Blocked & Breakups

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I thought when my relationship ended, so would my writer’s block. Well it never really was writer’s block, just more respect for the individual I was sharing my days with for awhile. But it seems to have just gotten worse. Maybe it’s because it’s not really over for me yet. (Yes I know. I’m stupid, crazy, deluded, enter similar adjective here.) Maybe I just need time to decompress. Whatever it may be I’m going to force a post in hopes of restarting the rusty word processor.

So let’s see topic. Breakups. Yes. Let’s talk about breakups. But in a very disconnected way that is not reflective of my personal life whatsoever, because I haven’t even really spoken to you in 18 months, guys. Stop trying to pry. Geeze.

Some people handle breakups with such grace and peace. “You’ve enriched my life, thank you for being a part of it during this time. We must part now, go forth and be happy.” Others down whiskey until they can’t feel feelings. Others bounce to the next as though the love from the previous is completely transferrable like a store exchange. This one wasn’t the right fit; let’s try the medium.

Even within each of my own breakups the approach has changed. I’ve had the breakdowns, I’ve had the amicable parting, I’ve left for someone else, I’ve slammed the door shut and I’ve pined for a reconciliation. So all these articles and books about how to survive a breakup seem ridiculous.

You get half the length of the relationship to move on. Nope just two weeks for every month.

Don’t watch romcoms, but allow yourself to mourn.

Don’t ever speak to him again. Well what if you have a child together?

Don’t jump into a relationship too soon. What about those fabled people who go on a date a week after the breakup and end up marrying the person?

Know it’s better to be single than with someone who isn’t right for you. Yeah, ok but who said anything about being sad because you’re single. Maybe you’re sad because you love the jerk and you can’t just turn it off. 

There’s nothing worse when going through a breakup than overused platitudes and plenty of fish speeches. Especially considering that most breakups past high school and even college are nowhere near simplistic. Lives become more intertwined (mostly due to my inability to set up appropriate, healthy boundaries). Baggage from each relationship compounds to mismatched sets that never really make sense no matter how much you analyze your relationship patterns.

So as long as I’m functioning in the world and not breaking down completely, can’t I just handle being torn from someone the way I want? If I want to create an epic breakup playlist and listen to it on repeat for months after the fact, give me that. If I want to binge on Gilmore Girls and cry every time Jess wrongs Rory, it’s my choice. If I want to continue conversations the guy who wronged me, please be patient.

I will say my friends have been phenomenally understanding as I walk through this season. So none of this could be directed at them. Most of the worn-out “forget that jerk, buck up and get yourself out there” talk has come from unsolicited, acquaintance-level sources.

I wish I was better at putting it all behind me. Dispelling the hope and dismissing the ghost. But I’m not. Especially in these uncharted breakup circumstances. And I have no idea what I’m doing aside from taking it one day at a time like a love-struck alcoholic who manages to go about her regular life with an ambiguous hole where a boy used to fit so nicely.  

(Ed note: I apologize for this awkward reintroduction. I promise these will get better as I stretch my muscles and sort out my life a bit more.)

Religion, Dating & Finding Out I Can’t Remain Detached

I’ve dated on nearly every point along the Western religion spectrum from atheist to spiritual-ish to Jesus freak. In theory, if a guy hates Jesus, it should be a deal breaker for me. But I’ve blurred the lines on that rule, probably one time too many. For the most part it hasn’t been a major problem in the early stages. Mostly due to a mutual respect for what the other individual believes. Healthy conversations can be had without turning into conversion attempts or all-out arguments. Much like a friendship on the same plane. Except, unlike friendships, you may have to raise a child with this individual so that can be a problem down the road.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. As I said, in the past these relationships have functioned on respect and understanding. Until recently, I’ve never encountered a situation where someone has actively tried to change my faith. We went through a great debate when things finally came to a head. Well not so much a debate as a berating of my faith. I was denounced as a little fool for believing in a joke of a religion because I was “smarter than that.” After this encounter I’m thinking it might be too dangerous to dip into those waters.

