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I was born with a divine gift for talking myself out of romantic relationships.
Others may prefer to say I’m just too picky, but either way the result holds constant: I have been single the significant majority of my adult life. The problem isn’t particularly rooted in starting relationships- I am no stranger to swiping right and going on a date or two. Instead, things usually start to go downhill around date three, when my list of grievances and incompatibilities becomes long enough that I have no choice but to send a shoddy breakup text citing irreconcilable differences and spend the next 36 hours pondering a life of solitude.
Things were no different this past winter, when, just at the brink of quarantine, I went on a walk with a man from hinge who was new to the city and we wound up eating leftover pizza on the lawn outside of his apartment. Five months later, we’re still eating leftover pizza. Not a long relationship by nearly any standard, but certainly farther than I’ve made it in a considerable amount of time.
And the kicker? I don’t really think it has anything to do with the man himself (sorry, Max). My date-three list was in full force, stacked with red flags and annoying habits, but I stuck it out in order to have a buddy for the quarantine. He lived alone, was working from home, and we trusted each other to respect the rules of the pandemic. And he seemed pretty into it too, though in fairness he had just moved to the city had had literally no other options for socialization. He was the ideal Pandemic Pal (s/o to my sister for coining the term). I was still unsure about many properties of the relationship but was able to file those thoughts under “to be determined after quarantine” and let myself enjoy whatever time we spent together without thinking about the future.
Today, though the pandemic is by no means an afterthought and is still very much a relevant dynamic in terms of socialization, the world has opened up enough that I decided to revisit the list of filed-away thoughts and grievances. And what I realized is that though all the issues I had are still factors in the relationship (he still has bad timing and micromanages me in the kitchen, for example), they are no longer red flags. Quarantine gave the relationship enough time to give this man a fighting chance, and he made it. Now I like him, so much that he is worth a weekly instruction on the proper way to peel and chop garlic.
I don’t know whether Max and I will last forever, but I do think we have a few balls in our court. I know that we are able to have fun together just sitting at home and staring at the ceiling, and I know that he will never forget what we deemed to be our anniversary- the first day of our state’s mandatory stay-in-place. Regardless I am thankful that in the chaos of these past few months, I have been able to grow to be more accepting of love in relationships and more willing to be reasonable about my expectations. Would I have reached this point of growth without Coronavirus? Eventually, probably. But maybe not with Max. I still think he has bad timing, but he did pretty well with this one.
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Previously published on medium.com and is republished here under permission.
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Photo credit: Craig Sybert via Unsplash