Post-Modern Love

When not inspired by one story or experience, my writing is usually prompted by a recurring pattern or subject that appears in unrelated places. In this case, I stalled quite a bit and had to be heavily provoked by the universe. Somewhere between the bazillionth unsolicited suggestion that I play hard to get, and an article firmly declaring Meg Ryan movies responsible for the corrosion of family culture, this post was born.

While I excel at feigning coyness, I’m completely incapable of playing hard to get, and furthermore, it seems an awfully unstable foundation to begin anything. At what point does one stop attempting to engender behavior and begin to evaluate behavior? I don’t want to know what I can trick a man into, I’m trying to find out what he’s inspired to. The latter is sustainable, and the former is an exhausting way to live.

A better plan: actually being hard to get. Ideally, just hard to keep, but that’s akin to walking a tightrope. This is the point where one suggests having a full, rich life- accurate but worthless advice to the overly eager. The only cure for desperation is an abundant dose of one’s own medicine. When another human being slowly tightens the noose of pressure and expectation around your windpipe just because you were nearby, had the appropriate organs and an assortment of vague redeeming qualities? That will do it.

Strategy is all about power plays and control games, and if I’ve learned a thing about love relationships, it is that one ought not search for a worthy opponent. In exchange for being straightforward and direct, I expect my boundaries to be honored, and breaches or passive-aggression are red flags of disrespect.

Ideally, I’d like to share my life with someone who actually wants to work together towards a shared vision. I still have mountains to climb in my creative and professional life, my moderate chronic wanderlust occasionally flares to ragingly acute. Being expected to concede my interests to someone else’s agenda fills me with a woozy panic that makes my chest tight and my tongue sharp. Better that he has goals and interests and friends and things too, so that he doesn’t feel betrayed by my need for solitude and the frequent impromptu adventure. This leaves a very nice space for everyone to breathe and grow.

It also makes me sound very strong and independent, which I absolutely am, for a girl…

I require a certain standard of care before I’ll invest trust. Because I’m a delicious little piece of psycho pie, the loving gets in front of the trusting sometimes, and I respond very poorly to the risk exposure. It makes me hyper-vigilant; just like the corporate executives that called every hour on the hour for income statement estimates after a particularly fruitful or trying month. Except that I know (usually) that the hyper-vigilance hurts the cause, so I withdraw to keep my fruity filling hidden. I want to see what happens without my interference, which is likely to be heavy-handed from that mindset, anyway.

So when Harry races through the streets of New York to tell Sally he loves her, when Big finds Carrie in Paris and whispers “you’re the one, you were always the one”, I’m both disgusted and delighted.

Furthering the fantasy that an emotionally unavailable man is going to suddenly open like a lotus flower and pull your sweet ass into the blinding white light of eternal happiness is just pointless and cruel. I’m of the school of thought that no man is emotionally unavailable, really, they are just not emotionally available to you. Watch the right woman come along- they drop like flies. I’ve seen the mightiest bachelors melt like warm molasses before my very eyes.

Still, what gives me sillygirlheart about the dramatic reunion isn’t new year’s eve tuxedoes or romantic speeches, it isn’t the pink fluffy skirt or the streets of Paris. It’s that unequivocal surrender, the admission that even though love is messy and challenging, they can’t imagine a life without the other person in it.

Those moments don’t usually come in dramatic fashion. They slip in under the door, or through an open window, and settle gently over the bed like an extra blanket. You don’t notice it as much as you notice yourself stretching out in the newfound warmth, and suddenly that twinge of stiffness in your leg puts a smile on your face as you remember why you’re so cozy.

The world is so big now; the economic model that kept men, women and marriages small is so much dust. Chris Ryan speaks of “facing the sky” in Sex at Dawn, that phase in a relationship when you find yourself halfway around the ferris wheel, recommending that couples negotiate boundaries and rules through honest discussion and mutual respect. His context is monogamy and traditional marriage, but its usefulness far exceeds that single aspect of relationships.

The most imperative quality in a partner and a relationship is the willingness to live and grow together, to carve out a bond that gives two people security and freedom. Someone who sees life and love as a constant process of facing the sky, over and over again, who senses commitment as a beginning instead of an ending.

Happy endings make lovely fairy tales for little girls, but I want a happy beginning.

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