- Horatio: I know how to be persuasive when I have to be.
- Me: Really now?
- Horatio: On the first date, I got you to come to Punter’s, come home with me, have a smoke, and then have sex. I say I’m pretty good at getting my way.
People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.
A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.
A soul mate’s purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master…
– Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
For the past month, I’ve been suffering the emotional aftermath from the breakup. Publicly, I was very polite and pleasant, but privately, I was a complete mess. For the first time, I lost myself completely in love. For the first time, I had my heart completely crushed. If it weren’t for a few very close friends who knew exactly what to say and do, I would be, simply, devastated.
I feel a deep sadness, pain from those years of neglect and failed efforts at making the relationship work, but with that lurks a roaring anger, born from the same hurt. Whatever happened, whatever the motives behind our actions, I was not happy being with him. As much as I tried to make him understand what could or should be done for me, he simply could (or would) not do it. I’m angry because these were simple things—flirting, a gentle loving caress, interest in my interests—things that I readily gave him before I realized that he stopped giving them back to me.
I deserved more than what I got from the relationship. For a long time, I hesitated to say that, because I was treated to great cuisines, family excursions to beaches, and other expensive indulgences. What more could I want? Though I valued his generosity, I still missed the smaller gestures, the ones that risked not the pocketbook but the heart. Dinners and movies can be bonding experiences, but without romance, they were more friendly than amorous. I looked for gestures of love. I asked for them. I needed them. But they were never consistent, and eventually, they stopped.
I deserved to be happy. Whoever he was couldn’t make me happy, and he was not interested in becoming someone who could. Maybe it was an unreasonable expectation, but I was in love and I was foolish and I hoped.
But now I’m free. I’m free to call old flames for casual mind-blowing sex. I’m free to flirt and tease to my heart’s content. I’m free to spend my nights laughing with my friends. I’m free to spend time alone in peace. I’m free to move out of New England. I’m free to move out of the country. I’m free to experience new people, new places, new things.
I’m free to love someone who loves me back, someone who is willing to put down life and limb for me, someone who deserves my attention, dedication, and love.
But not yet. It’s too early. The wound is too fresh, and the pain is too raw. I’m free, but I’m also free to demand the relationship I want on my own terms. That will not come easily, but that is definitely something worth waiting for.
There are people who deserve you and people who don’t. If you have someone in your life who takes you for granted or doesn’t give you the respect that you deserve, leave them in the past where they belong. Surround yourself with people who challenge your mind and bring out the best in you. As for the ones who only exist to bring you down or cheapen your potential; let them find people who are better-suited to their own qualities and principles. Hold yourself to the highest standard possible. People who don’t measure up don’t deserve your time. People who can’t see past their own cowardice or their own arrogance don’t deserve your time. Anyone who doesn’t treat you the way you treat yourself doesn’t deserve your time. And if you are treating yourself in a way that gives people permission to take advantage of you, start showing yourself the exact same respect that you should be demanding of everyone else.
Three months ago, I made a dramatic exit. A few days later, I stepped back on stage. What happened on July 4th will remain on July 4th, but suffice to say that the events of that night propelled us back into the relationship. At first, it was good. We communicated better than ever before. We planned to move in together. And we did.
But it’s been a week since he ended the relationship. The parting was amicable. We are still good friends. But the breakup meant that I had to move out. Perfectly reasonable (and arguably necessary) but I could have done without the additional stress. Packing and redefining boundaries and sobbing? Unpleasant activities.
Now I’m back in New Hampshire with family. It’s been slow sorting through the boxes. I feel a little disoriented, a little off-kilter. My life was scattered among home, school, work, and Boston for so long, having it all in one place is disconcerting. I don’t trust any semblance of permanence right now. I’ve been uprooted enough in the past year.
Is my heart broken? A little. Are the feelings still there? A little. (Have I jumped right back into the dating scene? No comment.) But this is better for both of us. I don’t know how the breakup affected his life, but I know that I am better now. I don’t have to worry about making the relationship work. I don’t have to worry about being hurt again. I can relax and focus on other things, getting on with my life.
Still, I don’t regret those 31⁄2 years. As cliché as it sounds, I’m glad that they happened. I was very hurt during those years, but I was also very happy. I’m still happy today, not because I’m free and single but because the relationship taught me how to be happy on my own terms.
But what I wanted and what he could give didn’t match. And that’s the end of it.
Last Saturday, I attended an “ad-hoc unconference on sexuality” called KinkForAll. At a glance, the event title can be misleading. The word “kink” brings to mind a specific set of activities. But KinkForAll is not only about kinky sex, but all expressions of sexuality, especially those that are not mainstream.
I arrived at the event with my laptop. I had missed the first set of presentations, because I had a few errands to complete in the morning. But I stayed for the rest of the day and live-tweeted what I could. The atmosphere was very casual. The presenters encouraged discussion, and often one of us would interrupt with a comment or a question. I felt very relaxed; it was freeing to be able to talk about kink so openly.
Other people have also tweeted about the event: Look for the #KFABOS and #KinkForAll hashtags on Twitter. The master list of media and responses can be found on the KinkForAll Boston website.
I didn’t tag all of my tweets with the #KFABOS hashtag, so I collected the relevant tweets here in chronological order.