I was floored that someone I cared about could belittle something that is at the very core of who I am. I couldn’t reconcile the idea that someone who thought me to be such a wonderful person could implore me to change the very convictions that made me that person. It was a rather eye-opening conversation. He couldn’t have meant all the things he had said about caring about me or liking me because he basically loathed everything I stood for. So often Christians get pigeonholed as this hateful, judgmental bag of tricks. But even in my stalwart faith I have never launched a vicious attack of this nature on a non-believer.

I know that our life paths all take very different turns and that the curves in my road have made it easier for me to land on the proverbial straight and narrow than if my life was dealt from his deck of cards. I recognize that our unique trials and moments of peace shape our dogma. This outlook is probably one of the main reasons I get involved with the wrong people. In addition to the fact that I don’t fall into the pit of butterflies and giggles very easily anymore, so when I get that twinge from someone, I revert back to the stupid girl who loves (likes) blindly with no regard for the logic that guides someone out of unhealthy relationships before they can start.

I’ve been able to erect a boundary in certain situations before that feeling germinates, but if it takes root before deal breakers are uncovered, I’m basically screwed for the duration. I was able to extricate myself from this particular situation a month or so after the fact. But it required much more power of will than it should have. And I’m still left reeling more than I expected.

He actively hid his feelings about my faith in an effort to keep our relationship going. I’m not sure what he hoped to accomplish long-term with this. He could only keep his disdain from bubbling up for so long, and then what was going to happen? He shared that he was ready to settle down and could see doing that with me. So how could he marry someone who he couldn’t possibly respect on the basis of her faith? Whatever, that part of it was somewhat irrelevant to me because of the multitude of other reasons he wouldn’t make a good life partner for me. I was trying to be casual and aloof about the whole situation because since getting a taste of it, I was craving that connection. But that was never going to work.

The end game for me is always going to be love, marriage, baby carriage. I need to recognize that I can’t be easy and breezy when I feel a connection with someone. I can’t even claim I was trying to change this one’s mind to make him into the husband I want. I know he is where he is going to be and I didn’t suffer from any delusions that would suggest otherwise. In high school I might have thought, “all he needs is to be loved in the right way.” But not with this one. I figured I could just dabble in him until I got him out of my system. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to get him out of my system without removing him from my life. Spending time with him was only weaving him more intricately into my life and my nature.

Ultimately I learned something about myself I should have always known. No matter how unsuitable an individual may be, even if the thought of him being a long-term solution to that love problem is a damn impossibility, I can’t remain detached. I was designed to feel and feel deeply. Because I’m emo like that. By the time the hook is set, it’s too late for me to not become immersed in the elements that make him who he is. 

I Resolve to Find Me a Man in 2012?

Resolution 2012: Complete.

Ok I’m back from my unintentional holiday hiatus. I’m sure I was missed terribly. And in keeping with the obligatory themed posts this one is going to be about resolutions, kids. Well part of it’s due to the New Year’s resolution shtick and part of it’s because a friend of mine made some quip the other day about how I wanted a man more than the average sow (that’s a female bear). I took great offense to this statement despite the fact that he didn’t believe he was being offensive. To me he was saying, “you are desperate and in need of a boyfriend because you’re obviously no good without one.” To him he was saying, well, I’m still not clear on what he thinks he was saying.

Regardless, a quick check of Facebook this morning proved I’m in no way ahead of the curve in the pining department. There was no shortage of girls mourning the fact that they had closed out 2011 without a man, resolving to change that in 2012. My initial reaction was passing judgment on their pitiful goal. Then I scolded myself for being a stupid wench about it. Who am I to assail what is important to someone else? Especially something that’s obviously important to me on some level. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have an entire blog devoted to spewing about the very topic. So the many, many cats wearing hand-knitted sweaters are out of the bag on that one. I guess I just have trouble reconciling the desire to be paired off someday with something I actively have control over.

It’s probably that absurd little romantic in me who recklessly clings to the belief in twu wuv that cannot be planned or brought about by my strategic efforts. It seems fruitless to vow to change something about your life that you seemingly have no control over. The clichéd resolutions can all be achieved with a little discipline on behalf of the resolvee. Want to lose weight? Start working out and eat a meal that doesn’t come out of a box once in awhile. Quit smoking? Stop buying cigarettes. Become a pop star? Throw on a Beanie Baby bra, soul-crushing footwear and a blue wig. Boom. Pop star. See? Easy and fully strategic.

