BlogHer - Could It Be You're Not The Relationship Kind? - Comments

Pop psych for the soul,

avflox — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 07:20:51 -0500

Pop psych for the soul, baby.

Fascinating...

Bill Cammack — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 04:47:37 -0500

Interestingly enough, that Chicken Head was the first relationship you LOST, and prepared your mind that things that you love won't always be in your life, relationships can be painful and sometimes it's just better to let them go so you can get on with what's left...

~ Bill
I blog at billcammack.com

When I was little, I hated

avflox — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 04:08:38 -0500

When I was little, I hated baby dolls. Everyone had one except me.
My favorite toy was Entrapta, a nemesis of She-Ra, the Warrior
Princess, known for her ability to capture foes with her incredible
tech savvy. Oh, and her fabulous hair.

I also loved a chicken
head that I stole from the kitchens, which I turned into a puppet. I
knew Mother would be horrified if she found it, so I hid it. It stunk
up my room and my nanny eventually did find it. It was totally
decayed--this was quite possibly one of the most disappointing and
eye-opening moments of my early childhood.

As I got older, I
became very preoccupied with the preservation of things. By the time I
was thirteen, I had an incredible collection of skeletons, stuffed
creatures, and bottled ones.

Explains my fascination today with gadgets, fur, scales and feathers, as opposed to babies. Maybe.

I'm glad you're doing

avflox — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 03:46:49 -0500

I'm glad you're doing better. Dealing with a breakup like this can be hard. You're not defective: you're a son of life, as you so rightly said. :)

That analogy is the best I

avflox — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 03:25:12 -0500

That analogy is the best I have heard regarding the situation. Thank you for sharing it with me. I believe in the power of stories. They teach, heal and they help us feel less alone.

Thank you, dear.

avflox — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 03:20:50 -0500

Thank you, dear.

Fantastic Post

AnnQuirk — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:02:44 -0500

Just visiting from another Site...your post was absolutely fantastic.

It also reminds me of when I got Married, and subsequently Divorced.....it's interesting how we often (mistakenly) feel we're the only ones who could ever feel a certain way, and then you realize it's much more common than you could have ever thought.

Thank you for such a great article!

- AnnQ

www.averagebutnot.com

'Tis Possible :)

Bill Cammack — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 07:18:51 -0500

Nice Write-Up! :D

Unfortunately, historically, women haven't been trained to believe that being single their entire lives is a viable option. This is because in a Patriarchal society, there needs to be a way to ensure that even the less-attractive men can "get girls" by appealing to their desire to be wanted and/or loved.

Baby dolls, strollers and ovens are not TOYS. :) The goal is to get girls used to what they'll be doing in the future as women, or perhaps to train them to WANT to take care of kids, cook and clean in the future.

Meanwhile, boys don't have this problem and then you wonder why there are so many deadbeat dads...

So, yes. Women are generally brainwashed to believe that they SHOULD be in a relationship and that's bolstered by the idea that they WILL be in a relationship ("There's someone for everyone"). This is obviously and statistically not guaranteed by any means. Even women that "make it" to a long-term relationship don't necessarily STAY in it for the rest of their lives. Lots of women are never in LTRs at all.

So.. It's rather healthy to consider that maybe you're not the relationship type. IMO, relationships are supposed to be a natural occurrance. In a lot of cases, people settle for whomever happens to be around... the best of the worst, actually. Also, as much as you might like someone as a person, that doesn't mean you can dedicate yourself to them. Some people, for instance, are narcissists... and already in love with themselves. :D

~ Bill
I blog at billcammack.com

Thank you so very much...

chregan — Fri, 29 May 2009 18:42:18 -0500

Wow. I was simply absorbed into your posting. Very unusual for me, during the work-day, to become so mesmerized -- thank you for your gift.

Seems that Magnus didn't hate you, rather he hated himself.