When I first saw the trailer, I knew that I would love the movie. Romantic fluff and Regina Spektor and clever artsy framework and The Smiths. What’s not to love? And it’s true: When I first saw (500) Days of Summer, I loved it. I loved the dialogue, the idealist romantic ending. But when I walked out of the theatre, something nagged at me. The cute fantastic fluff isn’t really love. It’s an ideal, not reality.
Feminists pointed at the misogyny in the movie. Summer is the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. She exists only for the development of Tom. She is an uppity better-than-everyone superskank because she doesn’t return his affections. But let’s talk about Tom and how we see the entire relationship through his eyes. Let’s talk about how he forces her into his preconceptions of love. Let’s talk about how he never sees her as a person, how he simply sees her as a girlfriend, a vehicle through which he could express his love for love.
The most telling line of the move is this: “I love how Summer makes me feel.” In the end, it is all about him and his feelings. Grow up, Tom. Grow up, boys. Grow up, you idealists. None of us are your dream partners. We are people who know when you don’t treat us as people.
This is how I feel about arrogant, sleazy people using annoying, sleazy pick up techniques (and yes, I have played the player this way):
How does one determine if a pickup technique has “worked”? What counts as success? You say that “the neg” does indeed work sometimes. What does that mean? I guess it depends on what the pickupper’s goals are. But I bring this up because that discussion about pickup techniques seemed to assume that women are all looking for nice guys to have solid relationships with – they could be seduced by “the neg” and then get burned. But women can spot pickup techniques that are disrespectful and still respond positively (outwardly). A man who uses “the neg” or some other slimy pickup technique can be taken to be someone whose feelings are not of great importance. So he could be used for free drinks, free tickets, meaningless sex, whatever – and all without guilt because, hey, he’s no better, right? It may not be moral, but it is fair. A man’s pickup techniques can signal exactly where he belongs on the relationship food chain. Has a guy who has used “the neg” and then ends up buying lots of drinks been successful? Depends on if he likes buying women drinks, I guess.
– Sonja, commenter on The Daily Dish
Chez at Deus Ex Malcontent throws in his two cents on the Sanford affair. While many pundits snicker at Sanford’s hypocrisy—having an affair while having loudly condemned others who had them—Chez sees something sad and human in the entire fiasco.
Love can fail. Relationships don’t last forever.
Chez explains:
Once again though, [Jenny Sanford] had to know that this day would, in one form or another, come. She had to grasp, even from the beginning, that no matter the ostensible strength of the foundation she’d built with her husband — years together, kids, a home, mutual friends, a joint membership at the local country club — that it could all come crashing down and be rendered utterly meaningless at some point. That he’d be willing to betray it all for a cheap, ego-stroking thrill. Or that she might. Humans are painfully flawed creatures — maybe too inherently flawed to make a marriage, the brass ring marriage we’re taught to strive for by movies and TV commercials, work and last.
I want to believe in a love that lasts forever and can withstand anything — the good times and bad. And for a long time I believed just that. I clung desperately, passionately to the fantasy that there was a “right person” and that being in a committed relationship with her or him — while not without conflict, trauma, and a lot of hard work — would be rewarding in immeasurable ways, because that person would bring out the best parts of you and you would do likewise.
I believed so strongly in that. I don’t anymore.
[...]
Like everything else these days, love is a many fickled thing.
If you don’t think this is true, don’t worry. You’ll eventually find out the hard way.
The comments at the blog take offense at the implication that marriage is a doomed, pointless contract, but I don’t think that is the point at all. The ideal romance doesn’t exist except in stories—and apparently not in the good, memorable ones either. We all know relationships require work, that there will be bad times along with the good.
But, in the end, we all think that love can always save us from the beatings that hound a relationship.
Patty Smyth had it right: Sometimes love just ain’t enough.
Four days ago, we were having dinner, discussing music. Three days ago, we were dancing at a wedding. Last night, we ended the relationship.
Things change so quickly.
The relationship had already dismantled years ago, when he stopped paying attention to me, and in response, I stopped communicating with him. He places the blame largely on the open relationship, but I know that our bond was already weak then. We didn’t talk about our problems, no matter how often I tried to start the conversation. Though we were intimate in other ways, we rarely had sex. I felt like an ornament in his life, someone he liked to keep around for companionship and security. The romantic relationship was a sham, even when I wanted to believe in it. We were so happy. But without him working with me, I was also so alone.
After many years without adequate emotional support, the abandonment was poignant. During these past four months, I couldn’t trust him. Every statement was suspicious. Every act had a secret motive. After so many broken promises, I was ready to shrug each new one as a lie. No matter how much he said I was the only one, I was sure that a few drinks will encourage flirting and sex with another woman. Where was the courtship, the respect, the desire to connect and understand? We’ve had so many arguments about our different viewpoints, about which ones were healthy and justifiable. Often I was on the defensive, feeling attacked for what was perceived as unreasonable. When you feel rejected enough, you soon begin to reject the rejector. When he later offered the olive branch, I viewed it with suspicion. I was waiting for that hidden stiletto, the one he would plunge without a care.
This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted full understanding, easy communication. I wanted the comfort of someone who cares. I wanted the freedom to be myself. I wanted passionate sex, knowledge that someone desires me. I wanted the space, the freedom to express my feelings—the anger, the sadness, the fear.
I wanted to find these things in him.
No one should be alone in a relationship. We seek that other so we won’t be alone. But after so many failures, so much broken trust, now I have to face that stark reality—that love fails, love disappoints, that no matter how much I reach out, I will always finish desolate, isolated, alone.
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