Introduction
Strange as it may seem, I have been single for the past nine months – without a doubt, the longest streak of this sort since I was twelve years old. After breaking up with my fiance two months shy of our wedding, then spending months simply learning how to live in my own skin and contemplate what it means to be alone yet whole (a new phenomenon for me), I am thinking about dating again. Unfortunately, I’m not even sure what dating really is or what I want it to be. The expectations, the rituals, the roles, and everything else that comes with dating are all brand-new for me, which is baffling and exciting all at once. There are times when I wish everything could simply make more sense, yet I also remember that it was a false sense of certainty that ended my last relationship (I am hesitant here, though, to describe a sense of certainty as “false” without feeling redundant).
Ten-Year Anniversary
Anniversaries don’t hold a great deal of significance for me. They are special days, of course, and I’ve never forgotten one. But I’m not sure if they are worth the cultural weight assigned to them. My disenchantment with anniversaries is probably linked to a larger aversion to holidays in general, especially those that are practiced by restricting all sorts of wonderful activities to one particular day. In fact, while April 9th holds a special place in my heart as a time to commemorate the late great radical feminist Andrea Dworkin, it does little justice to Dworkin’s memory if not complemented by 364 other days of reflecting upon her legacy. Similar sentiments have been expressed by Morgan Freeman and other African-American leaders about Black History Month, arguing that reserving a month for black history actually undermines its significance. The end of my last relationship, however, marked an anniversary that does carry a great deal of meaning for me – ten years of an intimate relationship being at the center of my universe, a tradition that has officially ended.
For ten years – and keep in mind, I’m only twenty-two – everything about me was shaped by my relationship with another person. My attitudes, my goals, my self-concept. During the course of those ten years, I was an excellent student, athlete, musician, actor, and leader; a loving brother, son, and friend; as well as a devoted counselor, advocate, and activist. Yet what mattered most to me, what defined me, and even “completed me” in a very Jerry Maguire-esque fashion, was being a good boyfriend (and later, a good fiancé).
A great deal of change took place. For one, there were four different relationships, each with its own unique characteristics. The first, a very mature-for-our-age, codependent, and occasionally abusive relationship. The abuse was not malicious or sexist, but really more the product of a boy and girl engaging the complicated and messy realities of intimacy without the necessary emotional and social skills (which is not to excuse it, but merely to provide context). The second relationship was not as meaningful, and during the rare times when I think about it, I feel like I’m watching a bizarre, short-lived sitcom (perhaps entitled “The Rebound”). While growing up, my partner had learned a great deal about patriarchy and its plan for her, and by the time we started dating, she was a card-carrying member of the sexist establishment, actually pleading with me to treat her in such a way that would have amounted to emotional and sexual abuse. When I refused, she found men who shared her allegiances to patriarchy. The third relationship ended before it really began, fueled only by the romance of me “stealing” the girl from her abusive boyfriend. The relationship essentially dissolved when the theft/rescue/escape lost its appeal. Finally, the fourth relationship – longer and more fulfilling than all its predecessors combined – was, as far as I can tell, very healthy, loving, and mutually supportive. We loved each other, trusted each other, and cared for each other in ways that fostered well-being and growth for us as individuals, while building an amazing relationship that seemed sure to last forever. After two years of dating, we got engaged shortly after high school graduation, and went off to college together.
Personal Development
In addition to the obvious change in partners over the course of ten years, I experienced a great deal of change personally. I am much more self-aware and able to make responsible decisions for myself, think critically, and reflect upon my decisions, assessing implications on a variety of levels – personally, socially, and politically. I have learned a lot and picked up all kinds of new skills and talents. I have moved from being politically apathetic and unaware (and by default, conservative, sexist, racist, etc.) to identifying as feminist, socialist, and pacifist. More importantly, though, I have begun to think critically about my place in the world and my moral responsibilities to serve others, including generations of people I will never meet. Though my spiritual practice is decidedly unconventional, I am certainly much more spiritually active than in years past. I have been an active member of the United Methodist Church for the past ten years, but through time I have expanded my spiritual knowledge and practice to include contributions from a range of spiritual traditions and thinkers, especially Buddhism.
I have developed much more confidence in myself during the last ten years, which has had a major impact on my relationships. Rather than being passive and dependent, I can assert myself. As it turns out, this seemingly simple task is much more complicated than I ever realized years ago. Rather than being only a matter of findings the words and courage to express one’s needs and desires, assertiveness in relationships demands a basic feeling of self-worth (that one has needs and deserves to have them met), an ability to articulate needs (in ways that make sense), as well as an ability to negotiate the terms of a relationship with another person (possessing his or her own unique values, beliefs, needs, and of course, communication skills). It all sounds like a lot of work, right? Well, of course. But as most married couples would attest, it is worth it in the long run.
This newfound confidence and assertiveness is what led to the end of my first relationship, and ultimately, it helped me tremendously to identify and confront abuse in later relationships, as well as in my role as an advocate for survivors of abuse. It also helped me better understand and communicate boundaries, which allowed me to get past codependency. Unfortunately, this development merely changed the terms of my intimate relationships without changing, or even calling into question, the place and influence of an intimate relationship in my life (still very much at the center).
Friendships
For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with friendship. It is entirely possible that others have similar experiences, or at least could identify with some of the feelings I express here. Although, while talking as friends or about friends is commonplace, talking about friendship as a concept is quite rare. Also, friendship is intimate territory. After all, friends are our primary social contacts, even as new technologies expand the form and meaning of these relationships. Friendships provide us with meaning about ourselves and the world around us, in addition to providing us with a safe and compassionate space in which to express ourselves.