Resolving to meet the man of my dreams in 2012 just makes the whole thing seem forced and unnatural. And I’m not even sure I’m ready for Prince Charming. I’ve got crap I wanna do yet. But I’m pretty sure there is always going to be crap I wanna do. That’s why it’s lovely to think that he will actually just show up – as the atrocious little saying goes – when I’m least expecting it. Still, this chica has a point in number one. It’s perfectly acceptable and admirable even to have clear intentions for yourself and those intentions should be backed up by action in some way. So while you can’t force a relationship, you can do more to open yourself up to meeting your ball and chain.

I used to think this meant putting myself out there at the usual scene. Making the first move. But that’s just not me. I’m the girl dammit. And even though it’s good to step outside your comfort zone to meet your goals, doing something that makes you feel like a fish with a bicycle or a hipster with a car and a job isn’t going to do you or the potential squeezemuffin any favors. Plus, as evidenced this weekend, if I actively go for it, the whole thing will inevitably crash and burn when his boyfriend walks in. But that’s a tale for when you’re a little older.

I’ve since realized carrying out some of my other resolutions may just put me on the path to lurve. I may meet someone at my dance class (yes, I know, this will likely just lead to another “oh you have a boyfriend?” situation). Or someone may realize how cool I am while I’m writing my novel at a coffee shop. Or perhaps I will fall in love with some charming European during the trip I swore I was going to take. Just putting yourself in the position to meet new people will increase the possibility that one of those new people will be your very own Him. Plus those other resolutions to get fit and shower more than once a week will just make you all the more appealing when you do meet cute.

So the moral of the story is: your resolution can be whatever you want. No judgment from me. I’m sure you’re relieved. 

Confessions of a Mistress

Ok that title is unnecessarily dramatic. I’m sorry. I’m not really a mistress per se. But no one is going to read a post entitled: “Confessions of a Girl Who Maybe Flirted a Little Too Hard With Someone Who Was Unavailable.” Now that I got your attention by misleading you, let me explain my mistress-light circumstances.

A while back (foggy timeline so you know it’s juicy) I was hanging out with a former flame under the pretense of getting back some long-forgotten artifacts left behind when the relationship fizzled. Even years after we had ended our relationship, we always had the tension of lingering attraction between us. I can’t explain why this one plays the Hubbell to my Katie, but we easily fall into those roles when we are together. So I really shouldn’t have been surprised when an innocent invitation to imbibe a single beer led to more than it should have.

I knew I was in trouble when he passed up the spacious couch and opted to join me on the love seat (Ugh could there possibly be a more clichéd piece of furniture for these events to transpire on?), settling in close enough for the heat of his arm to transfer to mine. Normally I wouldn’t have given a second thought about giving in to the advances that would inevitably come to pass. However, the last I heard, he had a new girl now and common decency demanded that I refrain from making a cuckquean of this poor thing. So I chose to ignore the obvious and continue making useless small talk. Soon his arm was around my shoulders and then my waist. I began to wonder if maybe he had dropped his girl and failed to tell me.

I only discovered that this was not the case when he murmured, “I shouldn’t be doing this,” close enough for his heavy Marlboro breath to offend nearly every one of my senses. When I heard those words confirming that he wasn’t mine to pursue I should have shut it down completely. But I didn’t. Instead we continued this dance of, “Should we? No, we shouldn’t,” over the course of the next hour. Each time taking one step closer to that line of regret and only half a step back. Part of my participation could be attributed to the aforementioned magnetic draw. The other part was due to a desire to be desired that had taken ahold of me earlier in the week.

By the time the spell was broken with the practicalities of late nights converging with early mornings, he felt he had succeeded in escaping the temptation a faithful man. I knew what he had done would have been considered cheating by any wronged girlfriend. He was pleased with his willpower and I was wracked with guilt.