Not the relationship kind? Well, I just had a "fling" with a woman I knew in high school. However, it wasn't supposed to be a fling, as I heard/witnessed/saw it. She found me on a professional networking site, emailed, and one thing led to another and she flew down, I flew up, the 'love' word was constant, and then after 5 weeks -- plop, no more, she's back with husband and flipped a switch that said 'well, he's done'. So, and we've all been there (right?), I started to think "am I not the relationship kind", am I defective in some way?

Two weeks now passed have healed so very much. I have recalled that I'm still friends with former women from relationships (even high school) though we all live so far away from one another (not defective?). So, it's best for me to really, really have the crazy radar detection set at its very highest level -- doing so will yield another healthy, fruitful relationship. Time heals everything.

Kindness,

Chris

Son of Life, and I won't forget it.

Like looking in a mirror

beachgrrl — Tue, 19 May 2009 00:54:50 -0500

Your piece was exactly what I needed after a frustrating breakup last month that felt so awkward, yet strangely familiar.

We were total opposites and I had once tried to explain to him my view of our relationship. I likened us to a girl and a boy on the beach. At the start of each day, he would rise early and meticulously build a sand castle for hours on end, while I slept in, then happily went off w/my pail in search of seashells for hours on end. Each day, as dusk would approach, I'd return, pail overflowing, and abuzz with stories about the people I'd encountered during my travels, the new type of shell I'd discovered, the undiscovered shores I'd walked upon, and the countless lessons I'd learned. Meanwhile, each day, his castle became bigger and more ornate. As the light would fade, he'd listen patiently as I regaled him with my tales. And I'd "ooh and aah" over his ever-burgeoning castle. We laughed at my little analogy and he told me, "you know me so well."

But as our relationship began to crumble, he said to me one day, "what happens if while you're off gathering seashells, you stumble across someone more interesting and you forget to come back to me?" I countered, "what happens if high tide washes your castle away and you decide that the beach is not an appropriate place to build a proper foundation?"

We promised each other that could never happen, then laughed uneasily. But, as you so eloquently put it: "If you listen to your heart and don't let what you wish were true cloud
your intuition, you can always sense when something is over."

Life's daughter may very well continue on her journey, never to return. And Pragmatism's son may be better off finding more solid ground on which to build. I'm still sad, but your blog is the first thing I've read that finally helps me to make some sense of all of this.

Thank you for writing your lush & beautiful piece. You unlocked something in me this evening that I was stoically refusing to open.

SCARED

may12garcia — Thu, 07 May 2009 02:15:42 -0500

I am a newly wed person and I am scared of DIVORCE and reading your post make me think things out. I hope my marriage will last forever and I hope you will be happy as you go along with your life.

Google Page Rank

Oh! How wonderful that you

avflox — Wed, 06 May 2009 04:04:01 -0500

Oh! How wonderful that you found someone who could match you and run alongside you and inspire you and drive you the way you need in order to continue on your path to self-fulfillment. This is a wonderful and rare thing you have, my dear, and I am very glad to know that it's possible to find, along the way, someone who is just as much a child of Life as you are.

Nice to meet you, sister. ;)

avflox — Wed, 06 May 2009 04:00:41 -0500

Nice to meet you, sister. ;)

We're birds of a feather,

avflox — Wed, 06 May 2009 03:59:32 -0500

We're birds of a feather, you and I. I knew it the first time I read your musings on the topic. A lot of people think the conclusion that we don't desire a marriage (or a relationship) comes as a result of having had one or many terrible relationships, and while this may apply to others, it doesn't for us.

My relationships were not horrific, crippling experiences. They were simply combinations that did not work out in the long-term. I don't regret any of them. I just don't think I am cut out for the sort of relationship most people want and I am finally at peace with what it means.

I have a feeling this is the case for you, as well.

"Maybe I should just stick

avflox — Wed, 06 May 2009 03:45:59 -0500

"Maybe I should just stick to what I know. Still, I sure would like to find someone to do it all with me."

We're human--we thrive in a group that accepts and understands.

