So, as I recall, I count four relationships I ended, two that were ended for me.
The one that got away was a miss from the first week of our courtship. Her landlord was married to her best friend. They gave her a sweet deal on a nice house in an affluent neighborhood so her son could attend the premier elementary school, the one I went to for first grade only.
For this rent remediation, she provided the odd couple with a pseudo family. Their house was just over the back fence, they shared a rock wall. There was a rickety ladder on one side, and her and the boy would simple go over. When I arrived on the scene I was unwelcomed by the landlords. In the first week, I kid you not, a message was sent by the husband, “If he stays over, your rent is going up.”
Clear threat. I protested and asked her to intervene on my behalf. She was afraid of losing her deal. So we struggled with the tyrant who didn’t want to meet me. Ever. And his wife, who was bff with my new girlfriend. They, the boy and my girlfriend, would just hop the fence. I was not invited.
So, whatever you call that, I tried twice to breakup, but I was madly in love with the way she loved me. Similar to the way she smothered her son, she had a mothering quality that fed some inner longing of mine. And the sex was a new level. Beyond the sex kitten, this was conscious sex, as I would come to call it. Tuning into each other’s bodies. Focusing on mutual satisfaction.
On the third time I broke up, it was final. I still miss her five years later. Maybe I never go over her. Certainly, I’ve never been as close to hippie love as I was during those painfully conflicted years. I would as for a solution. A peace treaty. A way for me to join her and her son on the other side of the fence. It never happened.
On the kid’s ninth birthday I met him face to face. It was a birthday party at a trampoine park and he was there. I walked right up to him and shook his hand. “I’m John.”
He almost recoiled. He said, “Hey.” We watched the boy and other friends play Red Rover with one of the hosts. And he vanished. Left the party. We only spoke one other time, a couple months later. It was a morning soccer match and he had come to watch the boy. Same type of event. I walked up again and shook his hand. “Hey, Eddy.” Again he nearly snatched his hand out of my hand as I was shaking it. I thanked him for some tenderloin he had smoked and sent over to my girlfriend. He mumbled. I’m sure he was unhappy thinking of me getting some benefit at his expense.
I had stolen his concubine and her child. He never spoke to me again. I tried to broker treaties with my girlfriend, but she was afraid of spoiling her good thing. She was not afraid of losing me, obviously. She liked the companionship as well. Said it was good for her to have adult friends, rather than just speaking to kids and coaching soccer teams. I was a nice to have. I was never an essential element of their duo.
In the end, I gave her the month of January to put a plan in place otherwise I was going to move out. During the pandemic we basically shacked up together. She said to me one evening after playing tennis, “I don’t think I want you going away to your apartment while all this is going on. You either need to move in or we need to take a break.”
I had Thursday afternoon sessions with my therapist. Each week in January she would ask me, “Why are you staying?”
At the end of January, I woke up, made coffee, and brought it to her in bed. I fed the kid and drove him to school. And in a simple but bloodless skirmish, I said, “I’m moving out today.”
So, did she break up with me, or did I finally get the balls to take care of myself. It was so strange, so loving and so oblivious to the pain she was causing me, by not standing up for me. As a person, not just a boyfriend. How can you let someone treat the person you love with such disrespect. I remember asking her in one of the earlier exchanges, “Do you think you would react differently if someone treated your son this way?”
“That’s different.”
Yes, I said to myself. You are an adult and continually discounting my value in the relationship. Why? What was she so afraid of?
I’ve learned a lot about myself since then. I also had a loving and securely attached relationship with a beautiful woman. And… I broke that one off.
I want the whole package, I said internally.
After a ski trip last year with my daughter, my loving girlfriend decided not to join us. I had fun. I loved sharing a happy memory with my daughter. I wondered during both of the ten-hour drives, “Is this enough?”
Unconsciously, I said something to my girlfriend that sounded something like this. I had a great time with my daughter. I was trying to understand if that relationship was enough. Could I just be with someone who adored me? Even if there was no possibility of sex or sensuality.
“No,” I said, at some point, “I want the whole package.”
My girlfriend took offense. I didn’t understand at the time. I also didn’t tell her that the question was more about our relationship than my time with my daughter. The answer, I think I knew at the time was, “No.”
I was done.
Over the course of the next six months we continued. I began to experience some powerful creative bursts. I think it was in the writing that May, when I began to understand I needed to end the relationship. I had doubts. What if this was as good as it was ever going to get? Why would a throw away a perfectly good relationship?
100% or nothing.
I suppose that’s where I am now. Dating apps are boring. The real world is thrilling and terrifying at the same time. And I am actively alone. Not looking. Paying attention to what I love the most about life.
