Tag Archives: Marriage

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Just Fine With Just Me

I’m rather fond of my name – particularly my middle name, Aurora. It means “the dawn” and my parents found it rather amusing that I would be “AuROARing Tigar”, but the idea to scribble it on my birth certificate came from my dad. He claimed to have an Aunt Aurora on his mother’s side but later discovered he didn’t. So, I’m named after an aunt I don’t really have.

Never bothered me though, I was more excited as a child that I had a royal name – Sleeping Beauty’s official title is Princess Aurora, and therefore she instantly became my favorite. I knew all the songs, had a dress that switched from pink to blue, and wanted more than anything for my prince to come.

Funny thing is – probably up until I moved to New York, I still roughly knew the songs, had pink and blue dresses and still badly wanted my banker-doctor-lawyer prince to find me. To rescue me even from the exhaustion of going on yet another date with another guy who I ultimately wouldn’t be interested in or would be and it would be unrequited. Though I was barely 21 wen I packed up and left the South, I had been on what I thought were enough dates and just wanted to wake up from the deep sleep of loneliness I felt like I was in.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t shake that feeling of wanting happily ever after until I really starting focusing on this blog and this journey. And then I started meeting women I admired – women who were older than me and wildly successful and….single. It didn’t seem to faze them, though – they were focused on other things. Things that brought them tremendous happiness, things that they created for themselves, thing that made up a lifestyle they loved.

And it didn’t involve men. They weren’t against men, but dudes certainly weren’t necessary either. There was no need to be rescued. Evil stepmothers could be tamed with distance and financial independence. If they wanted to live in a whole other world, they could get there by taxi or train, no need for a magical rug that would probably need to be dry cleaned, anyway. They weren’t held captive under the ocean or a castle, and if they were under any spells, it was merely the curse of being beautiful, successful and independent.

They weren’t princess and neither am I. Sure there are some modern-day fairytales (enter Kate Middleton) but those are very few and far between. Even Ms. Duchess didn’t need to be rescued, she just happened to fall in love with someone who happened to be a prince. And these women who I’ve developed strong friendships with, some have since gained a plus-one but they haven’t lost themselves in the process. They have given me the confidence and the knowledge to stop looking for someone charming to free me from singleness. To never depend on a man for anything and to count his presence as a blessing if he’s a good one, or his absence also a a blessing if he’s a bad one. To realize that really, the best kind of happily ever after we can find has absolutely nothing to do with a guy.

In fact the best happy I’ve felt has always come from accomplishing something on my own. By finally getting that dream job (yes indeed!), by severing any dependence from my parents, and living in a city I love.  No man made those things a reality, I did. And should a man never come into my picture or Mr. Possibility bite the dust like the others, I know I’d still have something quite powerful to depend on. Something unstoppable and relentless. Something that took a long time to find, something that took hard work to develop, and something that brings me peace in the places I need it the most. Something that regardless of what happens or where my life goes or who I marry or don’t marry, what job I find or what job I lose, will always remain a constant.

Something that I’ve always loved, even if at times I couldn’t find confidence in it. Something that’s most simply – me. And if I happen to live happily-ever-after alone, then I’ll spend my life helping others, having incredible sex with lovers who won’t offer me a diamond, building an empire, adopting babies like I’m Angelina sans-Brad, and realizing that I’m just fine with just me.

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A Great Love Story

I always considered myself lucky. I’m someone who was raised in an open, honest and understanding home by two parents who not only loved me, but loved each other dearly. I watched my dad surprise my mother with flowers and unexpected dinner dates and I stumbled across letters my mom left for my dad all over our house. They made each other coffee, stood by each other no matter what they were going through, and though it wasn’t always perfect, to me – they were (and are) the perfect couple.

I grew as the witness and the product of a great love story. Of one of those timeless tales we all read about or watch on the silver screen, but never believe they exist. But they do – in their own special way. He was captivated from afar, she resisted initially, but ultimately gave in. And while they only dated for a month before getting engaged and moving in together, within three months they were married, and happy they’ve remained for over 25 years.

And because of their love, because of what I’ve always looked up to – I’ve never expected anything less for myself. I’ve always thought that relationships were supposed to be like that – open, understanding, romantic, passionate and simple. Maybe simple isn’t the best word because life is far from that, but the love should be easy. Loving someone, being with someone, being committed and dedicated – those things should be the simplest part of life.

