slow conveyor belt, at an abysmally slow rate of three or four centimeters a year. That’s about the pace my life seems to be moving at, and I confess, and occasionally the accrued frustration of years seethes through the weakened surface, cascading outward and covering the horizon in ash and ruin.
Throughout my life, I’ve spent much of my time distracting myself through vicarious pleasures, laughing in the face of despair. I was consumed with merely surviving, and though I am proud of the fortitude it took to face each day with some semblance of hope, at what point was the laughter a bit too manic or false, a tortured jester trading in scorn and dismay?
I watched a movie this week, The Lookout, which I recommend. It’s a modern crime noir, yet there’s a strong current of acceptance, forgiveness, and redemption. One character states the importance of figuring out who you want to be, and holding onto it, and not letting it go. Start at the end.
To escape the harriers of my past, I stopped jesting. I decided who I wanted to be, and took great pains to be that person. I’ve traditionally focused on character and relationships (not surprisingly), but really only in the last two years have I extended this redefinition beyond the immediacy of personal intimacy to encompass my entire life. Perhaps I never really believed in a future that I could actually envision and achieve; the horizon is always distant. By focusing on who I wanted to be, I thought the rest of my life would sort of magically fall into place. There’s merit in that, to be sure, but it’s also shortsighted, and though I was a good man, and a good boyfriend, I brought that passivity into my relationship with Barrett.
When our relationship ended, it was difficult, but in retrospect, I see that I was finally annealed. In 2007, rather than wait for life to happen, I started seizing it, pursuing it. I cultivated an interest in health and fitness not just for now, but for when I’m 70. I’m planning for a career rather than a job. I’m searching for a relationship that doesn’t involve settling with a person that’s not-quite-good-enough that five years from now I’ll wish spent more time with me, or challenged my intellect, or showed me that I’m in their thoughts, or put me in my place and kept me honest.
This year’s struggles have been different than in the past. Simply put, I embraced not just life, but MY life. I’ve generated momentum, rather than relying on inertia. This is a fine but important demarcation. Despite the hardship and loneliness, those three or four centimeters this year? I set them into motion. And while no one can appreciate the meaning of that but me, it’s all the difference in the world.
Part of the process was finally ascertaining a clear image of who I am. Until I was 30, it was often nebulous and changing, as I hammered my personality into shape. When it was forged, what did I do with it? Not terribly much. I sat, full of potential, but passive, useless.
Inertia.
Perhaps one reason I exercise so devotedly is that on some level, in my return to the physique of my early 20’s (better, actually), it’s as if I can erase the years in between, a symbolic starting again, a message to the universe of: I get it.
I’m going to forego listing the events from April through December, because what matters is where I am. Everyone knows I’ll provide exposition when necessary anyway. But what I thought might be interesting–to me, if nothing else–was an account of what I’ve learned in the last year, both flattering and un-, what I’m proud of and ashamed of, the humorous and the saddening. Some of these I’ve worked out previously in OD, or hinted at, so please pardon the repetition. You will see a lot of interrelation between them.
Obviously, this will be a long entry again, spread out across a few pages. I’m sure you’re used to that by now. These are in no particular order, by the way; number one isn’t the most important, number whatever isn’t the least important. I scribbled these down across the course of a day at the library, until I had a tiny slip of paper crowded with sentences jostling each other for primacy. I briefly considered prioritizing them, but I felt the randomness to be more apt, and more representative of the amalgam of idiosyncrasies and quirks that concoct us.
1. Being Myself Is Okay
AKA: I have an overblown sense of responsibility that borders on hubris. I wasn’t always like this; when I was young, in fact, I steadfastly refused responsibility. I don’t think that necessarily makes me any different than a typical child. However, growing up in a critical household, at some point my natural exuberance became tempered by insecurity. I internalized the fact that I was never good enough to please, that I was always doing something wrong, that there was something inherently bad about me. I came out of the oven wrong, I guess, I wasn’t a nicely formed cookie, but one of the ones that had spread out, malformed, fucking with the other cookies and ruining their perfection.
As I’ve alluded before, this was reinforced by a series of failures in relationships. I have always been aggressive in the pursuit of love, but frequently met with denial. This "I Am Not Good Enough" self image persisted for most of my life. I didn’t realize how much that attitude had defined me until the fallout of this relationship. It subconsciously affected me so that I did not strive. Why reach for something you can’t have? I settled in jobs, I settled in relationships, I settled in taking care of my mind and body. It wasn’t laziness, per se; it was inertia.
I have a genuine belief in personal responsibility, in being a stand-up guy. Part of it is because to gestate a positive self image, and to garner the reassurance I desired, I felt/feel I need to be perfect. Free from blame or criticism. If I fuck up being perfect, then it’s my fault, right? I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to be imperfect. No, really, I believe that, because the moment I mess up, you’re going to chastise me, withdraw your love, leave me, abandon me, yell at me, a waste of oxygen that could be used on someone worthy of your effort.
