A tale of serial monogamy most classic…

So, anyway. I’m moving in with M, for reals, in just about a month. I gave notice at my building today.

In many ways this is something of a formality—my cat has been at his place for 3 weeks or so already, which means that my apartment is merely serving as a very expensive storage unit for my furniture and the residence of an awesome closet that holds an ever-decreasing amount of my clothing and shoes. (I will miss the closet at the apartment, most definitely. Someday, when I am a millionaire, I will have a walk-in with French doors and a shoe rack installed in my palatial home, and lo, it will be awesome.) This arrangement, this expensive-storage-unit-arrangement, is (mostly) stupid.

On the other hand, of course, the current setup preserves my ability to take my cat and go home if I want to, which I am about to give up. And I am quite aware, quite well aware, that a breakup becomes much, much more stressful and horrible when it must be combined with packing, with moving, and going through that process of getting disentangled from someone (which pretty much always sucks) is more difficult when you’re living with them. You can’t just say “nope, done” and leave. This is a bit scary.

For me, this is a bit scary because, well, I got to go through the horrible breakup process not so very long ago—under two years ago, in fact. And it did, indeed, suck most tremendously. And here I am, voluntarily and of my own free will, putting myself in the position of having to go through a very similar process in the event that things don’t work out between M & I. And doing so in what could be considered unseemly haste by some, since I did very little dating before landing myself with M, and landed myself with him less than a year after the previously-referenced horrible breakup.

Additionally, I think—expect, in fact—that M is a bit jittery at making this step official, because his previous live-in relationship took a sudden and major nosedive shortly after they moved in together. I’m willing to bet that the circumstances of that relationship’s demise contributed to M’s stated preference of moving me into his existing shared house, rather than moving together into a place on our own (though I know it’s not the only factor—his current house is definitely stellar, and I’m looking forward to being able to officially co-host gatherings there).

So, there is some fear here, because we’re upping the stakes. I suppose that someone could argue (not that anyone has) that this means that I’m not ready, that he’s not ready, that we’re not ready. I wouldn’t agree, but then, you wouldn’t expect me to, would you, since I’m choosing to do this?

The truth is, while I am afraid—I will lose more, hurt more, if we break up down the road—I am also excited. I love M. I love that he appreciates me, I love that he is affectionate, I love that he cooks for me, I love that he enjoys it when I cook. I love that he values what I do around the house, and that it makes him feel cared for and special. I am looking forward to seeing his house as ours, to having our furniture side-by-side, to being sure that he and I will sleep next to each other. When I think about all the things I am looking forward to (most of which are completely prosaic and dull) I am very happy about this plan, and mostly feel lucky that I hooked up with M without a lot of hassle and false starts beforehand. The fear, the worry—that is what comes up when I deliberately think about what could go wrong, and how hard that would be.

So, am I justifying? I don’t know. Am I a classic serial monogamist? Probably. Am I rushing things, or deluding myself into thinking that this relationship is the right one? I don’t think so. I hope not. I’m hopeful. I think this is a good choice.

Fine Lines and Tensile Strength

Slightly edgy humor is all well and good—I prefer snarky, sometimes mildly inappropriate, bitter-ish humor, and find that it lends itself well to mixing in a bit of undercover honesty. However, this type of humor relies on walking the delicately-balanced edge between funny and bitchy… which means that if someone’s having a rough day, feeling vulnerable, or otherwise needing a little more love and a little less snark, it’s easy to pitch off the wrong side and cause hurt feelings.

I know this from both sides of the equation, being bountifully-supplied with friends who employ and encourage snarky humor. The good news is that my friends generally mean well (that is, they don’t mean to be hurtful and apologize if they inadvertently are) and speak up if they’re hurt by something that’s directed at them. The further good news is that I’m fairly sure that my friends are all generous and forgiving people, who are unlikely to become irreparably offended by an overly-barbed remark.

The bad news is that my gut has truly amazing tenacity, even in the face of thousands of hours (and dollars) of therapy, and remains pretty certain that the affection of everyone I know is so finely-balanced that any misstep on my part will immediately result in a total loss. That is to say, my gut accepts that my friends love me, and is usually pretty solid and willing to believe this… until it’s not. And then, suddenly, someone is mildly irritated and my brain leaps (gracefully, instantly, like an antelope… it would be lovely if it wasn’t so fucking self-destructive) to OMG-everything-is-irretrievably-ruined-forever. And if there’s a way for me to make this My Fault, that’s even better, because then I have the opportunity to berate myself for Ruining Everything by Being So Horrible.

