December 31, 2024
There are times when you love someone so much you can’t imagine ever not loving them. And then it ends, for one reason or another, and the pain is excruciating. And some time passes, and the pain isn’t as bad. And then you realize you’re coming up on seven years, and you wonder why you ever thought you loved them at all. It was sordid. It was depraved. It was tragic. It was sad. Jeff is who I’m thinking of.
But I didn’t give up hope I’d find love, not just then. I thought for certain I’d meet someone. I’d done the work, I’d done the time, I was at my best, I was sure to attract the once and for all and done deal man. And then I met David, and I really thought I had. I really did. I thought we both wanted it so badly that we’d make it work, no matter what. But there was a lot of “no matter what”, too much it turned out, and that ended, too.
That one was tough. After a few months, it wasn’t David I was missing so much, but the opportunity lost, spent, once again. Wrong guy right time? Maybe. Or just not meant to be? Maybe that. Or maybe… well… whatever it was it wasn’t right. It wasn’t sustainable as a romance. He’s a loving, supportive, trustworthy, and consistent friend, I’ll give him that. But he annoys me so badly sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking that we could last long-term. It’s hard to put myself back in that headspace, hard to remember what it felt like to be in love with him. Because I wasn’t. Even though I’m way way too old to believe in fairy tales, I gave into the fantasy. Another counterfeit as it turned out. But again. An incredible friend he’s turned out to be. So not a total loss. In fact, a very positive gain all the way around. Lovers come and go, but friends stay.
So now, finally, after six decades of Cinderella fantasies, it nauseates me to go there. I just don’t want it anymore. And there are two things about that which surprise me. First, that I’ve even/finally gotten to the point where I just don’t want it anymore. I’m continually startled by that new mindset, I just did not see that one coming. I could not ever imagine living without that longing. It consumed me for decades. It ate me up. So nice to have that behind me. Being in constant want and constant lack is a very painful way to live. And the second surprise is that I like myself enough that I’m enough, now. Finally. I don’t need anyone to be whole. I’d never have admitted to it then, but ya, I never felt like I was enough unless and until I’d finally been “picked”. And let’s throw in a third surprise. I don’t care if I ever get “picked” because if it ever does come to be, I’ll do the picking thank you very much. I don’t want to be chosen. I want to choose. And right now, I choose to just NOT.
There’s a small, very small part of me that worries I’ve become hardened. That my heart has been broken one too many times, that I’ve given up all hope. Perhaps there is some truth in that. But mostly, it’s more about the passing of time that turns that thing you always thought you wanted more than anything into something that is of little or no value any longer. And you realize it’s absolutely OK you feel that way, and in fact it may be the most mature and healthiest way to feel.
And then there is, once again, the reinforcement that most marriages, nearly all of them, are unhappy. Just today, another conversation with a divorced woman who told me some of the things her ex-husband said to her that destroyed her confidence and self-image. Harmful hurtful things. Cruel things. That happened to me, too. So many of us women experience that flavor of abuse.
I have been so in love that I couldn’t imagine not living with that man for the rest of my life. At least a couple of times. Actually, only once for certain. But I do know how it feels to love with my whole self, I’ve just never acted on it legally. It’s an incredible feeling, a very warm, comfortable feeling, and simultaneously, an over the top thrill. But for me, caring for someone so deeply has always been coupled with terror. The apprehension would start slowly and grow into an overwhelming fear of losing all of my sense of self and control over my own life. Since I always fell for men who were wrong for me, very quickly those relationships began to feel like a slow motion car crash. I always knew it would end, I just didn’t know when and how, but my desire for it to end would gain momentum until it crescendoed. And then it would end, for one reason or another. And I’m so very thankful for that. Disaster upon disaster averted. Thank GOD I never married any of those men. Thank GOD.
I do not believe in marriage. Not anymore. I do not believe most couples can make that kind of a lifetime commitment to one person in good faith. You have got to know, standing up there at the altar in front of all those people, MAKING VOWS TO GOD, that there is the possibility it won’t last. About a 50% possibility in fact. How could anyone willingly take those odds?
If it has taken me seven years to get over Jeff, the man I thought I’d never get over, and I can get over David, the man I thought would be the man I ended up spending the rest of my life with (gasp), how can anyone expect a marriage to last “‘til death do us part”? Not to mention all of the failed relationships going back to high school. What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
Furthermore, I don’t think monogamy comes naturally — not to any of us. Infidelity is officially outwardly frowned upon, although it happens all the time. It’s slightly more acceptable for men to act on their non-monogamous instincts than it is for women, but it’s not natural for either gender — or any gender to remain monogamous for life. I think that’s a social construct, not something that’s realistic in the real world. It’s OK for me to admit that, and it’s OK for me to embrace that, because at some point in the last decade I was able to embrace ethical non-monogamy because I discovered I no longer get jealous. Because why? What’s the point of jealousy? It can only mean one thing: you want to own someone. Jealousy is not about not wanting your partner to “cheat” on you, or in marriage “forsaking all others and cleaving only to one another as long as you both shall live”, it’s about wanting to own another person — body, mind, and soul. Are you taken aback by that? Step back a moment and take a look at that assertion as objectively as you can — just try — try hard. Who would do that? To themselves or to anyone else? It’s stupid.
All that being said, let me be clear: If you have an explicit or implicit monogamous agreement with your partner, and they choose not to honor it, that’s not about an inability to remain monogamous, that’s about a lack of respect. Lack of respect is intolerable across the board because it diminishes the humanity of another.
Have I dissed marriage enough yet? Have I talked you out of believing monogamy is the best/good/right way to be? Maybe, maybe not. If you are one of those handful of people I’ve met who is truly with their soulmate, you actually like your spouse, you’ve gotten closer and more bonded and more intimate as the years have passed, God bless you both. You win. You get the prize. But there are few winners and few prizes. But if you got there, I’m so happy for you! Not kidding, not at all.
So many of the rest of us are sick of having our hopes dashed, sick of the disappointment of wanting to believe something of our partner that we’ve largely manufactured in our own minds without even knowing we’ve done it. We don’t know we’ve fooled ourselves into thinking something is a thing because we want so badly for it to be a thing, because it’s a fantasy that is sold to us as a reality from the earliest age. Those fucking Hallmark movies. We buy into it because why would we not? It looks so nice, so safe, so rewarding to love like that. It’s so comforting to believe you might find someone — one person — with whom you can share the joy of true intimacy that only intensifies over time, and from whom you will never be parted. What a lovely fantasy. Fantasy.
So, am I all dour and sour about long-term romance? Maybe. It will pass, that part of this process. I won’t be dark forever, and I’ll get back to my place of STAY OPEN. But meeting men will never be the same for me again, because there will not be that niggling hope that maybe, maybe, maybe this time it will be it. And that is because “it” is a fantasy, a mass psychosis — no — mass hysteria perpetuated by society that has persisted for generations. If society valued that people learn to self-actualize and self-regulate, they wouldn’t be searching externally for a way to feel whole.
Why did it take until the age of 61 to figure this shit out? At least I figured it out. And if I’m not spot on, I’ll make the necessary adjustments to my attitude and perspective. I recognize that my attitude around all of this has evolved substantially and will likely continue to evolve. Regardless, I’ll never feel the same way about long-term romance again. I’m free of the fantasy. And that is a very very good thing.
I Persevere. And life goes on.