I look back at all my adventures and mad loves and I never see myself alone. I have friends who have been with me through all of this, both sister and brother children of Life and not, and I can't help but think that this is more than enough, these amazing bonds that survive so much, and give back so much. I can see myself growing old with them, no matter the distance between us.

That's not to say lovers can't be friends, but I don't think I have never told a lover as much as I have told a dear friend, and a lover rarely possesses the understanding of my history the way a friend that has lived it with me does. Is this the essential difference? Were you best friends with your lovers?

Could It Be You're Not The Relationship Kind?

avflox — Sun, 03 May 2009 02:14:49 -0500

There wasn't much time between the moment my husband and I decided to get a divorce and the moment I moved out. Packing is an incredible distraction. No matter how much stuff you have and how hard it is to find a new place and get some footing on life, there comes a point where your head slows down long enough to think.

I've reached that point. I can't stop thinking.

I keep thinking about my wedding day. The way our eyes teared-up when we said our vows like neither my husband nor I imagined they would, and the sincerity with which we said the words “until death do us part.” Most of all, I think about the strange man in the waiting room where I'd stood moments before I walked to the altar.

He'd come in unannounced, taken a look at me and said, “so you’re the run-away bride, huh?”

That was the first and last time I saw him. Words like that don't matter in the grand scheme of things, but for those two seconds between the moment he said those words and the moment I began walking down that aisle, it stung like nothing anyone had ever said to me. It stung because I felt it was true.

Now I sit alone on a Saturday night and think about the other great loves of my life, besides my husband. I left them both, too. And I remember each departure as clearly as I remember the words that stranger in the waiting room said to me.

I had been in Sweden with Magnus for some time when the little ice palace we'd built started to melt. Try as we might, we could not keep the walls from caving in on us. The afternoon that we realized this, we'd been enjoying the view of the Baltic. I mentioned to him how lovely it would be to sleep on a pier under the sky.

“I wish I could be as impulsive as you are,” Magnus replied with condescension. “You would hate it. You would freeze in a second and spend the entire night complaining about how miserable the weather was here.”

“Your feet are planted so firmly in on the ground, dear, I'm amazed you can walk,” I shot back.

“Wake up and grow up,” he said, lighting another cigarette.

“Let go and live for a change,” I retorted.

I used to call him Descartes because he reminded me so much of that legend about René Descartes and the boy. Have you heard it? Descartes once visited an abattoir where he saw a boy sketching a dead ox. When the philosopher asked why the boy had chosen such a subject, the young Rembrandt replied, “your philosophy takes away our souls. In my paintings, I will give them back, even to dead animals.”

That was Magnus. The man who saw the world as one composed of substances: mind and matter; mind being the unextended and indivisible and matter being a substance that obeys the laws of classical physics. His incorporeal mind was lodged in his mechanical body, believing—above all things—that the whole of existence, our very individuality as humans, was perhaps a dream, and the only way of knowing we exist is because we think.

I told him we were a bad combination—if he was Descartes, I was a nightingale in a bell jar.

“The dreams of a madman?” He didn't like Einstein.

If his divide stood strong against even the advances of modern physics, how could a woman imagine she could collapse it with a kiss?

“I love you but I hate the way you are,” Magnus said. “I love you but I hate the life you lead. You are going to kill me. You are going to poison every ounce of certainty in my body with madness and turn my world upside down.”

If you listen to your heart and don't let what you wish were true cloud your intuition, you can always sense when something is over. With those words, both Magnus and I knew it was over.

We went back home and made dinner without speaking. We ate in the fading light of the day. Neither he nor I had bothered to turn on the light.

“Now what happens?” he asked after we had finished.

“Now I pack,” I said, rising. And I did. It was the first time I saw him cry. But he didn't stop me.

My mother remembers all of this.

“I remember feeling such apprehension,” she said. “I told him, 'you do realize she's special,' I didn't say it like a mother who thinks her little girl is gifted, bound to be the president of the Republic. I said it like I mean it: you are special. In a wonderful but very strange way. I have always said you were not my daughter, you were Life's daughter.”

