Change of Relationship Status

My parents recently celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary.  They met on a blind date, got engaged three dates later, and were married within six months (three of which my mother spent alone in Europe).  This kind of impulsive, romantic love has become a big part of our family lore.   My sister and I were a bit more cautious, yet we fell in love very quickly with our future spouses and within months were living with them.   I guess you could say that excitement and optimism over love’s potential is a family trait.

When Jon and I started our relationship, I thought I might show some restraint.   I know that infatuation doesn’t always last and that it takes time to see if true compatibility exists.   Yet Jon’s enthusiasm was infectious, and within mere weeks we were talking about moving in together.   As we relished in our new found connection, we fantasized about buying a place, and he sent me real estate listings and spreadsheets on how we could afford them.  We made daily Facebook updates about our amorous adventures.   A month later I met his family during the Thanksgiving holiday.   Two months later he came to California to meet mine.   I was thrilled at the thought of having found a future life partner, especially one with so much energy, zeal for life, and dedication to family.

Yet as many love stories do, this one has come to an end.   I think it started back in December when I noticed him getting more distant, distracted, and moody.  When we were together, he was spending more time checking his iPhone and less time looking me in the eye.  I tried to reach out and talk to him about it, but to no avail.  I found myself playing a Joni Mitchell lyric over and over in my head, “I sat up all the night and listened to thee/ Just to see who in the world you might be/ And what you might mean to me.”  In his words, Jon still showed the same commitment to our relationship, but I was starting to wonder if this was the kind of relationship that I wanted because I like to have a strong, constant, and intimate connection with my partner.

I spoke with my family and friends, especially those with spouses who worked long hours and traveled a lot to see how they dealt with the moments of separation and potential disconnection.  I told myself to accept him on his terms, to focus on what I liked best about him and our relationship, and I tried not to give too much attention to my concerns.  Yet I also set an intention at the New Year to gain some clarity on the situation.

When we returned to California, he brought up the question again of cohabitation.  I said that we should think about it, and, as I often do when I am trying to figure something out, I blogged about it. I tried to imagine what our life might be like together.  On Monday, after we hadn’t seen each other in a week, and hadn’t been alone in two weeks, I felt the need to talk to him about how I felt that we weren’t connecting.  He didn’t know how to respond to me, clammed up, and said that he couldn’t talk at that moment since he was at work, which was understandable, yet it had been his suggestion to talk that morning.

Later that day, in another attempt to process my feelings, I wrote a blogpost about our past mistakes and how to avoid allowing them to ruin our present relationships.  Ironically, it did just that.  Jon felt very hurt by the post and wanted to talk to me about it right away.  At that point, I was with my kids so it was impossible to talk on the phone for long.  So we started an email and IM exchange where a lot of our feelings and frustrations were finally aired.

I took the post down and edited it.  I sent it to a few close friends, asking for their input.  I was having a really hard time understanding why he was so upset about what I wrote, then he got angry that I didn’t understand him nor show sufficient compassion and sensitivity.  Then I got frustrated that he was so willing to talk about his concerns, when I felt that he had dismissed my concerns earlier in the day.  We basically hit an impasse.

The next day, clarity came to me.  We made plans for him to come over after the kids’ bedtime to talk.  I knew that there were two options: that we were going to decide that we were emotionally incompatible or we would find a way to take some concrete steps to improve our communication and connection.  He decided on the former.

This morning, as I drove my kids from a dentist appointment, a song by the Tedeschi Trucks band caught my attention on the radio.  “I’m gonna learn how to love you. I’m gonna show you show me how.”  I guess we never really learned how to love each other, at least in the way that each wanted to be loved.  Yet is true love something we learn or does it come naturally?  I don’t know, but I do know that I learned a tremendous amount about myself in this whole process.  And I truly believe that I have gained a dear friend along the way because when I care about someone, a breakup can’t change that.  I’ve had a change of relationship status (which Facebook has duly noted), not a change of heart.

Living Together?

An article came out in today’s New York Times from a woman, Dominique Browning, who said that she loved living alone but noticed that men didn’t, and she postulated her own theories as to why (women like to nest, men are more concerned with danger and want someone to watch their backs).  I’m never fond of gender generalizations, but the article did intrigue me because Jon and I have been discussing the idea of moving in together, and I am wondering how I will like cohabitation again.

Now before you all start saying that it is too soon for us to be considering this idea, I will agree that it is.  That is the simple answer.  Yet blog pieces are not born from simple answers.  Furthermore, judging by the conversation that is taking place on my Facebook wall, this is an issue that impacts many of us middle-aged women and men, single or divorced.

Just a year or so ago, I was proclaiming the joys of living alone, and cheekily said that any man who wanted to live with me had better bring his own Airstream to park out back.  Yet my circumstances have changed.  Now I am living in a more expensive town, the Boston area, where living alone takes a much larger financial toll.  In fact, I noticed at a party the other night that most single people here have roommates, and one young man told me stories of how his parents took in boarders as soon as his brother went to college.  It got me thinking about whether or not I should consider this option.