I had made no move to stop him from breaking his trust with a girl I had never even met. There was a point when I began to do everything I could to convince him to do exactly that. As I said, I had never met this girl. What did I owe her? He began the whole affair, why should I take on the responsibility of keeping her man honest? That was his burden to bear. Not mine. Still, no matter how I tried to convince myself that I held no alliance to this unknown and therefore didn’t owe her the loyalty of her boyfriend, I couldn’t shake the thought that I had broken a code. Not just some arbitrary girl code but a human code that would demand we treat any other person on this planet, as we would hope someone would treat us in similar circumstances.

Sure, he instigated the waltz, and it was his relationship he willingly put at risk. But I kept imagining how heartbroken I would be if I knew some woman I had never met accepted an invitation to lead my boyfriend astray. Yes, the sanctity of his relationship lies within his realm of authority, but life isn’t always about who should hold the blame. Maybe sometimes it’s about stepping up beyond your accountability to protect someone you’ll never meet from a devastation that you can prevent by making a sacrifice you know you don’t necessarily have to make.

Happy Life Means Nothing to Write

As you may have noticed, I’ve been experiencing a bit of writer’s block as of late. Though that writer’s block may be attributed more to a dry spell that leads to two posts about the same scenario in which I get stood up. Wow. The more I write the more pitiful I sound, maybe that’s why I’ve lacked the motivation to post as of late.

Fact is, I’ve realized something I already knew, bad relationships (or just bad dating experiences) make excellent muses. They also help you to really appreciate the fruits of someone else’s turbulent love life. I have an embarrassing amount of playlists created to help me get over some scumbag guy. And now, with nothing driving me to a state of melancholia, all of this empowering Beyonce and commiserating Jeff Buckely lacks a purpose. I can barely remember what it’s like to need Schulyer Fisk to strum my pain with her fingers.

I always thought I loathed relational drama and that it served no purpose in a life I tried to build on solid ground. But now I’m starting to second-guess this theory. Maybe all those knockdown, drag-out fights with my ex were exactly what I needed in order to feel feelings? Ok, that’s a gross path to even hypothetically meander down. Pointless, hurtful fights are not worth the little ink on the page they may produce. Maybe I should just take my inspiration from the tragic, public altercations of others?  

Yes, I know I can find something other than broken relationships to spur my writing. I’ve essentially been doing that for the past two years. And crappy, uninspired short fiction by definition requires no inspiration. But getting over a relationship can also serve to be a great motivator for other things. After you make it through the “hand me my sweat pants and a box of Thin Mints my life is over and I am now going to commit suicide by overconsumption of processed sugar” phase, there’s the “I’m going to do everything I can to be a bigger, better version of the girl he dumped because screw him and I wanna win and all that jazz” phase.

This is the stage I really kind of miss. The one that makes you chop your hair (ok I do that without prompting too) and put on your running shoes. I remember it like a Rocky Montage with the single solidarity and woman empowerment section of the aforementioned playlists rocking in the background. You have visions of doing all the things you never got to do while you were in that stifling relationship. You are going to travel the world, learn a new language, move up in your career and become a concert pianist just because you are that good at life and you are going to prove it to him—er I mean yourself. Of course, many of these grand dreams of post-relationship greatness tend to be tempered by the reality of work, life and Cheesecake Factory’s Red Velvet Cheesecake. But still that feeling is pretty awesome while it lasts. And it’s a unique feeling really only experienced when coming out of that low period.

I realize how insane this all sounds. No one in her right mind would long for a break up. Well maybe Kim Kardashian because it means more publicity. Bam! Topical! (I am so, so sorry. That really was unacceptable.) Desiring a relationship? Sure, that’s normal, but the demise of a relationship? I guess I just miss the range of feelings a relationship can make you experience sometimes. Yes, I’m happy with my life right now and happy is a great feeling. And I get sad about things like a normal human being with a pulse. But there is an exclusive and entirely different set of emotions that can only stem from the ups and downs of interacting with someone who you allow to have a great deal of influence over your world because of loooove. And as much as I loathe to admit it sometimes, those feelings either side of the pendulum have merit and some of them are even—nice? 

This Has To Be It.

Just waiting for the marriage train to pick me up...or run me over.