But while we all know the detriment of a torn family and the realities and commonality of divorce, what about those of us who never experienced such awful things? Are our standards different or our expectations far too high? Do we only see the happy side of marriage and ignore the difficulties that two people can’t always overcome? Divorce isn’t always the best option, but there is no doubt that sometimes it is inevitable if either party wants to actually be satisfied. If you can’t be joyous together, staying put for the sake of anything is an awful idea.

That’s not reason not to try though, right? Isn’t the risk of loving more important than never loving at all? In a time where marriage continues to be postponed later in life, commitment is delayed until demanded and relationships are limited to a sex date here or a six month stay there – where has all that love gone?

Where are all those great love stories? Do they happen anymore? Do guys really fall madly, completely, entirely, magically, profoundly in love? Do they still pursue women to the ends of the earth? Do they still see us and become so intrigued, they have to have us? Do people get married, stayed married and actually take it serious before the age of 35? Or is that just asking too much? Is it unrealistic to believe that someone could love me the way my father loved my mother?

Should I accept that love has changed in the past three decades? Most every relationship I’ve had has been messy and complicated, difficult to endure at times and almost always ending in some form of heartache. I’ve loved and it hasn’t been returned, I’ve stood by someone when I should have walked, and I haven’t always returned love to those who wanted it. I’ve accepted less than what I deserve, admitted it and yet still continued to be part of it. I haven’t felt the kind of love that my parents seem to have – and I’m getting closer and closer to the age my mother was when she met my father.

And the older I get, the more men I meet and date, relationships I enter, and boyfriends I wonder if I should be dating, I try to decide if I need to have a great love story to have a great love?

Do those of us who come from happy homes want the same thing so badly that we look for it in all the wrong places? Or do we try to imagine and create it out of nothing? Do we value romance and meet-cutes over what it takes to make a relationship stable and reliable? Or are we lost somewhere between the two extremes, trying to figure out what’s really settling and what’s just wanting more than what’s available?

And if it’s not available here, can we find it elsewhere? Or would we just happen to find another lost cause? Another lost love on the way to what we hope will be the great love?

 

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If We Were Just Friends

After a slew of difficult conversations with her newlywed husband, one of my dearest friends L called me in a panic last night. Her voice was stuffy and brittle and though I’ve only seen her face-to-face once in the past year, I could imagine her scrunched face and droopy eyes. I’ve always thought her to be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known, but she’s no chameleon – whatever she’s feeling, she wears it.

Hearing her strain to explain her frustration, I played the part of the level-headed friend who is there for her bestie when she needs her. I can’t say I approve of her husband – they met right when I moved to New York and married less than a year later. She seemed happy while they were dating and always gushing over him. When I finally was introduced to him, he was pleasant and attractive enough. Though he isn’t my type, he seemed as if he adored her and without any reservations from her end, I had no choice but to wish them well.

While the relationship is solid, life around it is affecting them. They did a lot of things at once – they said their “I do’s”, moved across the state, both started looking for jobs, and signed the lease on their first apartment. With all of these changes, it’s normal that their marriage is under stress and because of that, they’re having to figure out how to communicate with one another. You’d think the whole “talking” to your partner thing would be the easiest of all – we all have friendships where we blabber beyond end without thinking twice. Conversation comes casually and naturally and it’s something we take for granted – we’ve always been able to talk to everyone in our lives, so why are men so difficult to talk to?

It’s not they are – it’s that everything seems emotionally-connected to the relationship that any words they say (or don’t say) mean more than anything else. Like one afternoon your boyfriend is super talkative and flirty, affectionately touching you and saying the sorts of things you only hear in rom-coms and then that night, he’s a little moody and sensitive, requesting a bit of space and some time apart. Or you mistakenly set your alarm for early in the morning and it goes off, waking up your partner when it’s their only morning to sleep in the entire week. Annoyed and a little drowsy, they snap at you and roll over, breaking that peaceful nook that is impossible to replace with any “boyfriend pillow” regardless of what wonky promises infomercial make. Or after spending countless nights together, the need for a night alone outweighs that pretty little nook.