I discussed this with a recent divorcee who took in renters to help him make his house payments.  He proclaimed that living with a roommate is a lot easier than living with a romantic partner.  However, my own history doesn’t necessarily prove that.  In my twenties, I had a series of crazy roommates.  One of them, in San Francisco, was a white woman who had recently been initiated into the Afro-Caribbean practice of santería.  She asked us to leave the house periodically so that she could do her rituals, and even threatened the wrath of the gods (the orishas, for those in the know) on us because my roommate’s boyfriend drank some rum from one of her many altars.  Another turned out to be a cocaine addict and was understandably erratic and failed to pay the rent on time.  My ex was a wonderful respite from my rental trials and tribulations, and in the early years, I said that he was the best roommate that I ever had.  Unfortunately, as things got tense between us in the later years, that was no longer the case.

My best non-romantic roommate experience was a sweet activist named Karen, with whom I shared a house in Berkeley.  My only complaint was that her boyfriend woke me up in the mornings with the tap, tap, tap of his razor on the sink as he shaved in the bathroom right next to my bedroom.  I worked from home at the time, and she worked afternoons and evenings and often spent the night elsewhere, so I was the main person in the house.  Perhaps that is the key to cohabitation for me?  Jon spends very little time in his own apartment, and it would seem that he might be same if he lived here with me.  He works about an hour away, travels a lot for work, often stays late at his office, and likes to take his son on weekend trips when he has him.  In a lot of ways, my current routine with my kids would be untouched.

When I told one of my married friends about our nightly ritual of climbing into my bed and reading aloud, followed by cuddling and falling asleep together, she said that she would be loath to allow a man to interfere with that.

Of course, this weekend is the first weekend that I have been alone in weeks.  Fittingly, it is the first time I have had to even consider how I feel about living alone.  Jon invited me to join him on his ski weekend in Vermont, but I opted to stay in Boston and spend some needed time in my apartment.  Like Browning, I enjoyed spreading out on my bed with my books and stuff without a care for accommodating another body.  I blissfully ate dinner in bed, played Words With Friends online, read my novel that I haven’t cracked open since my last solo weekend, and watched a movie ‘til midnight.  It was wonderfully relaxing, yet I couldn’t help but notice a pang of solitude when I woke up this morning and contemplated my day.  I found myself ticking off the number of days since I had seen Jon (six, after spending four straight days together with my family in California) and wishing he weren’t so busy (he heads out on a business trip tomorrow).

So I imagine that my conflicting needs for space and companionship, for time alone and time together, will continue.  It’s a delicate balance, and there will probably be many days like today when the scales tip too far in one direction.  My parting thoughts come from the novel that I was reading last night, called Falling Together about a single mom who lives with her adult brother and young daughter: “You like your little pockets of solitude, but you’re not made for being alone for long.  There were people who could live on their own and be happy, and then there were people who needed the falling together, the daily work of giving and taking and talk and touch.”  I think I like the talking and the touch too much to live alone forever.

What’s So Funny ‘Bout Peace, Love, and Understanding?

Well, it has happened.  Jon has met my ex.  It’s surprising, really, because my ex rarely makes it to Boston.  We usually meet in lovely Auburn, MA, a burb noted for nothing more than being halfway between Boston and the Pioneer Valley and being easily accessible from the turnpike.  However, this week, Jonah was missing our Friday night dinners together so my ex graciously offered to come all the way here.

I was eager to revive our past tradition (or perhaps recreate it in a new way), yet I also had a date with Jon.  He was returning from a business trip in Atlanta and was anxious to come over to my place right after landing.  So I had a potential crossing of the paths, or meeting of the men, on my hands.  Jon perceived that right away and said that he had no problem meeting my ex, but wondered if he’d feel uncomfortable.  I decided to adopt a “don’t find trouble until trouble finds you” attitude and said that I thought he’d be fine with it.

So as we were heading out to dinner, I let my ex know that Jon might be showing up before he had left.  He was very cool about it and asked a few questions, like how does Jonah feel about him (Why only Jonah? That must be a guy thing.)  Over dinner he started asking me other questions, such as does he like beer.  I said, doesn’t everyone, and the kids said yes.  Then he asked if he’d be bringing some beer over to the house.  I said, I have beer in the house if you’d like one.  Then I realized what he was really getting at, and I asked him if he wanted to have a beer with Jon.  He said yes, which I thought was good sign.

The rest of the story is really rather uneventful.  It was a little quiet, maybe a tad awkward, but the kids filled the room, as always.  My ex didn’t stay long since he needed to drive back to Northampton.  As they were leaving, we discovered that one of my neighbors had blocked his car in so the kids and I went looking for them.  As I looked behind us, I did see the two of them leaned against my van having a brief conversation.  My heart swelled at the sight.  We’re just one step closer to my ultimate vision of peaceful world domination, in which we all join hands and sing “We are the world.”