A romantic retrospective
I'm 23 years old. I live a life of luxury—as far as a child is concerned, at least: free to do as I wish, see whom I wish, eat what I wish; play and dance with little material worry. In truth I am rather serious, far from carefree, and not landed or established, but I have designed my life for ease. As I said: a child's dream.
I seem to feel myself slipping. I have regrets now. Several. I believe I have eroded my ethos, my morality; whether consciously or not, I am not exactly sure. I think I am losing something of myself but I don't know what or how. It is as if every day I forget who I am and transform, an atom at a time, into a man I once specifically sought not to become: someone careless, distant, and self-centered.
An outside observer would say that I have had a generally profitable and worthwhile year, and I can't dispute that. However, I think I am spiritually lost, or emotionally lost, and certainly romantically lost, though I have never not been romantically lost. I'm writing now because I am ill, literally and physically but mostly interpersonally, and I have failed to make an appearance in my social circles for the better part of a month, excepting for a few disasters. I do have a professional counselor, but we haven't spoken in weeks. I've reached the point where I've lost both motivation and literal energy to do even the simplest exercise, I cannot cook anything beyond the absolute bare minimum, I feel my work has suffered, I have been almost bedridden for several days, my purpose seems unclear. I am very lovely when I have visitors, but it has strained me recently, and unfortunately I will have more very soon. I am as lovely as I can be when I must leave my home. I will also have to reappear socially in less than a day, which I am dreading.
I can only really talk about my emotions if I lay them out in anecdotes, real experiences but their form taking whatever mood I am in, so here are a few. What do I do here?
In the summer I was whisked to a faraway place, somewhere I had never been. Greener, quieter, hillier, more remote. By the sea; a place with history, but not mine. I was a guest, well-honored, and I found the fine gentlemen and ladies of the court—as it were—to take great interest in me. Flattered, complimented, pampered, invited, smiled upon, oh! So young in this society of elders, so lauded, so respected: I was golden, awash in warmth and welcome, though ego also. I smiled back, I laughed courteously, I bowed politely and nodded, I danced when it was suitable, and I dined and drank respectably.
Many friends though I had, none were there; though some there were those I knew, none were friends; a rare few came close, still they were strangers yet. But ha! My reputation preceded me! A young man I had met once, my equal (and, now, as I know, my greater), learning of my arrival, took it upon himself to show me the ropes of the ship and keep me in good company of her officers and crew, especially those as young as me. We chatted of fine things, snickered of less fine things; we drank very much, we toiled in our work at court; and, oh, I had made a dear friend. A gentleman truly; gentle indeed, kind, thoughtful; soft-spoken, a voice calming and delightful, a presence safe and trustworthy. An angel of this land I strayed into, though he reserved that term for another (he, too, is an angel). Surely I would have survived without his guidance, but he made it worthwhile.
One eve in society I espied a young woman about my age. She too was a guest, well-honored, and found that all the fine gentlemen and ladies of the court were pleased with her. But how could this be? I had been introduced to everyone in the palace. I knew of my contemporaries, their kingdoms and lands, their titles and pedigree and accolades! Who was this woman, unknown but clearly so skillful? I watched as she entertained the whole attendance, laser-focused, dexterous and determined. I was in awe.
Hair almost black as night with perfectly rounded brows; smiling always, brightly expressive: a face so beautiful you could not contain yourself. She dressed quaintly but boldly, observing tradition but disregarding convention. Upon her bronze cheeks there lay the most intense dimples I had ever seen. O Father in Heaven! A gift to me! She was uncommonly striking, and not just because she was a stranger. I was surprised; I restrained my infatuation. I must speak to her, I thought. I would like another friend.
- I, nobly: "You were wonderful tonight. I enjoyed watching you before the court."
- She, politely: "I enjoyed watching you as well."
We stood in the earshot of her appointed guides, and within that of mine, and so we knew to keep our spark civil. For now.