In my case, I grew up in a patriarchal culture in which families, by and large, raise boys and girls differently simply by virtue of their sex, ascribing meaning to sex difference in the form of gender. And of course, in the process, we create a system of inequality that values the experiences and interests of men and boys over women and girls. You might say I got off to a rough start at patriarchy school. As a toddler, I did not play aggressively like other boys. In fact, I wouldn’t even play with toys that made loud noises. However, like the vast majority of boys growing up in the late 80s and early 90s, I had my share of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. So, while I was not physically aggressive, I learned to think of violence as a form of play. I was involved with sports at an early age, though that originated with baseball, a non-contact sport that certainly lacks the macho themes of a sport like football (which I never played). Though I got in fights, I never went looking for them or provoked them. I was bullied, beaten, and harassed for reasons that are unclear now. I was quiet, feminine, intelligent, and not particularly interested in proving my manhood by harassing girls and other boys. Those qualifications were more than enough to entitle me to being victimized.
So, as you might imagine, I did not make friends with other boys easily. With time, I did meet other boys/men with whom I could identify, generally through sports (basketball, track, and cross country) and other activities (band, residence life, and radio). But with just a few exceptions, I found that friendships with boys and men were horribly restrictive emotionally and did not strike me as interesting or appealing. And of course, as I got involved with feminism during college, I became much more in touch with my anger toward other men, which complicates matters further (keep in mind, however, that feminism also made possible the sympathy and compassion I extend to other men). On a related note, though my appreciation for sexuality is not fully articulated in this post, I have long been open to bisexuality. But as I pointed out to a feminist friend of mine half-jokingly when she asked if I would ever consider dating men, “Oh my god! I hate men – I could never date one!”
As a boy, I made friends with girls. Friendship as a child can be chaotic, and I certainly experienced my share. But in my personal experiences, I found girls to be more caring and nurturing. They were more expressive and creative. And as far as I could tell, they seemed much more interested in me for who I really was than any boy I met (or was harassed by). As soon as puberty struck, new challenges arose in my friendships with girls. This seems so cliché to point out, but I remember being split up (boys/girls) in the fifth grade to watch the “sex video,” which really just amounted to a video about puberty and relationships (with a distinct heterosexual bent), and the way I saw girls differently immediately after watching the video. Teenage hormones are all fun and exciting, but in my experience, they certainly put a damper on heterosexual friendships (in the end, however, I would disagree with Billy Crystal’s character in “When Harry Met Sally”). At the age of 12, then, I started dating my best friend.
While I overcame codependency and other problems associated with my first intimate relationship, I still spent much of the last ten years learning how to live without close friends. It was not a matter of avoiding friendships and certainly not losing friends over my partner – I simply did not value friendships and had not been socialized to nurture them. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have had lots of friends and have been very outgoing – and to be fair, I have certainly had what I would call close friendships, especially during college. But there is a distinct difference from having friendships and truly nurturing them.
Personal Development, Marriage, and Change
In addition to neglecting friendships, I have neglected my own personal development, which became more and more evident during college as I began to explore my role as an activist and a global citizen. Without delving too deeply into details, my intimate relationship, remaining at the center of my universe, was the one element of my life I never questioned or sought to change. And since I had made a commitment to that relationship, it had a dramatic influence on what ideas I had about my future, or more importantly, what introspective questions I would register as irrelevant when thinking about my life.
My last relationship was not perfect. We certainly had our problems. In the end, though, my decision to leave was considerably abrupt. It was not something I had contemplated for months until finally, the last straw! It was not true, as she argued, that I had wanted out for a long time. In fact, I don’t know that I had any strong feelings about our relationship in the months leading up the breakup. It might have appeared that I wanted out, but I was really in a sort of emotional paralysis, certain about my commitment to the relationship simply by virtue of not wanting to think about it or call that commitment into question.
After ten years of committing myself to intimate relationships and firmly embracing the logic of marriage, I am feeling rather disenchanted with it now. Given the changes that take place and ought to take place during the course of a human life span, I don’t find it altogether realistic or beneficial to enter into marriage. That does not mean that I could not share meaningful relationships with others, even spending my life with one partner in much the same way that married couples do. I think it ignores the fundamental impermanence of human life to get married. I am assured by my mother, of course, that my feelings about marriage will change in time, and I certainly expect that they will. But marriage, as it is understood (though rarely practiced) in our culture, seems to undermine the sort of personal growth that comes with those changing ideas and attitudes. Finally, I would have to call into question my commitment as an activist if I was to participate in an institution that systematically violates the human rights of same-sex couples. [Interestingly, while this issue is only briefly mentioned in this post, it was the question, posed by a dear friend of mine, that led me to realize my uncritical thinking about marriage and my relationship overall.]
I left my fiancé nine months ago, in large part, to perform a major overhaul on the relationships in my life. This was not merely a task of making new friends or taking better care of current friendships, though that is part of my journey. And it certainly was not in the interest of starting up a new intimate relationship and perpetuating the same old problems. In order to build better relationships, as well as a healthier approach to relationships in general, I felt that a radical change was necessary. I also needed to get in touch with myself – my values, beliefs, and needs – in such a way that fostered personal growth and development, rather than restricting it.
Conclusion
I still struggle with how to approach and nurture relationships, and I certainly expect that even bigger challenges lay ahead. But it is with enthusiasm that I engage this struggle, opening my heart to fundamental realities of being human, yet never losing hope that I might be able to share a little bit of peace, compassion, and loving kindness with a fellow seeker.
