Even Good Things Hurt Sometimes
Yesterday, I decided to go to bed early because I was tired. Turned off the light, got under the covers...and melted into tears.
That's never happened before.
I don't cry a lot, and when I do, I see it coming. I knew what triggered it last night, but still... It seemed like a pretty strong reaction. I've been thinking about what else might have been at play, and now it's time to sort it all out
First off, I've been feeling a little melancholy of late for no particular reason anyway. It may be the lack of sunshine; today, I literally stood next to the giant windows in our meeting room to bask in the light while waiting for a meeting to start, because it just felt so good. I told my co-worker I felt like a lizard, but I was a happy lizard. So I was starting at a baseline slightly below average.
But I should have been on a high. I spent the weekend with a friend from out of state, M. I met him in December at a mutual friend's birthday party, then saw him again about a month ago when I again visited said mutual friend. By the end of that visit, it was pretty clear that M and I should be either close friends or nemeses. We chose both. I think there was only maybe one day where we didn't talk after that trip, via facebook or text or skype. One Skype call lasted 7 1/2 hours. I had to up my texting plan twice to avoid overage charges; within a month, he became the most texted person on my phone ever. Needless to say, this was not a typical friendship for me. We were getting pretty flirty, but there are some things better discussed in person, so we didn't talk about them.
Then he came to visit. I was more than a little excited. He got here Friday evening, and by Saturday evening, I was feeling a little confused; nothing had happened, nothing had been said, and he'd been keeping enough distance that I was thinking I'd misread the signals and/or he'd decided we should just be friends and didn't want to talk about it. So I was probably going to let it slide and not bring anything up. He didn't, though, so on Saturday night, we had The Talk.
When he first brought up the fact that we clearly had feelings beyond mere friendship, he wasn't sure what we should do. There are a few things in the way of our dating--the distance, the fact that he's still getting over his last serious relationship, the fact that I've never been in a serious relationship (he counts this as a strike against; I'm more neutral about its significance). As he talked, it became clear to both of us that he's pretty adamantly against a long-distance relationship, and the other compounding factors just reinforced that. I don't really know what I would have decided. I'd considered the negatives before, but without reaching a definite conclusion. In these circumstances, I think I'm more likely to go with what I want to do, with what I feel, rather than with what logically makes sense. Yeah, it can hurt, but maybe it's worth it. I don't really know how to measure that. (When I later looked at the situation from a less selfish perspective, I agreed with him. He talked about not wanting to hurt me, and of course I didn't really care about that; I'll decide on my own risks to take or not take, thanks. But then I thought more about him. When his last girlfriend broke up with him, it really destroyed him. Would it be fair or kind to start a relationship with him that will either fail or just suck because we're long-distance? No. And thinking about that makes it much easier to support what, initially, was really his decision.)
I had already considered that we might choose not to date. I'm pretty used to being single, so I was ok with that. What I hadn't fully considered, and am less ok with, is that if we're not going to date, we need to scale back our friendship. We really shouldn't have been chatting so much during work hours anyway, nor should we have been staying up so late to Skype. That becomes even more important, though, now we're trying to lay these feelings to rest. So, not only do I not have a boyfriend, but in my mind, it was like losing what had been turning into one of my closest friendships, and turning it into yet another long-distance friendship.
And this is why I don't think I was crying just because M and I decided not to date. This is where my melancholy may have roots beyond the wintry season.
The simple truth is, I need a friend. I may choose to follow my feelings despite my logic sometimes, but I analyze the hell out of those feelings nonetheless, and over the years, I've figured out what I need to be socially satisfied: multiple social circles/activities (groups sharing usually a single interest, such as dancing or community development, with whom I socialize almost exclusively in that setting or with others from that setting; these relationships can expand beyond that, but I don't necessarily need them to); and a single friend or small group of friends with whom I can share my full self (this is who I call when I'm feeling vulnerable). I have the former; it's usually not hard for me to find a few groups where I fit in well enough. But the latter is still absent from my life here. The fact that, after M left, I wanted to talk to someone in person and didn't have anyone I felt comfortable calling was evidence enough of that. The closest I have right now is my brother; don't get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful for that relationship, but...I guess I feel like I also ought to have someone from outside my family. My brother can (and did) listen to me about things like this, but there are still some things I wouldn't necessarily want to share with him.
On Sunday, I told M there was one more question I wasn't clear on: Were we saying "not right now," or "never, turn those feelings off"? I premised the question with the statement that I'm used to adjusting my expectations regarding relationships, even friendships, so while it might take time, that's something I could do, I just needed to be sure that's what I needed to do. (If you couldn't guess, he said we should do the latter.) Later, I was thinking about it, and realized just how often I've done that in the past year--intentionally adjusted my expectations for a relationship, pretty much always in a way that makes it less close. I thought about making a list, but that seemed tedious and unhelpful. In some cases, it was mildly disappointing. In others, it honestly hurt.