Sometimes I get the impression that love is like musical chairs. You switch loverkinses until the point when you are ready to settle down and once you reach that age or life-change, that chair better be available or you’re going home without any wedding cake. I have gotten myself into situations where I’ve stayed in a relationship because I had convinced myself that this has to be it. It’s the right time and he’s right here so this must be it.

As problematic as this thinking is in the midst of a relationship, it can be even worse as you begin a new relationship. I recently spoke with a friend who entered a relationship with that attitude. He had dated multiple people. He was at a point in his life where he was considering marriage and she was right there. She had to be the one. Unfortunately, it turned out to be more disastrous than matrimonious. He wouldn’t have let it go as far as it did, if he hadn’t already convinced himself that she was it.

We go into things with expectations of happy endings before we even get through the beginning. Suddenly red flags are easily dismissed as tiny idiosyncrasies that can be overlooked because this is your One. She/he has to be.

I think our biggest problems in love and marriage can stem from this idea that love, like so many other things in our lives, must fall within this neat little timeline. We go through the beginning of our lives meeting these deadlines with first words, potty training, kindergarten, high school graduation then college. Each step falls in place with the appropriate corresponding age. It only seems right that love, marriage and babies in the baby carriage should follow in kind. For years I was on track with this timeline. I dated in high school and college and as college drew to a close and I entered the workplace, I was engaged, just as should be expected. I would soon begin my career and family simultaneously. Then that came crashing down and I felt like a dateless girl a week before prom.

Now what? I had clearly fallen off the track and set myself back years. At the time, it was among the more devastating realizations that went hand-in-hand with a wedding that never would be. I had to shake this idea that life was a straight path. As a logical human being, I knew this. But I thought I had my path mapped out. Other people’s detours had nothing to do with my neat life blueprint. I was going to get my familial utopian dammit. It was the next thing on the life-fulfillment checklist. Right after get a job and just before become a corporate wonder who balances work and family effortlessly while also writing a short work of fiction on the side.

In the end, I came to love the new direction my life took after I had shrugged the burden of looming romantic deadlines (along with the idea that I had to climb the corporate ladder to be successful). Yet I still struggle with it. There are days when I am thrilled to be unattached. I realize that I won’t always be able to enjoy the freedom that comes with singledom so I should do everything I can to love it while I have it. That feeling would stick with me nearly every day if I could just know when that chapter in my life would be complete. Unfortunately, that’s not the way it works (a-duh). This not knowing can be unnerving. And the trap of believing that the next one must be The One can be an easy one to fall into with the uncertain nature of love and all things romantic. Dumping the expectations of happily ever after on each new guy you date isn’t fair to him or you.

Eschewing this pressure of “I need to know when” can be difficult, but lesson number 10 of this post helped put things into perspective for me. I can do very little to control how, when and where I meet the man o’ my dreams. No matter how much I put myself in a position to meet new potentials, I can’t find the one who sticks like it’s some treasure hunt. There are no clues I can follow. I can only be who I am and enjoy my life as it is now (pretty damn great), the rest is up to God. It’s on Him.

I’ve often lamented the fact that it is more difficult for me to find my doodlebug due to the restrictions my faith puts on my romantic expectations. But, if I look at it from Lauren’s angle, it should make it easier in some ways. Because it isn’t in my control. It’s in God’s control. Now granted the girl is getting married at 23, so her experience with singlehood is fairly limited in the grand scheme of things. But she did meet her loverboy on Twitter of all places. From halfway across the country. After a fairly mixed up dating history by her own account. That has to have something to do with grace, though you could give the credit to Jack Dorsey I suppose.

No matter how you look at it, overthinking love takes the romance out of it. Worse yet, putting your life on hold as you wait for your man simply because you have this order of events laid out in your head and the next step is contingent on Prince Charming can waste precious years. Finding your one and only shouldn’t be a square you land on before you can advance to Go and collect the rest of your future. The path along the way can be just as rewarding and is most decidedly different for every person. Some lucky girls will find him early on while others have more time to mature and fly solo before the big I Do. And ultimately some woman may choose (le gasp!) to be happy as a bird on her very own for her whole life.