It’s omnipresent. If there’s a girl I have a crush on, and I say something stupid, or make a mistake, or flub a compliment or make a joke that meets with a hurt look instead of laughter, I feel horrible. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been friends (or more) for months or years; what matters is in that instant, I’m afraid that whatever I did will negate everything I did before. As if that one instance will cause it all to disappear, like a bubble disintegrating at the lightest touch of a finger.
And you know, I beat myself up FOR them. I mean, shit, they don’t even have to say anything. If they laugh, if they forgive me, whatever. I’m still upset by it, I’ve still internalized that "I am shit" mantra, because that’s what I grew up with, that’s what I learned from my interactions with people, that’s what I was told. I don’t need you to say it, because it’s been told to me my entire goddamn life, so tell you what, I’ll save you the trouble and say it for you.
I am nothing if not verbose. But I didn’t always listen to myself. I started doing that this year, and what I saw was how this poisonous dynamic had entwined my spirit, choking it. I’ve started to trim it away. It requires careful excision; I can’t simply rip it out, because it’s too integrated. But you know, I’ve finally started to believe that I’m pretty good, that a girl might be lucky to have me at her side, and that you know, it’s ok to be imperfect. The benefit of my fucked-up past is that I’m pretty impressive when I’m out to impress. Whether it’s personally or professionally, that focus on being awesome really does have its benefits. Yet now..
..I’m just more relaxed. Part of it is due to my newest friend Susan, whom I am not-dating, a term which I just invented about three seconds ago. It might seem like we’re dating to some extent if you watch our interactions (and some of our friends have, and make the occasional snarky comment or give us a peculiar look, I pay attention to these things), particularly because we spend a significant amount of our free time together, but she is happily attached to a wonderful fellow, there is nothing improper about our relationship, and if there’s a mutual attraction, it isn’t being acted upon. Our dynamic is interesting because we are at once very similar and very different, and we probably spend way too much effort analyzing both. She is a superfriend, however, one of the people you meet and know you’ll spend your life alongside, and we have the most startling conversations, frequently punctuated by the reminder that with one another, we’re not the same person we are with everyone else, such as how proactively we seek each other out compared to others. The benefit of these hours together is that she still likes me. I mean, seriously, she’s heard most of my fucked-up stories, and our relationship still keeps getting better.
We’re a little wary of each other to some extent, I think, even as our bond grows stronger, more of a standing back and going "what IS this not-dating thing, anyway?" than any sort of mistrust, at least I hope, because I trust her implicitly (and she’s demonstrated herself worthy of it repeatedly). When I met her a year ago, the very first day we interacted, in the middle of the fallout from Barrett, I said to myself, "Wow, there’s a woman I would like to date." I talked about her to Heather the next day with wonder in my voice. Susan sort of redeemed womankind all on her own, which seems foolish I’m sure, but is nothing short of the truth. Feeling that connection (which has proven true) made me realize that what I was going through with Barrett wasn’t the end of the world, that there were others out there for me, that happiness maybe wasn’t going to pass me by, that the universe would provide.
It’s most likely not Susan (due to circumstance, not suitability, and I’m certainly casting my net far and wide to see who I catch), but it’s going to be someone that awesome, and most of all, because of my interactions with her, I’ve really had my faith redeemed that not only would I stand a chance to begin with, but that being myself is ok.
Those last five words are the key.
She isn’t going to run away screaming thinking I’m a lunatic. Make fun of me, probably. I count on it. But you know? That’s great.
I know what our not-dating is. It’s practice. Thank you.
2. My Relationship With Barrett Provided Much-Needed Stability and Was Not A Waste of Years
For a long time, I felt that the relationship was inherently a waste. I spent over four and a half fucking years (March 2002-Nov 2006) devoted to this woman, believing her pledges and commitment. In St. Louis I was financially stable, had an established social network, close friends by the handful, family nearby, the familiarity of a city I grew up in, my sports teams, I mean, shit, I LIKED my home, except for the weather. I sacrificed all of it. I spent my savings to move out here and spent multiple years struggling with unemployment and dedicating myself to something for the sole reason that I was convinced, by her words, that it wasn’t going to end.
When it did end, it meant that it was a waste, because I’d spent the prime years of my life (29-34) investing in something that didn’t pay out. I wound up poor and alone. Most of all, I felt it was a waste because I didn’t LEARN anything. I was the same person coming out that I was going in. By her words, I was a wonderful boyfriend, and deserved nothing but praise. I had nothing to hang my hat on, and as you see in number one above, I NEEDED something to hang my hat on. I needed to find something to blame myself for, and yes, I tried. My thoughts were crazed dervishes, spinning wildly in search of some facet of my soul to consume or destroy. I spent two weeks in constant tears, and then, remarkably, the spinning stopped, because there was nothing there. My doors were locked shut, my baskets were clasped, the floor free from debris or dust.
In #1, I said that part of the reason I was more relaxed was because of Susan. This is true. The other reason is because I exited from my relationship with Barrett with the thought–as reluctant as I was to truly accept it–that I didn’t do anything wrong. That it just failed on its own accord, that sometimes things just don’t work out between two people. After spending my life being suckled on blame, it’s admittedly hard to let go of the teat.