I'm really glad to be in this city. I feel involved here. I know about cool places and exciting projects underway. I have friends (though an unfortunately high number will be moving away this year) and activities that I'm part of. But I'm still missing that key element, that critical piece for making this place home, for letting me love it: someone, or some small group of people, who I trust completely. (I trust a lot of people; I wouldn't feel comfortable crying in front of all of them, though, or sharing my dreams, or talking through difficult situations. That's the difference.)
I suspect that, as much as things with M hurt, this is the real reason I cried so much. I felt like I'd gotten so close to finding someone, and then had it torn away from me (again). Realistically, long-distance isn't much easier on good friends than it is on couples; you still don't have someone to invite when you want to check out an event, or someone to come over when you just want a little company, or someone to give you a hug when you're down. So maybe I shouldn't have hoped to fit him into that role, either. But when you find someone who would fit, it's hard not to hope.
In six months or so, my job will be over, and I will have to move on. I've thought about moving closer to the friends I went to college with, but I worry that I'm expecting too much; they have lives of their own, and while I'd be closer on average, many still live in different places. Would I just be trading sets of friends, without adding what I'm looking for? Perhaps it would help, or it might just make the loneliness worse. I'm also considering moving to Germany. Why not? There are few enough answers to that. I miss Dresden, and while I would see my friends less, in many cases, it wouldn't actually be so very different from the way things are now. I feel like I could use some adventure, and it would be a chance to evaluate where I'm going with my career--I know I want to head another direction than is perhaps obvious and easiest, so why not have a break?
I will say one other thing I've been pleased to realize in all this. When I was thinking about this post in my head, and more importantly the feelings driving it, I felt small, sad, and adolescent. Relationships have always been hard for me; feeling socially unsatisfied or unhappy has been one of my biggest struggles. So, at one point, I thought, "Here we go again, nothing's really changed, I still haven't learned to deal with the same problems I've always faced." And then I realized, no, that's not true. Yes, I'm still struggling, but it's a different struggle. It's no longer the struggle of not knowing myself, and of being unhappy because I was judging my social life by others' standards and coming up short. I may not have everything I want right now, but I know what I want. And, even though I don't have it, I'm generally able to feel satisfied with my life anyway. And that's pretty nice to know.
That's never happened before.
I don't cry a lot, and when I do, I see it coming. I knew what triggered it last night, but still... It seemed like a pretty strong reaction. I've been thinking about what else might have been at play, and now it's time to sort it all out
First off, I've been feeling a little melancholy of late for no particular reason anyway. It may be the lack of sunshine; today, I literally stood next to the giant windows in our meeting room to bask in the light while waiting for a meeting to start, because it just felt so good. I told my co-worker I felt like a lizard, but I was a happy lizard. So I was starting at a baseline slightly below average.
But I should have been on a high. I spent the weekend with a friend from out of state, M. I met him in December at a mutual friend's birthday party, then saw him again about a month ago when I again visited said mutual friend. By the end of that visit, it was pretty clear that M and I should be either close friends or nemeses. We chose both. I think there was only maybe one day where we didn't talk after that trip, via facebook or text or skype. One Skype call lasted 7 1/2 hours. I had to up my texting plan twice to avoid overage charges; within a month, he became the most texted person on my phone ever. Needless to say, this was not a typical friendship for me. We were getting pretty flirty, but there are some things better discussed in person, so we didn't talk about them.
Then he came to visit. I was more than a little excited. He got here Friday evening, and by Saturday evening, I was feeling a little confused; nothing had happened, nothing had been said, and he'd been keeping enough distance that I was thinking I'd misread the signals and/or he'd decided we should just be friends and didn't want to talk about it. So I was probably going to let it slide and not bring anything up. He didn't, though, so on Saturday night, we had The Talk.
When he first brought up the fact that we clearly had feelings beyond mere friendship, he wasn't sure what we should do. There are a few things in the way of our dating--the distance, the fact that he's still getting over his last serious relationship, the fact that I've never been in a serious relationship (he counts this as a strike against; I'm more neutral about its significance). As he talked, it became clear to both of us that he's pretty adamantly against a long-distance relationship, and the other compounding factors just reinforced that. I don't really know what I would have decided. I'd considered the negatives before, but without reaching a definite conclusion. In these circumstances, I think I'm more likely to go with what I want to do, with what I feel, rather than with what logically makes sense. Yeah, it can hurt, but maybe it's worth it. I don't really know how to measure that. (When I later looked at the situation from a less selfish perspective, I agreed with him. He talked about not wanting to hurt me, and of course I didn't really care about that; I'll decide on my own risks to take or not take, thanks. But then I thought more about him. When his last girlfriend broke up with him, it really destroyed him. Would it be fair or kind to start a relationship with him that will either fail or just suck because we're long-distance? No. And thinking about that makes it much easier to support what, initially, was really his decision.)