I’ve tried so, so very hard to get past this, and the best I have been able to do is keep enough of a grip on myself that I don’t have an externally-visible breakdown. I still feel terrible whenever I think someone is upset with me, and usually guilty, and I still desperately want to keep circling back to whomever I’m worried about and either declare my abject-est of apologies for the billionth time or ask, again and again, on a loop, “you’re not still mad, right? you still love me, right?”. I manage not to do either of these things only through a fierce effort of will (which is, I suppose, one of the beneficial results of all the therapy—that I can muster the strength not to engage in these tremendously codependent and also wildly annoying behaviors).

In the last few days I’ve managed to inadvertently hurt the feelings of a good friend and M, and I feel like an asshole. I don’t actually think either one of them are still upset, when I fight my rational brain to the surface, and I need to just calm down and trust that friendship and love are not such delicate plants that they’ll explode into flame at the slightest touch of the sun. I know, I know, that this is the process that I need to go through, and that every time I fight through this it gets a little easier the next time. I can feel the fear and guilt and let it go without making a spectacle of myself (except on the internet, in front of everyone, ha), and Everything is Fine, Nothing is Fucked.

And it is fine, it is. But I am still sorry that I was mean, and I am worried that no one likes me anymore, and I am frightened that someday I will mess something up and everyone will decide that I am awful and I will be left alone forever, like Fezzik’s Hell, without the booing. I hate feeling like this, and I hate that there is nothing to do but just ride it out.

Ending, beginning, continuing

In less than a week, I will be done with graduate school. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but this is somewhat surreal—I started the path to this degree years ago, when everything was different. And now I am 99% done, and very nearly everything else in my life has changed and shifted and become something different, something new. For the most part, something better. (The sole notable exception is the debt, which was not part of the original plan. Le sigh.)

So. I will have a master’s degree. I will be theoretically qualified to be a planning professional. The job market is grim, and the situation is unknown in regard to what sort of job I will be able to get, and how quickly. I am applying for everything that seems remotely applicable, and am thus far getting interviews but no offers. However, it’s early days, and there’s no reason to be discouraged yet. Beginning a new career is exciting and scary—impostor syndrome abounds, of course, and I’m trying hard not to undervalue my skill set when applying for jobs (which is to say, not focusing exclusively on entry-level positions). I’m still excited about this field, and I still believe I’m capable of doing well in it.

In other continuing/beginning developments, M & I had a Real Conversation about living together, as opposed to an in-passing discussion. It appears we have consensus that, indeed, we both want to live together, and (thanks to a heroic display of effort on my part, which is apparently what is required to make M talk about Feelings and Commitment and What It All Means) that we have mutual agreement that living together means, you know, being partners as well as bf/gf, and, also that (insert disclaimer that of course sometimes things don’t work out the way you think they will*) we both anticipate that this relationship will continue indefinitely. Which is an awfully dry way of saying “M & K sittin’ in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G 4evah”. Which is also to say, I may possibly be using textbook-speak to avoid gushing and getting all sappy like a 13-year-old, because, dammit, I’m old and jaded do not do that sort of thing. Also, I am tough. Grrr.

We’ve been together for almost a year, and while it’s not 100% roses and puppies, it’s still really good. We’ve had some spats, but no real fights—which is good and bad, I suppose, since yay! no fighting! but boo! no solid sense of how we’d fight! I’m sure it’ll happen eventually, and I hope I can keep doing what I’ve done during spats, which is stay calm and be very clear about it if M does or says something unacceptable. I’m still pretty proud of myself for (finally) learning how to say “it’s fine you’re upset, but it’s not fine for you to yell at me” and stick to it.

We’ve also got a trip to the Bay area coming up next week, which will be our first major trip together & a week-long vacation together. I’m pretty excited about it! I get to meet a whole bunch of M’s chosen-family good friends, who I anticipate will be universally good peoples, since they all have been so far. And we’ll go to a wedding & hit some of the SF-area cocktail places, which will be all sorts of awesome.

* HA. HA. HA. On the other hand, I am perversely reminded of a Salon article in which a couple sent annual cards to their respective former partners, basically saying “Thanks for leaving me! I wouldn’t have done it, and it turns out I am WAY happier without you!” I am not planning to do this. Even though it might be funny.

Decided

So, recently I was thinking about a comment on a discussion board I frequent. This woman was talking about her decision to have only one child, and her point was, essentially, that, yeah, two kids might be ideal… but life isn’t ideal. You make choices, resources are finite, and there are always trade-offs. I ruminated on this for a while, and it occurred to me that this is a totally valid (and pretty accurate, for me) way of thinking about the question of having kids at all–because, you know, I like kids, and if things were different, I might want one or more.