- Sharing wonderful experiences with someone else
- Playing tennis
- Close connection with both of my children
- Giving my creative bloom the space to flow unlimited
- Self love
- Enduring vitality and joy
- Seeking an understanding of God
I am here. I am in the groove. A number of things are not as I would like. Being alone, for now, is just fine. Sure, I was willing to jump into the car for a three-hour commute, but she called it off. So, I’m declaring myself better than I’ve ever been. Leaner. More focused. Taking the hardship of the retail job and even turning it into a creative expression.
Most of us are afraid of being alone. We grow attached to someone. The snuggles, shared meals, sex, sleep, laughter. The evening of my last night with the alcoholic, I cried. “Neither of us wants to be alone.”
She nodded. Tears. We slept on either side of the king-size bed. And two truckloads later, it was done. I was back at my mom’s house. But I was also alone. After a week of trying to let the tears out, I interviewed for a cashier job. I knew if I stayed in my mom’s house and isolated, I would sink into the dark night of the soul. I took the job to recover myself. Gain some form of self-respect. Animals die when they go ferril. I needed to be among people.
Jump cut ten years later, I’m back at the grocery store. Yes, I’m stronger for it. I am seeking release from it. And yet, there is even some fear about the loss of this simplified agenda. I sell 40 hours to them. The rest of the time is MINE. If I could just up the hourly wage enough to pay my bills…
I never looked back on the alcoholic lesson. I had grown addicted to her body. At odd times of the day, a sexual image would arise in my mind that I couldn’t shake. I had to mentally will the sensual memory to jump tracks. I would force myself to recite the Jabberwocky from Lewis Carroll. It usually worked. She was hard to get over. Her body. Not the relationship. Just the physical power of her strong and lean body.
This is all useful data for my calculations. I am exploring and recording the flights of fancy at the store while observing the beautiful people. I mull about in my mind while doing the mundane tasks of bagging, checking, and retrieving shopping carts from the parking lot. It helps that the store is high-end organic and near about five different pilates studios. (What is it about white women and pilates?) They flow through at regular intervals, as classes release their sweaty progeny hourly.
As my best friend used to say, before he had really been in any relationship of consequence, “I can always find something to love about every single woman I see.”
I challenged his assumption back then. Today, I’m closer to understanding his logic. My algebraic equations use terms like fit, soft, pale, leathery, blonde, dark hair, black hair, and proportional body mass. What is important?
I fall in love with 30 women a day over the course of an eight-hour shift. At any other grocery store, my percentage would go way down. This is the cream of the cream. The women who can afford to have kids and be at pilates at 11 am on a weekday. Money is not an issue.
I am using laser scanners to map the contours of my desire. What is my “taste?”
The body is the starting point. The brain is a booster rocket. Sensuality is the flight and nav systems. God is the pilot. God by a billion names. “The God of your choosing.”
It seems, and I’m aware that I’m setting an unrealistic checklist, if I have it all except for ONE element, that I’m out. I’m not satisfied. I’d rather “be alone,” oh my goodness, than be with the wrong person.
Even. Even. Even. As hard as it is for me to believe, a woman who loved me deeply with everything she had. Even her.
I understand being alone. Ten years ago, I feared it. Today, I am encouraging it. I want to be loved. Is it enough to be adored by my kids? Would I like to be famous and be applauded whenever I went out? How does one weigh the creative impulse (time alone at craft) against the soft sweetness of a partner? Can I be alone and completely fulfilled? Hmm. I don’t even like contemplating that question. What am I afraid of?
Running out of time. Being another ten years down the road, and having to log into an online dating site. How badly do I want it? Would I be willing to give up a huge portion of my creative time? Um…
No.
Alone is a form of peace and mindfulness. It is inconceivable that staying in a good but not great relationship is worth the time. As the sand ticks on, I am convinced that I still want a singular lover. A lifetime partnership. But what is that about? Is that idea born out of fear? Maybe just the edge of the unknown is the love of a woman who sustains and grows alongside me? I am not afraid to ask for the moon. I am becoming less willing to compromise. And once the negotiations have failed, it’s best to cut and move along quickly. The more you linger, “let’s stay friends,” the longer it’s going to take your whole radiant self to show up again.
As I still strive to become the most radiant being I can be, I am aware that the quality I’m seeking in my next/last partner is “cultivated interests.” I can’t fight with my partner for time. If she’s doing her own thing, we continue out of mutual effort, love, and actions. We stay close and connected because we are willing to put in the work. Yes. I want it all now. I want each element. In spades!
Big.
Overwhelming.
Love.
The high.
“Better than a hit,” as the song goes. *
* Written and performed by the producer of my last album.