Time passed and we continued to meet, always visible, always on good behavior. She was from my home country, a beacon in this foreign land, metropolitan in taste like me but rather a country girl at heart. She was older than me, by several years, but I was unbothered. One evening, my dear friend the young man proposed an airing throughout the gardens and toward the new wharf, where there were no fishermen (long gone) but still many things of note. His suggestion was amenable to our whole party, all of whom were eager to feel the salt air and, in the case of moi et ma chère, speak beyond the confines of the court, where we would be free.
- I, intimately: "You might find yourself welcome in my quarters after our reprieve."
- She, dutifully: "Kind sir, that I might, but we have matters to attend to, no? We are here, well-honored, for a purpose."
- I, reassuringly: "Of course, ma chère, we are obliged. But after your performance, after my speech, there is a haven. Our time here comes to an end soon and watchful eyes will look away."
- She, demurely: "If so you say, mon cher. I must see to my education, you know, and my career; it is this world, this court. You can escape petty politics by your good manners, your network, your renown; but I cannot draw on such repute. You come here on wide recommendation and accomplishment, I on determination and fortune."
My friend the young man said later to me: "What of ta chère, my friend? What is she to you, and you to her? Your time dwindles." I said to him, "I have hope. What of yours, dear friend? Your angel; he awaits your beckon as well." We talked as good friends do, and in our brotherhood found solidarity in the nature of our respective romances. I was empowered, and he too, for our lives were brighter when we had such unerring and unassailable friendship.
On the evening before our departure she came to our soirée, which had grown half-private beyond our cohort to include those members of society we deemed engaging, and any who stumbled across us. Across the room she placed herself, our eyes locking every now and then, not too often as to be noticed by others, though I'm sure my friend the young man observed all. Silently transmitting suggestive looks, open-ended messages, we grew more restless, until an excuse was made for her to depart. Some minutes later, oh, by coincidence, I must as well. Ta!
It was all I had hoped and more. This woman was unbelievably attractive in character and feature. We had a chemistry I had rarely seen. She confided in me beforehand her reluctance because I was young. But she was young too! I thought her my peer. It's not like this was new to me. She had found me the object of her desires this whole season, obsessed just as I had, but on her better judgment refrained just as I had from exhibiting too much outward favoritism. I assured her that I wanted her and only her in this moment; she reiterated the same. She had been withholding an intense physical attraction. She wanted me and only me in this moment; she was ravenous, all but insatiable, full of life and love, and wanted me to control her. We were a pair; it was exhilarating, ecstatic, exhausting; dynamic and visceral and incredible. She was very gratified by the end, I too. But then it was over and we returned to our home castles.
Not many weeks after our goodbye, we had occasion to say hello again, fleetingly and unexpectedly. It was just as before: she was so beautiful; we were enraptured. I bought us a room and we slept together: she gave me a gift. I was touched and felt ashamed that I had not thought to bring her one. I resolved to purchase an equal trinket for her, a fine necklace to match her earrings. I have since obtained her gift.
But what did I find myself doing? Nothing. Very little contact; incapable of making my true feelings known, I have made little effort to connect. She was from my home country, yes, but it is a large place, and we could not possibly see each other except when nature or fortune brings us near. At least that is what I have told myself. Is that true? Either way, now I think it is too late. Just days ago I reached out, hoping that we could arrange a visit, but I had done few favors for myself. Though apparently excited to talk to me, she found reason for this to be impossible. I am no fool. If she had wanted it to happen, she knew that I would go to great lengths; and she could too. After our flings I think she sees me as just that: a fling. I worry that I can no longer give her my gift, the necklace, which was not just a trinket but a thank-you and an object of remembrance. But it seems that I am the one left now with remembrance, or at least with the object; two such objects and not one. Soon I fear she will forget me, and perhaps I will forget her, piece by piece until there is nothing left but a wisp of a memory. That would pain me.
In the springtime I had taken to a western retreat, a cabin in a woodland far from my home, by a small lake. I was with others, in society of a kind, but with much privacy.