However, the way my life has shaken out, I’d really have to make having a child an immediate priority in order for it to be workable, and I’m just not willing to do that now. I’m almost 35, I’m just finishing a degree and starting a new career, I’m in a relationship that I really enjoy with someone who does not want children that may or may not be permanent, etc. I could, if I wanted to make having a child my #1 priority, probably find a way to make that work, even though it would be very difficult. But I don’t want to do that.

I want to focus on my new career. I want to take my time seeing if my relationship with M can work long-term. I want to undo some of the financial ruin I’ve brought upon myself. I want to travel. If things were different, if I was in my 20s, if I was married, if M wanted kids, if I was established in my career, if I had a million dollars, maybe I would feel differently. But none of those things are true.

My decision to prioritize my career and my other wants and needs means having kids is almost certainly off the table. I definitely wouldn’t want to have a child in the next 2-3 years, and, given my age and unwillingness to be a first-time parent at 40, that pretty much closes the deal.

And you know what? That’s okay. Because the life that I have now is different than the one I anticipated, but I like it. I have opportunities that I may not have had otherwise. I can either be happy with what I have and make the most of it, or I can spend my time and energy focusing on what I’m missing out on. And I’d miss out on something regardless, because the reality is I can’t have everything, nice as that might be.

I’m an aunt, biologically and via chosen family, to three lovely boys, and I’ll probably have more nieces and nephews. I have a cat who I love, and a terrific boyfriend, and the ability to play with babies/kids when I chose to, and go out on the town when I chose to do that. This is perhaps not the best of all possible worlds, but it’s really very good.

So I think I’ve closed this door for good now. I keep revisiting the thought, and while on one level it’s a bit sad– I mean, I’d probably be a pretty good parent, and I do like kids– on another level it’s kind of nice to be able to say “nope, that decision is made, I don’t need to worry about it any more”.

Decided.

Institutional Evolution

So, in the last week I had a discussion with a friend about “marriage” vs. “civil unions” or “domestic partnerships”, and today I heard story about a possible amendment to the CA constitution that would replace “marriage” with “domestic partnerships” in state laws. A number of my acquaintances will probably think this is a great idea.

I absolutely think that the civil/legal and religious aspects of (the package of legal rights and social recognition we call) marriage should be separated, and that religious officials should not have the authority to perform legally binding ceremonies. Civil/legal ceremony (or, really, just signing the license) for the legal package, with an optional religious or social ceremony if the couple wants it, no problem.

However, I fail to see why changing the name of the legal/civil part of this from “marriage” to “domestic partnership” is meaningful when it’s the same bundle of legal rights and protections. Marriage as an institution has social value. True, it also has a lot of troubling patriarchal/oppressive/exclusionary aspects, and that sucks… but why can’t we, as individuals and a society, allow marriage as an institution to evolve into something else?

My concern is that replacing legal marriage with domestic partnership is going to deny couples who aren’t “married” the same degree of social respect. And while I realize that you can’t force anybody to respect something if they don’t want to, I don’t see any reason to make it easier for bigoted assholes to dismiss relationships because they’re not “marriages”.

Certainly, some people aren’t going to care. Some people recognize that a relationship–married, unmarried, partnered, gay, straight, monogamous, poly, whatever–is defined by whatever the people involved want, regardless of what it’s called. That the level of seriousness and commitment is determined by the people in the relationship, not its legal status or what they call their partner(s). Those people are the people that you want to be friends with.

But the thing is, those people don’t need to have their horizons broadened or their assumptions challenged. They’re already onboard, okay? The people who we need to worry about, the people who need to, at the very least, be forced to acknowledge that a relationship that’s different than the marriage they have is still legally the same and deserving of equal protection under the law, those people care what it’s called. So making “marriage” an optional religious/social layer is just going to make it easy for those people to dismiss assumption-challenging relationships as “not real marriages”. And why should we do that?

And, further, if it “doesn’t matter what you call it” (which is one of the most common things I hear from people who claim to be ‘against marriage’), then why the hell not call it a marriage? If it doesn’t matter, if it’s defined by you & your partner(s), then it doesn’t matter. So it won’t make a difference to call it a marriage, will it? It’ll still be whatever you & your partner(s) make it.

For myself, I do think it matters what you call it– because we live in a society that attaches value to the institution of marriage. If the whole world was comprised of my friends, who don’t care, I’d feel differently. But it’s not. My parents, and coworkers, and aunts & uncles and etc etc etc are part of this society too, and I’m goddamned if I’m going to roll over and let them dismiss any committed relationship as somehow less because it’s not a marriage.

