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Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Getting It

So I wrote a post not long ago, about finally understanding how human sociality works; how it's possible to love someone deeply and wish to spend a great deal of time with him or her, but a few years later the novelty has worn off and one has moved on to another person (also deeply loved and interesting, of course). And I do understand.

I am not a stupid person, so it's likely that I always understood, I just didn't want to. I am also a stubborn person.

(I am eating a bagel with sesame seeds which keep dropping into my keyboard as I write this. While I'm not happy with the situation, I'll probably keep eating the bagel.)

My social pattern, until about eight years ago, was to charm people, enjoy their company, build a circle of those I could call or invite to lunch, but never divulge information about the person inside me. Ever. And should one of those people get close to me, I would simply become very busy, avoid contact, and wait until they lost interest. And they always did.

When I actually allowed people into my life--complete strangers, many of whom I met online--and bonded with some of them, it was dreadful. I felt exposed and afraid all the time. ALL THE TIME.

I thought it was because I knew they were just going to use me up and then leave. But there was more.

My experience has always been that when I love someone deeply (Darrin excepted), eventually they leave. And while I'd like to be the person who can shrug it off and go find someone else, that really isn't how I'm built. And so I knew from the start that any lasting relationship/friendship/companionship/whatever that I became involved in, would change. That's to be expected--even anticipated, sometimes.

However, there is a feeling I've been getting, of late. I am familiar, predictable, no longer scintillating company. There are just too many other people in the lives of people I love who are more....everything. They're funnier and warmer and more beautiful and smarter and just MORE.

Truthfully, they're not. However, they're not "old" friends. They're undiscovered territory and that's compelling and interesting. I have become the book that has been reread enough times that it's no longer good for anything but nostalgia.

In a perfect world, I would be making my own new friends so that when I become a nostalgic memory, I'll have buddies to spend time with. I don't work that way.

I rarely tire of the people I love. There is always something new and beautiful about them just waiting for my discovery. Always. So when I become hackneyed to the other person, I'm still finding out more about them, still getting to know them, still fascinated by what I'll discover next. Clearly, I'm a little slow when it comes to social development. Either that or I'm a great deal less complex than the people I know and it takes less time to discover everything about me.

Tolkien Boy once told me that real relationships were worth fighting for. I think he meant that. But I'm not really a fighter when it comes to making sure someone continues to care about me. And while I've often said there should be rules about how relationships work and how people love each other, I didn't really believe it. What I believe is that in any relationship each person should be absolutely free to authentically act as they see fit. So if that means I watch as someone walks away, or wish for visits and phone calls that aren't going to come because I'm no longer a priority, that's probably exactly what I will allow to happen.

It doesn't mean I won't resent it. And sometimes I might cry a little, just because that's what you do when you miss someone. And probably I'll call or email or try to make sure the other person understands I still want them. And maybe sometimes, when I'm feeling weak, I might think it's not fair. But in the end, I don't fight. I never have. And I'll watch whatever happens--then I'll read a book, or practice, or work, or clean my house. Because that's what I do. And besides, I know the contact with that person isn't ending--it's just becoming more spaced out. They still care--just not as deeply and not as often.

It's not a tragedy. It's my personal inconvenience. I was built a little differently...not that there's anything wrong with that...

(A more pressing problem is that I think it's time to clean the sesame seeds from my keyboard and I'm not quite sure how to do that.)

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