I met someone there, unexpectedly. She dressed in complicated colors and dyed her hair; her demeanor a startling departure from the personalities I had expected here. She was interesting to me. I could not classify her; but she seemed to know my friends. First I overheard, then we talked: she had been a performer, a teacher, smart and industrious, but here was a learner. So was I. She knew her cocktails and wines and liquors and obscure beers, her philosophy, her history, and all the great works. I admitted a certain attraction to her unusual mannerisms; her unabashed, refreshing brusqueness, her contentedness with whom she was as a human being; that she was simply unlike any person I had known, and different from me as well. Yet despite that difference I felt that we could commune. She was older—I could not tell exactly by how much from her person, though it was significant, and from her preferred company I guessed ten or fifteen years. (I did not dare to ask.) One night we looked out at the stars, at the water, and made a connection. We brought it back to the sanctuary of the interior and from then on were linked.
She revealed very soon after in passing that she was autistic. The way she said it suggested she thought I already knew. That possibility had not even entered my mind. I am generally not unobservant. This was a surprise. I almost didn't believe her. I thought, "How? Why consider such things, use such categories? You are just the way you are. I don't care." But I did not say that. I said, "Oh."
Next I saw her, she had expectations. I did not expect anything, at least not romantically, though not for any fault of hers. Not intending to bother anyone in particular, I sought out the romances I desired and accepted the ones I found agreeable, and at the moment we ran into each other, ours was not one of them. I failed, completely and utterly, to communicate my transient and impermanent and superficial nature; my intentions with another woman or more than one. Not only this, but it was obvious; I was not being subtle, for I was drunk on the affection of a particularly sharp woman whom I respected, or I was literally drunk. It was a stark and awkward difference from our interactions before. I was aware of this the whole time but somehow did not detect, or did not care (I am not sure: as I say, I am losing myself) that a boundary had been crossed. One day, as we stood in a field by the mountains, she became very emotional, not contemptuous but upset and extremely critical for reasons I had not anticipated (being so caught up in my own endeavors) but immediately recognized and understood. For an hour, maybe two hours, perhaps more, she explained to me how she was not mad but disappointed, how communication in relationships should work; interrogated me on my behavior and my tendencies; and reminded me what begets trauma. I felt that I was being lectured.
If I am being uncharitable with my phrasing, I ought to reiterate: I deserved a dressing-down. But I did apologize, several times, and I did mean it, resolving to do better, to not seek out such complications among my friends, and to graciously rebuff hopes of complications from others. But I have since failed to do even that; I have only managed to entrap myself in further relationships, further emotional turmoil, and it has all been my fault.
I cannot describe this anecdote. It's not painful (well, not to me), it's just so hopelessly strange, absurd, surreal, ridiculous, narcissistic, and maybe even misogynistic that I can't explain the details. It involves three separate women whom I admire very much and who are also undeniably beautiful, and a lot more emotions than I was prepared for. My role was cartoonishly hedonistic, and I would typically consider it out of character, but after some of what has happened this year... is it out of character anymore? Or am I a different person now?
I don't even know what I'm asking. I just seem to fall into relationship and relationship, none of them ever serious; in some cases I really do try to take it seriously, then it doesn't work out, and I become disillusioned and give up on love again. It's worse in the case (and there are many) that I am the one left behind, rather than it being a truly mutual feeling. I will always respect the wishes of my partner, but wow, does being dumped, ignored, or de-prioritized ever reinforce my tendency toward superficial flings. Where I'm at right now, it just seems so hopeless to consider these things. I am still functional—this is not a cloud of depression that prevents me from cleaning my home or going to work—but the broader reason for cultivating and maintaining relationships has begun to disintegrate.
I see the obvious hypocrisy in wishing for commitment and refusing to provide it myself. As I say, I am slowly turning into a person I despise. This is not supposed to be a whiny thread, and I am not bitter about not getting something I "deserve" (for I deserve nothing), but I am sad that despite all the great fun I can have for a couple days, or even a couple weeks, I cannot create a meaningful lasting romance. What I regret the most is not that things do not work for me, but that I leave a wake of destruction for others as I sail across the water. Every time I engage with someone, they seem to acquire some of my problems, and that makes me feel terrible.