Wow. That got all touchy feely and positive…next time “Boys Suck and Always Will.”

Hollywood, How Do I Loathe to Love Thee?

This is bull ish.

(Spoilers throughout for The Good Guy and Crazy, Stupid, Love., deal with it.)

I’ve been loving, inexplicably, on the movie The Good Guy since I first saw it. Overall the plot is a stretch and the screenwriter tries so hard to hit us over the head with obvious symbolism that I felt like Helen Keller by the end of the movie, but there’s still something that draws me to it. I thought it might be my lady crush on one Alexis Bledel or it might be the literary overtones (and by overtones I mean “LOOK AT US WE ARE LOOSELY BASED ON A BOOK SO WE ARE GOING TO REFERENCE THAT BOOK AND READING LOTS BECAUSE WE LIKE BOOKS, DO YA GET IT HUH? DO YA?”).

However, after a viewing of Crazy, Stupid, Love. tonight I realized what it was. The douchey, far-more-good-looking-than-anyone-has-any-business-being womanizer didn’t get the girl. It was the awkward, sensitive, possibly too-nice gomer who got his schnookums in the end.

Now I’ll grant you the circumstances are fairly unrealistic what with the whirlwind six-week romance and the fact that the guy reads. But overall our dear hero seems fairly normal and, despite the fact that he goes from rockin’ a woven belt with a BlackBerry attachment to something slightly more appropriate, he remains relatively unchanged. This works because he doesn’t have to work to turn a one-dimensional personality into something new and interesting. Unlike so many other movie “nice guys,” he already has depth and doesn’t need to fabricate passions by way of skirt chasing and other such manly activities. Even at the end of the movie he’s still the traveled, literate former soldier he always was.

By comparison, Steve Carrell’s character in Crazy, Stupid, Love. had to completely change and go through a bird-dogging phase of his own before he could get his wife back. Meanwhile suave Ryan Gosling, looking like he walked off the pages of GQ, is chasing every girl in town with great, unattached success. Except with one girl. The dorky, studious one who puts all the rest of the vapid, conventionally sexy girls to shame by just being her endearingly goofy self. She peels back his misogynistic layers to find the real man inside. The sensitive one who acquired emotional scars in his childhood. Scars that caused him to objectify women and treat them as interchangeable sex dolls. But it’s A.O.K. now because the pretty, ginger screwball asked about his Brookstone pillow.

This doesn’t happen in the real world of unmet expectations. The nerdy chick doesn’t win over the smooth, handsome, rich, self-involved skeeve and turn him into the sickeningly doting boyfriend just because she said “no” once. No, the real world goof sits at home perfecting her reader’s pallor as she dreams of meeting a man like Gilbert Blythe, Mr. Darcy or Theodore “Laurie” Lawrence (yes, I still prefer him to Professor Baher, so sue me) as she collects cats and pounds exponentially with each passing year of her singleness.

I know railing against Hollywood is clichéd and fruitless, considering these are the characters and plotlines that make money so they will continue to rule the screens. And I’m no better than the next hopeless, amorous idealist who subjects herself to unrealistic tales of turning the bad boy good or interesting good guys waiting to swoop in and save us from the bad boy who will never turn good. So I guess I’m more angry with myself than I am at the purveyors of these quixotic movie endings. Because I actually enjoyed Crazy, Stupid, Love. It was witty, well-written and prominently featured Ryan Gosling’s abs, pecs, shoulders, smile, etc. Plus, the girl who says things like “I’m R-rated sexy” and follows it up with the nervous laugh of a lass who has never talked to a man before wins! How delightfully relatable she is. It makes me feel like I might find love too!

And that’s the crux of the matter. As I tip toe on just the wrong side of a little too jaded, I guess I need this type of false encouragement to bring me back. Despite the starry-eyed silliness, it keeps me wishin’ and hopin’ and dreamin’ of that real-world happy ending. The one with the 2.5 rug rats, mortgage, family obligations and arguments about the dishwasher. So keep it up movie makers. I will continue to plunk down my $10 for impossible fantasy love stories that both enrage and buoy me because I’m a sucker in need of a little romanitcal encouragement.