I had already considered that we might choose not to date. I'm pretty used to being single, so I was ok with that. What I hadn't fully considered, and am less ok with, is that if we're not going to date, we need to scale back our friendship. We really shouldn't have been chatting so much during work hours anyway, nor should we have been staying up so late to Skype. That becomes even more important, though, now we're trying to lay these feelings to rest. So, not only do I not have a boyfriend, but in my mind, it was like losing what had been turning into one of my closest friendships, and turning it into yet another long-distance friendship.
And this is why I don't think I was crying just because M and I decided not to date. This is where my melancholy may have roots beyond the wintry season.
The simple truth is, I need a friend. I may choose to follow my feelings despite my logic sometimes, but I analyze the hell out of those feelings nonetheless, and over the years, I've figured out what I need to be socially satisfied: multiple social circles/activities (groups sharing usually a single interest, such as dancing or community development, with whom I socialize almost exclusively in that setting or with others from that setting; these relationships can expand beyond that, but I don't necessarily need them to); and a single friend or small group of friends with whom I can share my full self (this is who I call when I'm feeling vulnerable). I have the former; it's usually not hard for me to find a few groups where I fit in well enough. But the latter is still absent from my life here. The fact that, after M left, I wanted to talk to someone in person and didn't have anyone I felt comfortable calling was evidence enough of that. The closest I have right now is my brother; don't get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful for that relationship, but...I guess I feel like I also ought to have someone from outside my family. My brother can (and did) listen to me about things like this, but there are still some things I wouldn't necessarily want to share with him.
On Sunday, I told M there was one more question I wasn't clear on: Were we saying "not right now," or "never, turn those feelings off"? I premised the question with the statement that I'm used to adjusting my expectations regarding relationships, even friendships, so while it might take time, that's something I could do, I just needed to be sure that's what I needed to do. (If you couldn't guess, he said we should do the latter.) Later, I was thinking about it, and realized just how often I've done that in the past year--intentionally adjusted my expectations for a relationship, pretty much always in a way that makes it less close. I thought about making a list, but that seemed tedious and unhelpful. In some cases, it was mildly disappointing. In others, it honestly hurt.
I'm really glad to be in this city. I feel involved here. I know about cool places and exciting projects underway. I have friends (though an unfortunately high number will be moving away this year) and activities that I'm part of. But I'm still missing that key element, that critical piece for making this place home, for letting me love it: someone, or some small group of people, who I trust completely. (I trust a lot of people; I wouldn't feel comfortable crying in front of all of them, though, or sharing my dreams, or talking through difficult situations. That's the difference.)
I suspect that, as much as things with M hurt, this is the real reason I cried so much. I felt like I'd gotten so close to finding someone, and then had it torn away from me (again). Realistically, long-distance isn't much easier on good friends than it is on couples; you still don't have someone to invite when you want to check out an event, or someone to come over when you just want a little company, or someone to give you a hug when you're down. So maybe I shouldn't have hoped to fit him into that role, either. But when you find someone who would fit, it's hard not to hope.
In six months or so, my job will be over, and I will have to move on. I've thought about moving closer to the friends I went to college with, but I worry that I'm expecting too much; they have lives of their own, and while I'd be closer on average, many still live in different places. Would I just be trading sets of friends, without adding what I'm looking for? Perhaps it would help, or it might just make the loneliness worse. I'm also considering moving to Germany. Why not? There are few enough answers to that. I miss Dresden, and while I would see my friends less, in many cases, it wouldn't actually be so very different from the way things are now. I feel like I could use some adventure, and it would be a chance to evaluate where I'm going with my career--I know I want to head another direction than is perhaps obvious and easiest, so why not have a break?
I will say one other thing I've been pleased to realize in all this. When I was thinking about this post in my head, and more importantly the feelings driving it, I felt small, sad, and adolescent. Relationships have always been hard for me; feeling socially unsatisfied or unhappy has been one of my biggest struggles. So, at one point, I thought, "Here we go again, nothing's really changed, I still haven't learned to deal with the same problems I've always faced." And then I realized, no, that's not true. Yes, I'm still struggling, but it's a different struggle. It's no longer the struggle of not knowing myself, and of being unhappy because I was judging my social life by others' standards and coming up short. I may not have everything I want right now, but I know what I want. And, even though I don't have it, I'm generally able to feel satisfied with my life anyway. And that's pretty nice to know.