I think you have a certain romantic sensibility about relationships that I shared when I was that age. Something about how it should be "magical" or "special" -- I obviously do not have the way with words that you do. What you said: "free to do as I wish, see whom I wish, eat what I wish; play and dance with little material worry." also resonates with that time.
But by contrast, I was always Very Serious[1] in my relationships, even in high school. Looking back on how much growing up I had left to do, I can see that it was not good to be serious so young. I think it was rooted in a deep fear of loneliness -- that I might always be alone. But the practical outcome was that each relationship lasted less long than the previous one. 2 years, then 1 year, then months. In grad school (I was probably 25), I remember telling someone, "I don't even think I know how to be in a relationship anymore."
Then I met the woman who would become my wife, and things started to fall into place. My dad had always said, "If you have to ask if they are The One, then they are not The One." And that held true for me. I knew from pretty early on that things were different, but I could not have told you why at the time. We got engaged. We got married. We've been married for 15 years and have a child.
I'm going to frame what follows in terms of marriage, which can be a fraught word[2], but when I use it here, I merely mean, "a committed relationship" regardless of whether you formalize it with a legal or religious ceremony.
During our engagement, we read a book about marriage together that started by defining marriage, not as a feeling of love, but as a commitment. That is, the relationship is defined by the promise to stay. As someone who was already engaged, this was quite the wakeup call. Orson Scott Card said it this way:
I spent most of my engagement coming to terms with the responsibility I was signing up for. It was pretty hard to do because I was just coming into a time in my life when I really had to take responsibility for myself. Even though I lived on my own all through undergrad, including moving to different places for internships, there was so much structure in the program that I only had to make short-term decisions. Even going to grad school was a way of delaying the decision of what I was going to do with my life.
I think the framing I want to offer is that "growing up" is a matter of taking responsibility for your life, including a meaningfully search for purpose. It means taking some risks. If everything is easy and you never reach a place where you might fail, then you never really have a chance to succeed either. I think doing that changes your perspective on what is important. I think it will change the way people perceive you, and it will change the kinds of people who are attracted to you, and perhaps, who you are attracted to.
As far as relationships go, the unfortunate truth is that you can't force it. All you can do is be open to the possibility while going about your life. But what you could do is take a step back from relationships that are really rooted in passion to make space for relationships that can be about commitment to each other. Or at least, when you see that there is no realistic possibility of you committing to this person, and them to you, then you end it rather than continuing for the drama.
Committed relationships are really hard and take a lot of emotional effort and time to maintain. There's no textbook for it. There's no blueprint. There's just you and the other person figuring shit out as you go. My wife and I are "fine", but still see a counselor once a week, and that work has really improved our relationship. But we had to put the work in.
Sometimes it will seem easier to end the relationship than to do the work to repair it or maintain it. Some relationships can be damaged in irreparable ways, or they develop into something that is unhealthy or unsafe for one of the people in them, then they should end. But outside of those things, I think there is a lot that can be repaired. Perhaps most important, I think that to last, a committed relationship must occupy a significant portion of the space in your lives. Everyone changes over time. If you are watching how your partner changes and communicating how you change, if that is an important part of your everyday life, then you have a chance to grow in the same direction, rather than realizing that you have grown apart.
[1] Without meaning any judgement about your choices, I will amplify what I mean when I say that I was Very Serious and you seem not to be. If I am wrong about that, then it is my misunderstanding. From what you wrote, it seems that you are not surprised when your relationships end, and that you treat them as something fleeting. But from the very beginning, I treated every relationship like it was going to last forever.
[2] I come from a conservative Christian religious background that places a great deal of importance on getting married and staying married. So obviously that colors my views. In that last 15 years, I've had to do a lot of work to unwind those views and understand the harm that that upbringing did to me and that those views do to others. I am (and probably will always be) in the process of sorting out the good from the bad. That is a whole other topic, but for this discussion, I think the idea of centering a long-term relationship in terms of commitment rather than feelings or romance remains valuable outside the religious context. Whether the relationship should be "forever" or not is something best left up to individuals. I've seen too many unhealthy marriages end in divorce to say that there should be an unbreakable commitment.