The institution needs to evolve, not be eliminated. And if you seriously cannot wrap your head around reclaiming a social institution and making it into something that’s more than its oppressive, exclusionary past, I have some questions for you. Do you own property? do you vote? are you a citizen? Think about how those institutions have evolved, and then come back and talk to me again.

Continuance

So, this morning I am slightly off as a result of imbibing a series of lovely cocktails last night with M. And yet, even though I have a headache, even though I have a huge paper to write, even though it’s not nice outside, even though the economy sucks and nothing is settled, I’m still happy.

It has been suggested (not entirely unreasonably) that my standards are low, and consequently I’m disproportionately pleased by the relatively unspectacular good things in my life. But I’m happy just the same. It seems kind of irritating and tempting-fate to say so, but sometimes I’m just so struck by it… that I’m happy, now, still, and don’t see any reason I shouldn’t continue to be so… that I want to take note.

Daylight

In just over a week, I will be done with Winter term. Shortly thereafter I will turn in my paperwork to graduate and start my final term of grad school. Sometime between June and September I will get a master’s degree (depending on when I am able to finish my internship hours).

I started on the path to this degree over four years ago. It is very odd to be able to see the end of it. Things are very much different than I imagined they would be when I started this road.

I still believe on the whole that I am happier. I know that I have learned a lot, not just about planning, but about myself as well. I’m sure that in the next months I will occasionally be amazed that I am approaching the end of this program, because it’s been such a focus for so long, and because last year school was the thing that could consistently remind me that I could function, was capable, could survive. And now I am nearly done. I’ve nearly done it. Wow.

Walk it off

I am jealous.
Okay, I said it.
I am jealous.

It is not a competition, it is not a race. Relationships are unique and not comparable, so there is no way to objectively rank them relative to each other.

But I am jealous.

And I don’t have a good reason. Because it’s senseless to be jealous that he… put up with her? That he introduced her to people that I have not yet met? Because he planned to introduce her to his parents? Because… he thought they could work out?

There is no reason to assume that this means anything about his relationship with me. In fact, there is reason to assume it does not. There are plans made, and in all likelihood I am merely being impatient.

Further, he has at least as much cause for jealousy over past partners as I, and possibly more. And I do know, can know, of my own knowledge, regardless of past experiences each relationship is special, this relationship is special. The past does not diminish the present. If anything, past experiences make it clear this is something valuable, something wonderful.

Again and again, this is something to walk off, get past, let go.

Paradoxical

I do not believe in fate. I believe that there is no inherently right way for my life to be, no one person who is ‘meant for me’. I believe no one can or should promise to do or be anything forever, and that anyone who does promise unconditionally that they will love you forever is naïve, shortsighted and unimaginative, or a liar (or all of the above). I know perfectly well that many of the reasons M & I work together are the result of lessons learned in past relationships, combined with the mellowing effects of time and age.

I believe all of these things are true.

And yet.

I want us to work because I’m special… not because we’re fated, but because we’re especially suitable. I don’t want to be in a bell curve, I want to be unique.

Gifted, more than earned

So, last night there was a small gathering at M’s place. The social part itself was enjoyable, so all’s well there.

However, M, in a slightly discombobulating flash of perceptiveness, directly called me on one of my most evasive and ingrained habits: ‘earning’ affection/social inclusion with ingratiation.

It’s a potentially unhealthy habit, something that starts out well-meaning and goes too far. Generosity is valued, but ingratiation is annoying, not to mention corrosive to the self-esteem and self-interest of the giver. Who is not, in fact, a giver, since the unspoken expectation is that the receiver will respond by bestowing favor in some way.

It’s sneaky and can create a horrible, soul-sucking morass of expectations and disappointments on both sides. It was absolutely a significant factor in the disintegration of my last relationship.

The thing for me, at least, is that I always start out meaning well– wanting to save someone trouble, or time, or whatever. And I’d like to think that the fact that if you’re important to someone I love then you’re important to me is a good thing, indicative of… I don’t know, generosity of affection, or something. But somehow things get fuzzy, and I often lose the ability to discern where the line is between ‘generous’ and ‘ingratiating’ before I’ve crossed over.

I’m glad M called me on this, I am… but I’m frustrated that I clearly still need keep tabs on myself, even after the time (and therapy!) I’ve put in. And I’m glad he’s perceptive enough to notice and say something. But I wish I could remember that affection is a gift, not a commodity. And I wish I could consistently and genuinely believe that it’s a gift I deserve, rather than something I need to earn.