Logically, it would seem that bringing a whole lot of crazy to the table is not going to help one's case in finding true and lasting love. In fact, I could point to my entire dating history as empirical proof for that eminently reasonable proposition. That being said, given that I know that the crazy is detrimental to my achieving what I ultimately desire, why can't I leave it behind?
When I was younger, clearly it was because I simply didn't know better. Passion and obsession and commitment and loyalty and honor and desire were all the same thing. Love was a one note proposition. A short staccato note at that. Today, I no longer have the excuse of naivete. I ought to be able to achieve better range, if not perfect pitch. So why is the crazy still a component?
It is because every date I have, every relationship I consider, is my last best chance. I cannot help it. It has absolutely nothing to do with biology or its associated time pieces. I assure you. It also has nothing to do with sociologically mandates rituals. I promise. If it has to do with my age, it only does so peripherally, in that, the ever resonant chant of "you should know better by now" is always with me. I am a slave to my own selectiveness. I am picky. I know what I like, and what I like is very, very rare. Less flatteringly, I am an elitist. But I do not want to settle. I want to feel that feeling, that feeling that my fingers are skimming the sky and my toes are nestled in the cool grass of the earth beneath my feet. I fit anywhere and everywhere. Without thought.
And so I do select. I don't go out with anyone -- hell, I don't talk with anyone -- who doesn't seem to have Those Possibilities. But such people are so rare. And when I find one -- A Possibility -- the rarity and the promise of the situation itself drive me to distraction. The pressure is maddening. My insecurities magnified by a thousand. Each of these rarities, my last best chance. My last best chance at the happiness I envision in the deep recesses of my heart for myself. The happiness I dare not speak of for I will be wistful for its absence and cursed by an outward expression of its desire.
But oh the pressure of the last best chance. It makes things impossible. It stifles. It frightens. And the fear -- The Fear -- it brings the crazy.
Do I want more than I deserve? Quite possibly -- my behavior indicates that subconsciously I believe this to be true. Neuroses are a foolproof way of thwarting all happiness. Could I settle for less? Unfortunately, I just don't think so.
I don't know what is wrong with me that I can't just embrace the nice, or the friendly, or the good and just find happiness in these singular qualities. Ignoring whether all else may fall short of my traditional standards.
But I just don't think I can.
And so I keep believing in and overburdening The Last Best Chance. And so they each successively fail. Another inevitably comes along, so I suppose that the Last Best Chance moniker is itself a falsity. But I never believe that at the time. Every one could be the last. The last before I am forever locked in to that life of being alone. And when I will look back and regret my craziness, my elitism, my stubborness, myself.
But even this fear can't change the picture in my head of the way the story should end -- how it should look, feel and sound. It feels so certain when I think of it. In fact, I don't think of it anymore. I just feel it. I know how it will feel and I want that feeling. I want it more than anything.
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3 comments:
I don't think you should be less selective or less picky. Settling for less than what makes you happy isn't worth it. The consequences of choosing poorly aren't worth it. And anyway it's just a band-aid. It temporarily staves off the loneliness. But sometimes I think it is so much more lonely to be in a relationship for which you settled. Everyone around you thinks you found companionship, but really, you end up sitting alone in your "relationship" wishing for alone time. Does that make sense? Maybe not.
But I do think that the hope/expectation that each person be the Last Best Chance really does create too much pressure. Of course, you start each relationship with hope. Why bother otherwise, right? But you can't know whether a person is and can be the Last Best Chance until a relationship has developed a bit. To put all that pressure on the beginning keeps it from growing. I know you know this. You wrote it (and better than I am writing it). But maybe if dating becomes the end rather than the means to the end, if it can become something you do to have fun and to meet new people instead of a potentially dire occasion with the risk that he won't live up to what you are looking for or you can't be yourself. Maybe try not to make it about last chances and more about lots of chances?
Anyway, the one who becomes the last one is really lucky.
I think you are right -- in every respect. I think it is a universally accepted truth (or at least it should be) that a bad relationship is the single most lonely place one could ever be. And "settling" leads you right into that lonely place. What I am struggling with is defining what is "settling" and what is a modification -- an evolution, so to speak -- of what one is looking for. Or is even trying to make such a distinction basically just semantics? I am not sure. Regardless, I think I need to have more patience -- both with others and with myself.
"The Last Best Thing" was a theme I was kicking around in my head for the last few days, and, sadly, the post was more inartful than I had hoped it would be. I don't think I am feeling particularly lonely or wistful about now (not really any more than usual) but, in my random daily musings, I was just wondering why I was so driven to distraction (and flat out panic) by my break up with S-2 last year, and the non-starting nature of my date with Hot Fireman Dude recently. It seems like it was all too soon to be so, well, "freaked out" about things. And that is when the "LBT" concept hit me. From moment one, I was way too invested -- due to day dreams and fears gone out of control. Then again, I guess if they had been these had been the right folks, I would not have been "way too invested," as the very same behavior would have been seen as "committed" and "engaged" (as in paying total attention -- not as engaged to be married). But of course, there is the undeniable point, which we also agree on that "way too invested" leads me to press too much. Not in the stalker sense, but in the "I am trying way too hard and being someone or something other than myself and my discomfort/nervousness must be palpable." When I don't feel like I have anything to lose, then I am (for better or worse) more myself. Annoying as that person might be, at least they are more relaxed which must make them marginally more pleasant.
What I have forgotten (and which I am trying to remember, but which is so far out of my reality I have some issues doing so sometimes) is that people have relationships because they simply dig one another. It isn't complicated or tortured or calculated or worrisome, it just is.
Or so they tell me. :)
I know what you mean. It's hard when you're picky and you finally meet someone that you actually like for a change not to bring a little crazy and think "oh my god, this could be the last one who meets my standards who ever walks into my life." I'd love to be able to preach from some high ground and say I've never felt this way -- I think it's really a common feeling when you're picky and it definitely explains some of my nuttier behavior towards my LBC's. That said, what pulls me back to to the saner side of dating is thinking of my own history -- in the last 10 years or so, I've had quite a few LBC's walk in and out of my life. Remembering that men really are like cabs -- there's always another one coming along -- helps me a lot. Just a thought for a so-called "coping" mechanism.
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