I found your comment to be beautifully written and full of understanding. I just wanted to bounce off of one particular part of it, where you mention the difference between "young love" and "mature love" being that one is based on feelings and the other on commitment, particularly:
That idea is something that I consider to be incredibly potent. From a romantic perspective, it's the source of so many of those powerful positive emotions you'd experience with love. But it also has so much power behind it. People are flakes, and are unreliable. Even amongst the people we call friends, people will drop out on you. But at the same time having someone to rely on is something we desperately need in order to live. And if you think about it for a moment, that promise to stay is the seed of human society, no matter what culture you look at. That promise is like a fundamental linkage of yourself to humankind; a tradition that goes back thousands of years and will last for thousands more.
Wow, well this feels like a blast from my own past. I have a bunch of advice from my lived experience since being 23 so feel free to take or leave any of it.
First, I want to encourage you to be easy on yourself. You seem to be taking away the lessons you ought to be from the relationships/interactions you are having and you're being introspective, that is a great first step. You're at the point in dating where you are finding your footing. I'm going to take a guess that you may be like me, where you had short relationships or flings in high school/university but no long term relationships. If that is true, this is the period that you'll learn not only how to behave in a relationship but how to date more intentionally. Or how to just casually date while minimizing pain for all parties included as much as possible. That last point is probably the hardest to achieve. Maybe it can be summed up as "pain and sadness are ok, but avoid causing trauma".
I floundered about in a similar way and post graduation and often thought of their being something wrong with my moral trajectory. And, like you, I found myself being the asshole pretty frequently. I ghosted short relationships, I gave second/third dates to women I had no intention of having a longer relationship with, and I rarely was truthful about how I was feeling. That last point being the most important.
In some cases I was, or claimed to be, "worried about hurting the women I was seeing". So I'd slip out the metaphorical "back door" as if that was any better. Or I'd make up excuses rather than say "hey, you're great but this isn't for me". I avoided conflict and personal discomfort under the guise of protecting their feelings. It's hard not to do that, but try to be honest as much as you can. Less regret and pain for all parties involved.
Which leads to my next point: try to be vulnerable. It's scary. Hell, I'm 35 now and it's still scary. But particularly in the relationships that you're excited about, try to be forth coming about your feelings and have more explicit conversations, even if they might be awkward. I had a relationship similar to the first one you described when I was 22. It felt like absolute magic. We also met in a different country and unlike you two, were from different countries. We had 2 months together (with like 3 weeks of actually being together romantically) and then I went home. While our personalities were nearly identical, culturally we were incredibly different. I felt awkward about those differences and we only really addressed them in passing, we never had explicit conversations about them. To compound that we never talked about how everything felt. How it felt like magic, how in hindsight it still kind of does.
Three years later she came and stayed with me for a few months while she did a round the world trip. I had a shitty apartment with a few roommates and she alternated between sleeping on our couch and in my bed. Because we hadn't had any specific discussions about us before and we never broached the cultural chasm between us, our interactions started out awkward and it took us a few weeks to find our groove. I was so insecure about what our relationship was, that I was worried if I talked about it openly it would destroy what we had. So we continued in the same manner, romantic excursions without ever being explicitly romantic excursions. Times of feeling like we were together - romantic nights out and fireworks in bed - and then back to platonic interactions and her sleeping on the couch. It was like whiplash. I learned later that she was in a bumpy period of another relationship and that I was the "other guy". I never found out because I never asked about us, about what I hoped we would become, how I was feeling about everything. So she never knew and, as I would find out much later, she made the assumption I was just having easy, unattached fun.
Three years later I found myself back in her country for a few weeks for work. I hired her onto the project as a collaborator (not just nepotism, she was an incredible collaborator) and we got to spend that time together as well. I was just starting a long term relationship and she was still in the relationship she had been the last time we saw each other. As close as we were, and we were quite close, we still avoided talking about the serious and romantic things. Except on that trip she was brave and vulnerable. She asked me to marry her. Unfortunately my own insecurities got in the way. She must only be asking because she wants to leave this country. She's still in that other relationship and it'll be like before. When she asked I laughed it off and pretended it was a joke. I didn't open myself up to potential pain and because we hadn't been open about things I let my insecurities take the wheel. I left a few days later.