I’m not an expert at this – Mr. P can definitely testify to that. He has a tendency to slide open his other girlfriend, his Blackberry, when he can’t sleep. Having read dozens of articles about how that light is particularly harmful to your eyes when you’re trying to fall asleep, it not only keeps me awake, but I know it’s not going to make his arrival in dreamland any sooner. Instead of saying this maturely or making a joke out of it, cranky-me huffs-and-puffs and makes a silly comment, only causing him to sigh heavily – obviously annoyed. These sorts of things – like asking for room so the heart can grow fonder or a guy’s need to veg – I’ve learned how to handle better and more effectively by adopting one single phrase into my vocabulary:

What would I do if we were just friends?

Say the same situation happened while having a girl’s night with my friends. We’re all sharing a Queen or a blowup mattress and one of us can’t sleep so she pulls out her phone to Facebook or check Gmail (though it takes forever to load) – what would I say to her? I’d probably toss a pillow at her and giggle, say something about the guy she flirted with that night and tell her to play a little harder to get. She’d probably throw some playful profanity my way and shut down the phone and fall asleep. And if we woke up to the sound of someone’s alarm clock going off randomly, it wouldn’t cause an argument if we were disgruntled, it’d just be something we’d laugh about over coffee and pancakes at the diner in the morning.

These sorts of irritations and miscommunications happen all the time – but they only seem to matter when they involve someone we’re in love with. But maybe if we approached our partner as a friend, not as this loverboy who holds our band-aided heart in his hands, we’d avoid a lot of arguments. We’d be a little more understanding, lighthearted and relaxed about our relationships. We’d forgive each other easier, treat one another how we would a best friend, and stop thinking that because your guy is a guy, his reactions mean more. As far as I can tell from my own relationships, the best thing you could ever give a man is breathing room. And to you know, treat him like a dude or how you would your own friend.

Because if your boyfriend isn’t someone you’d pick as a friend if you weren’t sleeping with them or in love – then you have no business being with them to begin with. And if you can’t give your guy a break or learn how to listen more than you jump to conclusions – then maybe you’re not ready to be a girlfriend or wife. Those seem like alluring titles when you really want someone to call you yours, but once you have them – you’ve gotta remember that they take a lot of work. And that same patience you’d give your freaking-out-friend on a Sunday evening.

In fact – that same patience times a hundred. Or so.

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Playing House

I haven’t been outside today.

I woke up late with Mr. Possibility, made french toast while he made bacon, we watched re-runs of The Sopranos while lying around, aimlessly chatting and working on our own projects. From time-to-time we’d look over at each other and smile, at other times we were content just sitting in the same room. I showered and immersed myself into a freelancing article that’s due tomorrow and he wrapped himself up in the language studies that are occupying his mind.

There was nothing special about this day – now I’m still working on that damn article while writing this blog, munching on leftovers and drinking a glass of Merlot that’s hitting all the right spots. M recently got me hooked on Criminal Minds, so it is serving as a beautiful distraction, the only sound in the room except for the dishwasher running.

I’m not wearing anything fancy nor am I sporting my usual face of makeup, I’m natural with my hair wavy and unbrushed, I’m completely alone in an apartment that’s not mine – and I’m happy in the silence. I’m not sure if I believe in moving in together before becoming engaged, but I do know that playing house can sometimes be a good indicator of how you work with someone on a day-to-day basis.

The daily interactions used to not matter so much to me. I was in college or right out of it and thought that romance and butterflies, sexual tension and candlelit dinners were more important than anything else. I wanted to always have a racing heart, a sweaty palm and the feeling that I couldn’t live without someone. I wanted it to be intense and over-the-top, the kind of irresponsible and uncontrollable love that makes you die a little inside when you think about it.

Sure, I have sparks with Mr. Possibility. There’s definitely passion. But it’s not remarkable chemistry that makes us click – it’s the way we operate as a team. And while we’re not living together, nor will be we be anytime soon, the fact that we can function easily without much tension is a testament to how playing house could translate into making a home.

I’m not at that stage in my life – I couldn’t imagine having days like today over and over again. There are still countries I want to visit, experiences I want to have, people I want to meet, dreams to follow, and mistakes I want to make before I settle into happily-ever-after-home-sweet-home. I want to become a better version of me before I become anyone’s partner for the long run.

But sometimes, on a lazy Sunday with a pretty big week ahead, it’s refreshing to sit around in your guy’s t-shirt, relaxing and writing just as you love to do, enjoying the company of yourself and looking forward to the person you love to come home. I don’t want to be settled down, but it’s nice to have your heart settled in a moment.

