Relationships
I was married for 20 years. It still makes me smirk to say that, I suppose because it seems like a long time ago and something somebody else did. I don't regret it; it was a big part of the journey that led me to the person I am today, and it made my son. Regret doesn't come into it. There were so many bad decisions that I made, and so many destructive behaviors that I allowed to become deeply ingrained. I still don't regret it. I learned what I know today from living through those years just as they were, just as I was.
When I ceased to be married, in spirit if not in fact of law, I thought to myself, "I shall not date. I don't want to do that again. I want to spend at least a couple of years getting to know who I am alone before I try to find out again who I am with someone else." But within two months, I was surprised to find myself in a relationship again. I have a history of finding myself in relationships. I have not until very recently seen in myself the worthiness of being loved that I have seen in those who have loved me, and so I sat back and waited for them to come to me lest they reject me were I to come to them.
So I was surprised to be a boyfriend again. I worried about this, being in a relationship so soon. My friends and family worried about this. My girlfriend worried about this, even though she started it. It was too soon. I heard that dating after divorce is like dating after joining AA: you shouldn't do it for at least a year. But I did it anyway. And for that I have no regrets either. That relationship lasted about 10 months, but it was showing cracks in the foundation long before it actually collapsed. It taught me, she taught me, that I was still attractive, physically and fundamentally attractive, at a time that I felt that I was neither. It taught me that there was still love for me in the world at a time that I was sure there never would be again.
When it ended, I should, by anyone's standards, have spent some time alone. I can see that learning to be alone, for a man who has not ever been alone in his entire adult life, would be a valuable lesson. But I did not. I began using online dating apps. I approached it with a certain intensity. Every date was a job interview, both for me and for the other person. I did not find love. I found one woman that I love dearly. She has become in the last year the closest friend I've ever had. But even I could see that we were not made to be romantic partners. I did not find the kind of romantic love I was desperately trying to find to replace what I saw as lost from my life. I had fun. I learned more than a little about myself, and about dating, an activity which looked as inscrutable to me at the beginning of my adventure as knitting, or welding, or taxidermy. I learned much about how I interact with people, what attracts me and what does not. I learned, for example and to my great surprise, that I am not inclined to pursue casual sex, even when it's there for the taking. I learned that I can be comfortable talking openly with strangers. I learned that rejection was not disastrous after all. And when I finally gave up treating it like a job search, when I finally let go and started approaching dating as just something fun to do, with no expectations of anything beyond the moment, that's when a real, deep, surprising, and honest connection appeared.
My marriage was my first real, intense, long-term relationship. It could not last because it was defined by who I was trying, and failing, not to be. My next relationship, my joyful surprise when I thought no one would love me again, could not last because it was defined by who I was trying, and failing, to be. My current relationship is the only one I've ever had in which I have been entirely myself. I don't know if it will last. It's been 6 months so far. I won't say that I don't care if it lasts, because I do, very much. But I will say it's not something I'm trying like mad to control. If it lasts, it won't be because I made it last. It will be because we fit together well. The freedom and relief that comes with that is uplifting. I'm not trying not to be the person she does not love. I'm not trying to be the person she could love. I am only ever being myself. I have never, in two and a half decades of romantic relationships, ever been entirely me.
Maybe it's true that I fit a stereotype that I've heard: men can't be alone the way women can. Maybe it's true that I am deeply afraid of being alone in an existentially angst-ridden sort of way. I don't know. I don't think so. I think that I am a deeply feeling person who places great value on human connection, on meaningful personal relationships, and there is no more meaningful personal relationship to me than a romantic partnership. Like other things that I've learned about myself in the last 2 years, I accept that it's just who I am. And I'm really getting to like that guy.
