Happy Fourth of July to my favorite five readers (i.e. all of you)!
If one were to look through my twitter feed today, you would undoubtedly see the majority of my favorite single ladies and girl power sites spewing thoughts on the importance of liberating ourselves from men and declaring today Independence Day from forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts (still in Bridget Jones mode, clearly).
While I will get to that later, I think I have done a quite OK job of making my independence known for much of the last 29 years of my life. If I needed a guy to get by and settled for the first one who offered me a glimpse at a future, I don’t even want to think about where I would be right now or what I would be doing. Certainly not in my current state, which is appealing to think about on one hand, but I’m sure I would be approaching 30 with a whole other set of issues.
So, instead of further relishing in my independence, I am instead going to commit the cardinal sin of the perpetually strong and single woman and say: I would very much like to be dependent on someone, and to be depended on.
There. I said it.
Relax. I don’t mean financially. Or even emotionally. I don’t want someone to complete me because I think you need to be whole to begin with. I only use the word dependence as a play off of today; I really don’t like the definition much at all, especially when you look at the synonyms of reliance, addiction and habit. Not cool.
I think I really just want to have faith in someone other than me.
This thought occurred to me one day last week while I was out on a bike ride and a storm came rolling in. I was still about nine miles from home when a gust of wind nearly blew me over and a bolt of lightning followed entirely too close for comfort. Rolls of thunder came next and the whole combination started on a continuous loop. I started to rack my brain for who I could call if the weather continued to get worse.
I spent so long obsessing over this and telling myself just to make it to the next overpass or bridge before making a decision, I eventually made it all the way back home. What was supposed to be a leisurely ride turned into a speed workout, so at least some good came out of it.
For the record, I had decided my best bet for rescue was Mr. NDNS, which saddened me a bit.
It was at that point, I realized I would very much like to have someone in my life whose “job” it is to pick me up off the side of the road if I’m stuck in a storm or get a flat I cannot fix. Who would assume responsibility for checking out a new restaurant with me or help me eat the dozen blueberry muffins I baked this morning just to squelch a craving. I realize friends can easily fill those roles, but as I spend yet another holiday alone because those friends all have other interdependent relationships, I need another option.
I don’t want to rack my brain to come up with someone when I need help. It would simply be nice to have a go-to guy.
With that declaration of dependence out of the way, I feel the need to redeem myself to my fellow single ladies and girl power website producers. Weight Watchers tweeted this morning: “Happy Independence Day! What unhealthy habit are you declaring freedom from today?” and while I’m sure they probably meant things like beer, excessive carbs or Paula Deen-worthy amounts of butter, I took it a different way.
I probably have many unhealthy love habits, but the one which is probably the most detrimental is my proclivity for the unattainable. Geographically undesirable, selfishly unworthy, romantically unavailable, professionally unethical, aesthetically unachievable and/or unabashedly uninterested are just a few of my weaknesses. Sometimes all at once.
It doesn’t take Dr. Phil to decipher the pattern of behavior as a special line of commitment-phobia. This way, it is not my fault when a relationship doesn’t work because I ooobviously did what I could. Failure has nothing to do with the fact it was never going to happen – and shouldn’t – from the get-go. You have to admit, this mode of “loving” has its merits as a clean way to go through life – never have to really worry about falling in love, victim role is available when it suits and there’s a ready-made excuse for rejection.
When you look at it that way, why would I ever want to change this destructive behavior [sarcasm]?
Admitting to this shortcoming is not going to miraculously change everything though. It’s not enough to acknowledge the unlikelihood of a relationship with Sparks; I have to accept it. It’s really easy to get caught up in the rom-com ideas that if it’s meant to be, it will be; that love conquers all; that if you like someone enough, nothing else matters … and if you feel sparks, it’s enough to build a fire.
Conversely, it is not always as simple as he or she not being into you if the relationship doesn’t work, despite my masochistic penchant for both the book and the movie.
In reality, any single man or woman of a certain age has learned timing is 90 percent of a successful relationship. Seven-hour differences matter. Incompatible work schedules are detrimental. Diverging life goals mean something. The inability to multi-task can be a deal-breaker. Any relationship built on a “If _______, then _______” foundation is not a healthy one. Maybe if we lived closer, we would be together. Maybe not. It’s a moot point because we don’t.
It’s a sad day when you recognize practicality trumps the idealistic daydream of romance.
[BTW, if you’re still reading, thanks for sticking around. I’ll try to wrap it up.]
If I have managed to decipher my own ramblings, it can be summed up as I want to have a guy around who I have faith in, but not one who lives far away, is in a competing business (or the same one), has issues bigger than mine or is, in some way, emotionally unavailable.
Whew, no problem. No big deal.
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