I wonder just how long I’ll have to live before I can write a memoir about love, and about what makes a relationship work. Is it the genuine love for and support of one another? Is it intellectual compatibility and stimulation? Is it someone who makes you laugh? Or is it nothing more than our own attitude, with almost no relation to the other person involved? What can be compromised, sacrificed, before we say uncle and find greener pastures (or mirages)? For the first time I can remember, the NYT had a female same-sex “Vows” column, and it set off nearly all my little land mines: one proposed to the other on their second date. How very “U-Haul” lesbian. One was vegetarian when they met, the other decided to cook them up some yummy beans…with bacon. Nice. But they both love words, have sharp senses of banter and intellectually-toothsome careers. I know exactly what I’m doing – I’m comparing my insides to their outsides. Yeah, yeah. And I was so happy most of this day, most of this weekend, until suddenly and immediately I wasn’t. I must be such a joy to be in a relationship with. Moody, distant at a second’s notice – only a few days ago I was sure I was going to fuck up this greatest relationship of my life, and here I am in a matter of milliseconds questioning whether she and I are going to make it. Oh, ye of no faith whatsoever.
There is good news, folks – I didn’t act out on it, I knew what I was doing, and even though C is the most emotionally sensing person I’ve ever known and has definitely picked up on my struggle, it hasn’t ruined anything. But the bigger questions are these: if love is a decision, how do we decide to keep making it? Is it the level of compatibility that allows some people to not constantly question and doubt, or a personality trait? In one of the “State of the Union” columns, one spouse credited the success of her relationship to the fact that she said she simply never allowed doubt to creep into her mind, even during the hard times. Part of me wants so much to do that, to just buckle down and say this is the person with whom I’m spending the next 40-odd years, so let’s start getting used to it and nail up all those back doors. Something about that is so appealing to me. And I do have so much here – so much support, love, humor, ease, pretty great and getting better sex, food likes, affection, expressiveness, generosity, a great dog caretaker – so much. I don’t truly think I could get more in one package. But the wit isn’t there. The intellect isn’t there. And I doubt it will ever be. And sometimes that is so incredibly okay. Until it isn’t. And I need to get better at soothing myself during the “isn’t” moments so I don’t blow them all up and have nothing but charred bits in my wake. I know how good this is. What I can’t and don’t know is if it’s forever. And learning to accept that is really the greatest challenge – that we make plans and God laughs, that I can try to force my will upon my life like shaping pipecleaners, but it’s really not mine to mold. I can just pray for enough light to take the next right step, and know that every time I see a future – be it shining or desolate – it’s nothing more than a figment of my imagination anyway. Maybe if I could put a little less stock in the happy-ever-after convictions I have sometimes, I could learn to put a little less in the sturm-und-drang ones, too.