Last year I attended her wedding. She broke up with her partner a few days after I left on my last trip out and made some pretty significant changes in her life. I ended up staying a her family house (I get on with them like peas and carrots) before the wedding and it gave us a lot of time to reminisce and talk. In the five years between my last trip and the wedding she and I had both found our feet and were able to have some pretty explicit and honest conversations. We talked about how awkward navigating romance had been on the trip we met. We addressed the period she had come out to stay with me. We talked about the proposal and my response. We were both open and vulnerable, honestly it might have been because she was getting married so there wasn't anything at risk. The feeling of anxiety was gone. I learned that had I been brave enough to have those conversations at any point in the past things likely would have been different. I learned that she felt similarly every time, but made a similar choice not to open up for fear that I didn't feel the same way or it would mess up our odd relationship. I learned that she made the choices she did because I didn't give an indication that I would catch her if she jumped. It made me really rethink how I communicated in the relationships I do have. She got married later that week and once again I went home.
But that part of the story isn't sad. I'm still in the long term relationship I was just starting when she asked me to marry her. I've grown so much as a person and learned how to communicate effectively in my relationship. I have a pretty great life. But I often think about what my life would look like now if I had been open, if I had been honest, if I had been vulnerable. And while I'm happy with where I landed, if I could go back in time I'd tell younger me to open up. It would cause less pain, trauma, and regret; and possibly lead to even higher highs.
You're going to grow every year. Just be honest and be bold.
I read your entire post in one go. You have quite a way with words.
[Redacted]
You made a similarly long post last year. Anything changed, for better or worse?
Thank you. I wrote it in one go, for five hours.
What has changed? Then I had just graduated but was free-floating; now I am better settled, and finding community. I have become more grounded, less worried, more content with my station. But I am afraid that I have substituted worry for apathy, which I dislike.
Since then I have done useful work in my “court” which has given me some praise. I think I was looking for validation from one person in particular, but she did not seem to notice or care—this was hurtful. (I am still looking.) I have more plans but I do not know if I will finish them. I prefer to work alone but my vision requires at least two others to realize. Oddly enough I am paralyzed by this decision; I don’t want to choose wrong, so I just do nothing. This frustrates me.
Last year I asked the question, “Why bother?” several times. I appreciated the responses. I think that I have successfully detached myself from grand narratives, or at least I think I am putting less pressure on myself to know everything immediately. I think I am better enjoying my youth, appreciating discovery and novelty.
Romantically I think I have become more hopeless. After one of the anecdotes I shared last year, I resolved that I would learn to say “No.” I am proud of myself for rejecting advances on one or two occasions. But proportionally I seem to be ambivalently falling into difficult situations more than before.
You use words well, and you are thoughtful about your own actions.
That bodes well for the future. First we observe what we do; then we seek to change it.
You are young. Clever, I think - but still young. You might also be mildly depressed.
These things are almost the hallmarks of your generation, who are proving slow to mature and a little emotionally vulnerable, when observed collectively.
This slow journey to maturity isn't necessarily your fault; our society is acting en masse to make the markers of maturity hard to access for this rising generation.
Meanwhile the emotional vulnerability that you and possibly your autistic friend and also so many, many others are experiencing seems to be another unintentional product of the way in which western society is currently choosing to conduct itself.
My advice would be to be kind to yourself, because at the age of 23 you have time on your side... but also to make every action count.
With every action - romantic or otherwise, big or small - promise yourself to make the moral choice (according to your own interpretation of the word), not the expedient one.
This will do two things.
The first is that it will make you focus on the substance and the consequence of your own actions. All of them.
The second is that in a slow but cumulative way, your life will improve because your actions and your values will begin to fall into much closer alignment. This leads to far greater life satisfaction.
And as for romance? That will come of it's own accord.
As someone else in this thread right said, it can't be forced. But it's best to be well prepared for the moment when it does come.