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Happy & Healthy Love

In an effort to save money, I enjoyed a night in with M, splitting beers and dishes from Brother Jimmy’s. Though I have a TV, it’s in the living room where an air conditioner is not, so Hulu won over any real-time attraction. We watched an assortment of stuff -Grey’s, a special on the Columbine shootings, music videos from the 90’s (remember S Club 7 and Britney, pre-crazy?), and at last, one of M’s favorites, The Newlyweds.

I used to watch Jess & Nick pretty regularly, captivated by their fairytale-like wedding and just the idea of how a couple fairs after joining their lives together. At the time, I wanted to look just like Mrs. Simpson-Lachey and well, Nick was tall and fit, a handsome dude who apparently, was marriage-material too. I was too young, I think to realize how incredibly toxic and dysfunctional their relationship really was.

From episode one, it was evident that not only did they not know how to communicate, but that they led their day-to-day lives differently. He was super-duper-OCD clean, she had lived a life of luxury since 14, never having to fend for herself. He believed his wife should do his laundry and keep the house tidy without a maid, even if they could defiantly afford one, and she didn’t even know how to toss out after 10-day old flowers. She had jealously issues that were rather normal, but she didn’t know how to handle them and often smothered him when space would have cleared up the tension. She whined for attention, he refused to give it to her. He didn’t listen, continuously put her down, and instead of stating how he felt, he walked away and shut down.

Watching this now, after having relationships that were quite similar, my wedded-bliss image of one of my favorite teeny-bopper couples was shattered. I was flabbergasted – how did I not see how poorly their relationship functioned? Why had I been so sad when news broke that they parted ways? Why did it come as such a surprise for me?

They were unlike any other couple that just couldn’t make it work. Simpson was 22 when she married, Lachey was 29, and while I’m not one to base the success or failure of any relationship on an age difference (Mr. P and I are eight years apart), Jess didn’t know herself well enough to agree to marriage. And Nick? He treated her like a child and put her down without taking any of her history into consideration. Sure she was 22, but she signed a record deal at 14 – placing her in the lap of luxury and stardom for all of her adult life.

I’m passing judgment of course – I don’t know them personally and no one except for them can testify to what went wrong after three years of marriage, but watching it now further proved to me how easy it is to fall in love with the idea of love. Of course, there are many splendid things about loving someone and having them return the intoxicating favor. Having the constant support, the sweet reminders of affection and having someone send you good-night text message is wonderful. It makes you feel good, it makes you want to make them happy, and it gives you hope for a couple-oriented future.

But relationships are more than that. They require a lot of work, more patience than anyone has, and the ability to forgive and forget quickly, and even when you’re angry or upset, kiss someone good-night with sincerity. They require understanding and consistent, constant communication, and also having enough faith in your partner to give them space when they need it. They demand compromise and two people who are healthy on their own, happy by themselves, but healthier and happier together. They aren’t always fun and you don’t always adore that person, they don’t always give you what you need and they forget what you want. People are selfish and insecure, immature and annoying – but that’s what makes us human, that’s what makes us children who are learning the best way to lead our lives. And when you decide to go about it with someone else, you have to remember that they’re human too.

So falling in love with love – with this idea that love cures all things, can stand any test of time, any argument, any difference or disagreement – well folks, it’s bullshit. Sometimes it simply doesn’t work. Sometimes there can be no way to resolve what sets you apart and even when it’s tough to swallow, deciding to separate can be the thing that makes you healthier and your partner happier.

Some love – most love – isn’t meant to stand the test of time. You’re supposed to learn how to love, learn how to be in a relationship, learn how to be someone’s companion. And it’s not until you stop falling in love with love, admiring couples from afar without knowing the story behind their cohesion, do you learn that the best of love, the truest of all partnerships, has nothing to do with being madly, passionately in love or with the best story or incredible sex.

Instead, it’s about the love where more importantly than anything else, you love the person for who they are, not how they make you feel. Not because they are handsome and tall, not because they are charming or good arm candy. But because they are themselves and if you weren’t in love with them, you’d still pick them as your friend. After all, in time, you realize the day-to-day is far more important than romance, more important than those butterflies, more important than that fancy wedding. Those things fade, along with looks and chiseled bodies and chins, but having someone you can sit on the couch with and talk about nothing and still be happy – that’s a healthy love.

Daily Gratitude: Today, I’m thankful that I’m inside instead of out in this blistering heat.