Let me clarify that I was NOT perfect in the relationship. I know there are some things I could have done better. But was I good? Yes.
Despite the way it ended, we were relatively stable. I’d spent 1998-2002 in varying states of euphoria and utter misery. Those were the years of Dana, Linda, and Rebecca, with a little Gwyn thrown in for good measure. When I started this entry, I mentioned how the last few years had annealed me. The credit for that goes to Barrett.
Having a stable, loving relationship–and it was–calmed me, settled me. For once, I didn’t have to worry about my crazy girlfriend. You know what? She treated me pretty well, for a long time. From March 02 until September 2004, I was mostly happy (and I believe she was, too). A few months after that, things started going downhill, when she just sort of drifted away into her own world, and left Us sitting on the dock waiting for a return to port that never came.
She always had personality traits that bugged me, of course. Her propensity for reinventing the truth, her inability to modify her behavior, her emotional self-absorption, her extreme sensitivity. When I first met her, I really didn’t like her that much, and I confess that numerous times during our time together I would be frustrated, wondering how I ended up with a person that Was Like That, whatever That was at the time, because I never thought I would be. I’d tell myself, shit, I have to put up with this the rest of my life. Yet we were genuinely friends, even if we were a B match and not an A.
People have wondered, when I say such things, why I became involved with her. I’ve mentioned previously that once, she told me, "I will never abandon you." These words were etched in my heart, and were the most beautiful words anyone had ever spoken to me. They turned out to be false, but I cannot fault her effort for those first three years.
Did I love Barrett because she loved me? Because she committed to me? Because I saw someone that wouldn’t leave, that was pledging herself to me, so that I valued that commitment more than the actual person making it? On some level, I think I did. I wanted that stability, I wanted that permanence, I wanted to stop flailing about. I was fresh from my failed second attempt at a relationship with Rebecca, who was queen of inconstancy. I didn’t want stability, I NEEDED stability, and Barrett falling for me and proffering her devotion was a bucket of chicken to a starving man.
And, I cannot fault her efforts. She stood by me when I was depressed because I’d left my world behind. She stood by me when I was unemployed, she stood by me when I had medical problems, she stood by me when her mother hated me. She stood by me when I cried, she stood by me when I laughed, she stood by me when it felt like I had nothing in the world going right except for the two of us.
Fuck, I almost started crying there.
And in return, I stood by her. I tried to give her the best of my devotion and loyalty. When she started pulling away, I endured. When she started making me unhappy, I endured. When I was tempted to jump ship, I remembered the mistakes of years past, and I waited. When her priorities shifted away from me completely, I said to myself, things will return to how they were, if you are just patient. My loyalty was to the Us, but almost more than that, to the Super Us, the one that existed completely independently of who was in it. I had given my commitment to this woman, so by God, it was unshakeable, it was permanent, doesn’t matter what she or I do, it’s going to stay that way. It’s permanent. Period.
I was unhappy for the last year and a half. I had a girlfriend who’d lost interest in Me, in Us. We were a fraction of our former sum, and I settled for it. I said well, maybe this is just how mature relationships are, after awhile you settle into this sort of routine. I said, hey, I should be supporting her time away from our relationship, because she’s been so supportive of me and demonstrated commitment so fervently. When my pleas for change went unanswered, I blamed myself for being selfish rather than pointing the finger at her.
I became numb–and I was caught between two opposing dynamics. The strength of our past and my commitment, versus my unhappiness and desire for a new, fresh relationship where I felt valued.
During the last year, I’ve reflected on the relationship a fair amount. Susan helped immensely in this regard, as one of her virtues is that she challenges my ideas, forcing me to reexamine some of the maxims by which I live. This isn’t to diminish the efforts of my other friends, but honestly, a number of them have been through so many of my relationship ups and downs that they’re a bit worn out, and the ones I was closest to have been absent from my life for so long on a personal level that while they offered support, it wasn’t the type of support I (didn’t realize I) needed, which was a person in my everyday life, in person, willing to stand up to me and take me down a peg if necessary. On the first day after we re-met, Susan and I talked about commitment, and her comments really made me stop and THINK.
And I did.
What I realized was that Barrett kinda did me a favor, because first I grew with her support, and then I grew without her support. Her commitment failed, in the end, but she gave me five years of her life. That’s a gift. What I once viewed as a waste, I now realize was a proving ground. It was a safe haven to flourish and grow in. I was no longer hammering out my character to impress passersby. It was forged, and its mettle was tested, and I began to take the steps forward that I hadn’t been able to in the past. I brought passivity into my relationship with Barrett. I didn’t leave with it.
Simply, for the first time in my life, I had a home. I learned that commitment can exist–five years is not insignificant–even if it ultimately fails. I learned the value of stability. I learned dedication. I learned patience. And yes, I learned what it means to settle numbly into complacency.
That won’t happen again.
This is too long already, and I’m only on number two.
I guess I’m back.