“Life's daughter?” I asked her.

“Yes, see, your sister, she's my daughter. She will do what a daughter must do for a mother. But you will do for Life what a daughter does for a mother. Life is your mother. You will Live. You will experience. That is who you are. It takes a very special, very enduring man to marry a daughter of Life.”

Or, as my friend would tell me later, it takes Adventure's son.

But I've loved and left Adventure's son, too. His name was Matthew and, where Magnus had been Piet Mondrian's Composition A, Matthew was Jackson Pollock's One. He was wild and unpredictable in everything except love. He needed a life partner and somehow we both knew that was me. Between us we had more stories than he had tattoos and scars and I had paintings.

We lived on Oahu's North Shore on a permanent adventure in sensory over-stimulation. Art exhibits, midnight hikes, cock fights, wild dancing, bar brawls, vehicular accidents, public sex, psychobilly shows, massive bonfires, poetry readings and gourmet dining. We didn't live on the edge, we jumped right into the abyss. I joked he was my Hunter Thompson.

I've never visited a hospital more times during a single relationship. Frankly, I'm amazed we're both alive today to tell the story.

Life and adventure may be too good a combination—who knew there is danger in too much creativity and restlessness? We didn't just have chemistry, we were downright combustible. There came a time one of us had to put an end to it. So I did. And I remember that day, too.

I hadn't gotten rid of my apartment this time. I'd moved into Matthew's haphazardly, a few items at a time, so I had no suitcase. I was putting everything into Hefty bags, running around the house picking up traces of myself so the next girl wouldn't have to face me. I could be just one more tattoo on Matthew's arm among many. And a horrible scar across his arm (right across the tattoo he got to remind him of his ex-wife, to be exact) where they'd had to perform that bone graft after we crashed into that telephone pole, pulverizing the bone that had not yet healed from the time he was catapulted off the motorcycle.

(I wasn't kidding when I said I was amazed we were both still alive.)

Matthew was different than Magnus in that, while he didn't understand my writing either, he thought it was really important. He had put everything I had ever written on the walls so the whole place was a sort of incomprehensible word merzbau.

(One night, when he was out late, I ran out of paper while writing a letter to him and I started writing on our bedsheets. I filled a king sized bed. He kept them long after I'd left. And if I know him, he still has them somewhere.)

It was while I was debating whether I should take these things that Matthew came in.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm leaving you.”

“Yes, of course, but...”

We both knew we had to stop, but neither he nor I imagined the possibility of life without the other. Finally, I did leave.

I'd been engaged to both Matthew and Magnus. Runaway bride.

One great love was too black and white, another was too much of an explosion of color and the one in-between, my husband, was too much of both.

At some point I wondered whether perhaps I am simply not the relationship type. But that's not right, either. I have had and, in many cases, foster meaningful relationships with everyone from the people I call friends to my cab drivers. There has never been and will never be anything casual about me.

So where does this leave me?

See, that's the thing about being a daughter of Life. You really don't know. But Mother knows best.

BLOGGIE TREATS

In Going Down the Reconciliation Path: When Do We Admit We're Lost?, Elaina Goodman writes about the brave ones who try and try again at their relationships when love is not enough to make things work.

Lara Colvin writes about forging a little community after big change in Home. Community: “Instead, my little one and I are safely ensconced in our new place, which being the home of one of my best friends and her girls, isn't new at all. We are starting to build our own little community, our own little female circle where as said in the quote above, 'there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats.' There will be arms to hold me when I falter, and my own will be open to catch them when they do. I'm thinking this new life, this next phase - it will be home.”

Wilma Ham lived a life ruled by “this is how you do things,” until the day she decided to explore “is there another way to do this?” She's been living that way since. Once divorced, she is now in a successful relationship, has started a business and is constantly assessing her life. In Lousy Audience, Your Game Or Mine?, she writes about fighting with our nagging inner voices that get in the way of our pursuit of life and the alternative choices that could make us happier than we have ever been.